The Titus Chronicles-Revenge

By R.W. Peake

In Volume IV of The Titus Chronicles-Revenge, it is the Year of our Lord 885, and newly elevated Thegn Titus of Wiltun does not have much time to enjoy the moment as King Alfred orders him and the other men of Wiltun, led by Lord Eadward, to the sea again, this time to run down a fleet of sixteen Northmen longships raiding the coast of Kent and East Anglia. Achieving a resounding victory over these Northmen at the mouth of the Stour River, the men of Alfred’s fleet have less than a day to enjoy the fruits of this success. While in Frankia, Titus had learned that his Danish friend, Einarr Thorsten, was rumored to be defecting from King Guthrum. This is confirmed as fact in a horrible manner, when the very next day Einarr leads a fleet of ships and, taking advantage of an unexpected fogbank, ambushes the victorious Saxons and scatters them. During the ambush, Einarr commits an act so barbarous and dishonorable that Titus swears an oath to hunt Einarr down and kill him.

Across the Narrow Sea, Yanna is living in Paris with her sister, agonizing over her decision to remain in Frankia when, to her surprise and dismay, she learns she is pregnant. This event prompts Yanna to decide to sail to Wessex to be with Titus; before she can, on November 25th, a massive army led by Sigfred, the Norse nobleman who has offered a bounty on Titus’ head, appears outside the walls. For the next several months, Yanna and her fellow Parisians will endure one of the most brutal sieges of their time, testing their courage and grit.

Returning to Wiltun after their time at sea, Titus settles into the duties of a Saxon Thegn, but it is not destined to last long as, immediately after Yule, their King summons the fyrd again, this time to march on London, in response to the news that Guthrum has withdrawn from the city. After achieving a largely bloodless takeover, London is where Titus is destined to spend the next several months, desperate for any news of the siege of Paris, while waiting for Sigfred to try and take his revenge. When the moment he’s expecting comes, however, it’s not Sigfred, but a man he never expected, nor that this man would use the woman he loved as his weapon for revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.W. Peake
• Release date: Dec 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781941226612

R.W. Peake

I am a 63 year old retired Infantry Marine, born and raised in Texas and currently living on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state. I have been writing since my first novel, written at the age of 10, when my friends and yours truly fought off the Soviet hordes, who just happened to pick my block to launch their invasion. That was their big mistake.But like a lot of dreams, it got sidetracked until recently, when I decided to focus my passion on an era and subject that interested me a great deal. Like my characters in Ancient Rome, I have served as the pointy tip of the spear of our nation's policy, and it is with this perspective that I tell the story of Titus Pullus and his friends.Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion was my first published novel, and is the first in a completed series that covers the career of Titus Pullus, his adopted son Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, grandson Titus Porcinianus Pullus, and his great-grandson Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus. The most recent release is Volume XIX, Marching With Caesar-Catualda the Usurper.I also have a completed alternate history series, Caesar Ascending, that imagines a world in which Gaius Julius Caesar survives the Ides of March, embarks on his historical campaign against Parthian...then keeps going. Originally it's a bid to outstrip the Macedonian King Alexander by reaching the Ganges River, but evolves into a decade-long campaign that finds Caesar and his Legions marching to the end of the known world in the form of the mysterious Islands of Wa, modern-day Japan.Finally, in 2020, I began The Titus Chronicles, with Volume I titled Eagle and Wyvern, which tells the story of a descendant of Titus Pullus, (though he's unaware of any connection), named Titus of Cyssanbyrig, who at the age of fourteen answers the fyrd sounded by the Saxon King Alfred, marching with Alfred and his army to confront the Danish King Guthrum, culminating at the Battle of Edington. Blessed with the same prodigious size and strength as his ancestor, young Titus learns he is the recipient of a darker gift, and in his first battle earns the nickname The Berserker.The Titus Chronicles mark the first of an extended genealogy of the original Titus that will extend across the ages as the story of a line of men who have been born and bred for war, and are witnesses to some of the great historical events of the ages.

Book preview

The Titus Chronicles

Revenge

by

R.W. Peake

Also by R.W Peake

Marching With Caesar® – Birth of the 10th

Marching With Caesar – Conquest of Gaul

Marching With Caesar – Civil War

Marching With Caesar – Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II

Marching With Caesar – Rise of Augustus

Marching With Caesar – Last Campaign

Marching With Caesar – Rebellion

Marching With Caesar – A New Era

Marching With Caesar – Pax Romana

Marching With Caesar – Fraternitas

Marching With Caesar – Vengeance

Marching With Caesar – Rise of Germanicus

Marching With Caesar – Revolt of the Legions

Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus, Part I

Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus Part II

Marching With Caesar – Hostage to Fortuna

Marching With Caesar – Praetorian

Marching With Caesar – Usurper

Caesar Triumphant Parts One and Two

Caesar Ascending – Invasion of Parthia

Caesar Ascending – Conquest of Parthia

Caesar Ascending – Pandya

Caesar Ascending – The Ganges

Caesar Ascending – The Han

The Titus Chronicles

Eagle and Wyvern

Viking

Berserker Returns

With L.R. Kelly

The Tenth

Critical praise for the Marching with Caesar series

Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony

Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended.

Marching With Caesar-Civil War

"Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."

~The Historical Novel Society

The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best.

~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

Copyright © 2022 by R.W. Peake

Revenge by R.W. Peake

Cover Image by Marina Shipova

Cover Design by Laura Prevost

Cover Artwork Copyright © 2022 by R.W. Peake

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2022

Foreword

As often happens when I sit down to write a story, while this was originally going to be part of Berserker’s Return, I got a little...carried away, so that when I finished, what constitutes the first part of this book that is now Volume IV would have made Volume III almost as long as my main series, Marching With Caesar (which, I promise, I will be starting in the next couple of days). Because I’ve made a conscious decision to make these books shorter, I decided to take what is a historical event known as the Battle of Stourmouth that I had intended to use for Berserker Returns and move it to the beginning of Revenge. I know that this subtitle is a bit...ambiguous, but hopefully, readers will understand it by the time they’re through. The second part of the book is about both the siege of Paris that began in November of 886, and Alfred’s investment of London. Of these three events, only the siege of Paris rates a book of its own from the contemporary sources; the other two, the Battle of Stourmouth and the taking of London merits all of a total of three sentences, but I’ll discuss that a bit in the Historical Notes.

As those of y’all who read Berserker Returns knows, since September 20th and the sudden and unexpected death of my son-in-law, it’s been a time of turmoil and anguish for my family, and I just wanted to take the time to thank all of those who reached out with messages of support. There is no easy or real way for me to express what they mean to me, and to my daughter, who was very moved that so many of her dad’s readers felt strongly enough about her loss to send messages of kindness and support for her in her time of need.

I know it’s cliché for a parent to say that their child is their hero, but as cliché as it might be, it’s a simple truth for this parent. As a parent, you hope that you instill the values that you believe are important to them as they go through life, and in my case, because of my own background and living a life on the ragged edge where my self-destructive urges account for dying twice, once on a road in Texas and once on the operating table, with twenty surgeries under my belt and having stopped counting broken bones at forty...bones, not years, and dealing with two autoimmune conditions, mental and physical endurance was at the top of my own parental checklist. She has proven that my fears were completely unfounded, and I’m in awe of the strength and resilience she’s shown since losing not just her husband of sixteen years, but her best friend and the love of her life, and I’m thankful for the support network of people who truly care about her who are with her in London. Being separated by thousands of miles is tough enough, but if she wasn’t as strong as she’s proven herself to be, I’m not sure what I’d do; as all of you who are parents know, not only is it a lifetime job, but there’s nothing worse than seeing your child in pain and not being able to do much about it.

Still, she and I want to take this moment to thank all of you for your support.

Semper Fidelis

R.W. Peake

December 13, 2022

Historical Notes

As usual, I have tried to rely on primary sources, and while I don’t normally include what is essentially the central element of the first part of this book, I will now.

"The same year (885) sent King Alfred a fleet from Kent into East-Anglia. As soon as they came to Stourmouth, there met them sixteen ships of the pirates. And they fought with them, took all the ships, and slew the men. As they returned homeward with their booty, they met a large fleet of the pirates, and fought with them the same day; but the Danes had the victory."

There, that’s it, the Battle of Stourmouth from The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, both the victory and the defeat. I have often commented that gaps in the historical record are a mixed bag of bad and good for the writer of historical fiction, but that’s not the case here. Thanks to this bare-boned account, it gives me the ultimate freedom to fill in the blanks in a manner that I hope y’all readers find both entertaining and believable by reading between the lines.

Given the overall celebratory tone of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, when I read (and reread, and reread) these four sentences, it led me to believe the following, that the victory over the raiders, which aren’t specified as Dane or Northmen, although the chroniclers of the day didn’t usually make that distinction, was an easy one that didn’t tax the Saxons all that much. If it had been hard-fought, with tales of heroism by the Saxon warriors aboard their ships, the author, The Venerable Bede, would have likely gone into a bit more detail of that heroism. Along those lines, the nature and scale of the defeat is likely to have outweighed the Saxon victory of the day before. Consequently, that’s the way I’ve written it: the Saxon victory was an easy one, while their defeat the next day was a crushing affair. As I wrote it in my mind (which is how I do everything; when I sit down with the laptop, most of what I’m going to work on that day is written already, in my head), I had to come up with a way for this to happen, which I did, but I also realized that I was having a hard time describing what I was seeing in my mind. Therefore, I created a map of my version of the second Battle of Stourmouth, and I hope that it will help clarify the story.

Given that there’s more than one Stour River, pinpointing the actual location of the battle would seem to be difficult, but thankfully, The Venerable Bede said that they sailed from Kent to East-Anglia, so which Stour was quickly determined. And, once you look at a map, you can also see why it was called Stour Mouth, which of course was run together over time, because it’s actually the mouth of two rivers, the Stour, and the Orwel(l). There are two points of land jutting towards each other that form the jaws of the mouth, which at least now are about a mile and a quarter apart, but one difficulty is trying to determine what the area might have looked like in 885 as compared to 2022, knowing that the British did a fair amount of reengineering of the coastline in many areas. That’s why sharp-eyed observers will look at the map, and if they choose to compare it to Google Earth, or Maps for that matter, they will see distinct differences in the shape of the coastal features between the book and a modern map, mainly because knowing that there are no natural straight lines in nature, I removed several dockyards, quays, and otherwise built-up areas that jutted out into the bay created by the river mouths.

Also in the year 885, from a variety of sources, and namely speculation by historians, two historical figures appear in Alfred’s court, one of them quite famous because of his own biography of the Saxon King, and more recently, because of the role he plays in Bernard Cornwell’s outstanding Last Kingdom series, the Welsh monk Asser, and the lesser-known cleric John the Old Saxon, so named not because he was old, but because he came from the hereditary lands of the Saxons before their migration to England. He would go on to become Abbot of Athelney, although this isn’t his role when Titus meets him for the first time. The village of Amesbury, which is mentioned later in the story, is famous in its own right because it is believed to be the site of one of Vespasian’s camps; more importantly, it may be the site where one of the Berserker’s ancestors visits England.

The siege of Paris is another matter, because we do have a contemporary account by an eyewitness, a monk known as Abbo of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. His Bella Parisiacae Urbis is the only extant account that is solely about the siege that began on November 25th, 885, and lasted almost a year, and because Abbo’s account is the only one, that means that he’s considered the authoritative source for this event. However, while I do use his work, as I have learned with other eyewitness accounts from hundreds or thousands of years ago, I do so with a degree of caution, particularly when it comes to his descriptions of numbers of both ships and Norse warriors. For example, if I had used Abbo’s numbers, the Norse would have had seven hundred high prowed ships, meaning longships, and very many smaller ones, along with an enormous multitude of smaller vessels...called barques. Aside from the seven hundred longships, it makes pinning down the exact number of vessels very difficult, not to mention how the river vanished for a distance of two leagues downriver. Now, depending on whether or not Abbo (who wrote his account in Vulgate Latin) was using the ancient Roman measurement of a league, or the French, what he was saying was that an observer couldn’t see the water of the Seine for a distance of anywhere from three to almost six miles downriver. Given that human eyesight can generally only see about three miles, and that is on a clear day, perhaps he was using the Roman unit of measurement. However, knowing that chroniclers of bygone eras, particularly those without any military expertise, had a tendency to grossly inflate numbers, even when they were eyewitnesses, and when coupled with Abbo’s clear bias, it means that I used more conservative estimates by the handful of historians who study this era, which you will see me use in the story. Instead of seven hundred, I use the more conservative estimate of three hundred longships, along with a couple hundred for the smaller and captured vessels. He also puts the number of Norse warriors at forty thousand, which would have made it one of the largest armies of this era; I use less than half that number, basing it on the average size of a longship crew of fifty men, and three hundred longships.

This is not to say that Abbo’s account is worthless; it’s got a lot of very valuable information, and even with the hyperbole and aggrandizing of figures like the Bishop of Paris, which I spell as Gozlin (one among Jocelin, Goslin, or Gauzlin), Abbo paints a very vivid picture of the desperate nature of the fighting, and the grim reality of a city under siege. What is clear is that the Franks in Paris, both warriors and citizens, displayed a tremendous amount of courage and grit holding off the Norse, but it also is illustrative of just how horrific a fate these people viewed being conquered by these pagan invaders. It’s interesting; I’ve lived long enough to see one of the cycles of history take place when it comes to the people we know as the Vikings, who have gone from being depicted as cruel savages to a period where assorted scholars interjected, painting them as intrepid explorers who were only slightly more brutal than average for their times, who simply wanted to find a more hospitable clime where they could farm and live in peace, back to, No, they were bloodthirsty, cruel people who did really horrible things to more peaceful societies, and their brutality and cruelty was a feature, not a bug. Personally, as I do with all things, I believe the truth is in the middle somewhere, but what can’t be denied is that the Scandinavians of the 9th Century C.E. had very...imaginative methods when it came to slaughtering people. Therefore, to me, this more than anything was what imbued the Parisians with the courage and resolve to withstand almost a year of a brutal siege. Abbo’s account doesn’t stint on any of that, and he does provide specific dates for the series of smaller events that were part of the siege.

Sainte Christophe was, essentially, a nunnery, although this was before this concept was formalized within the Church. Mother Heloys is a fictional character, and in fact, while I use the term Mother Superior, I never found anything that indicated that this was a title in use back then, but I decided to use it since modern readers will identify with it. The original church no longer exists; the site for it is actually located adjacent to the large open area in front of Notre Dame, which didn’t exist back then. Every church that’s mentioned is real, including Saint-Germain-des-Prés, located in the modern 6th Arrondissement, although in the 9th Century, it was a village separate from Paris, which only consisted of the Île de la Cité at that time, while the Île Saint Louis was deserted at that time, and speculation is that it was used for grazing. Since Île de la Cité is an island, the dimensions have remained largely unchanged from those days, although work has been done on the western and eastern ends to help stop the floods that the Île is prone to up to this day.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect, and one that has engendered some debate with later historians, is that the Norse army under Sigfred (whose nickname of Úlfhédnar is my own invention) apparently manufactured wheeled battering rams, but to me, at least even more surprisingly, pieces of artillery, in the form of ballistae, even using them to lob incendiary ammunition into the city. While I’m certainly more conversant with this period than I was when I started The Titus Chronicles, as far as I’ve seen to this point, this marks the only time where the Norse or Danes used machines to wage war, which indicates to me that, if this is true, it wasn’t a lack of knowledge on their part, but a lack of interest in using them. Granted, they weren’t renowned for their tight discipline, but were they so unruly and undisciplined that this was, if not the only, one of the few times where they availed themselves of something considered indispensable by the generals of previous centuries? Being completely honest, of all the things Abbo says about the siege of Paris, I find this the hardest to swallow, but the advantage of being the only surviving source is that, unless and until a verifiable source from the same era turns up to refute Abbo, then he’s the authority, so there are ballistae present.

On the taking of London, just as I did with the Battle of Stourmouth, I’ll share what The Venerable Bede has to say about it.

"That same year (886) also King Alfred fortified the city of London...He then committed the city to the care of (E)Alderman ‘Ethered’."

That’s it, but just as the master Bernard Cornwell did, albeit to a lesser extent, I just didn’t buy the idea that King Alfred just went diddybopping up to London and moved right in, not after it had been in the possession of the Danes for years. I also don’t think that when Guthrum relocated to Beamfleot (Benfleet) that he would have just left it completely unguarded, especially because by this time, there was a healthy number of non-warrior Danes living there. Still, since The Venerable Bede says that Alfred only fortified the city, it indicates there was no battle to take it. He also says that it was put in the care of an Ealdorman named Ethered, but since there is no record of an Ealdorman Ethered that I could find, not even in Oxford University’s Dictionary of National Biography, I’m almost certain that he meant that it was Æthelred of Mercia, who would become his son-in-law in ~887, which is who Alfred cedes control of London to in this story. Using the sewers as a method of ingress is obviously an invention of my own making, although those sewers certainly existed, and remnants of them exist today, and the location of the important buildings of Roman London and their general location is based on archaeological evidence. My placement of Guthrum’s Palace in the Forum rather than using the praetorium is also my own supposition, mainly because the location of the Forum, in roughly the center of the walled city would seem to be preferable than the praetorium, which was located in the southwestern portion of the city, close to the Thames. Finally, I use the gate names that may not have been in use at the time but will be recognizable to modern readers, especially those who reside in the United Kingdom. These gates, however, were in existence during the Roman period, and their locations are based on maps created by cartographers in the 19th Century.

Chapter One

For Titus, formerly known as Titus of Cissanbyrig, then Titus the Berserker, and now mere hours after his return to Wessex, Thegn Titus of Wiltun, the Year of Our Lord 885 had already been momentous, but while he had had time to adjust to the idea of his return and reuniting with his sisters—Eadgyd, and her husband Willehad and their children, and Leofflaed, her husband Uhtric, and their two children, Wiglaf and the niece who had been born while he was in Frankia—his elevation to replace Thegn Aelfnod still seemed like more of a dream than reality. The prospect of departing Hamtun barely a day after his return as part of a fleet dispatched by King Alfred to hunt down a marauding viking of sixteen ships barely registered; he was more intent on learning about a change of fortune that he had barely dreamed about.

It was my father’s idea, Eadward explained that night...aboard the Ærendgaest, where they were spending the night, but as Eadward had surmised, the elevation of Titus was so noteworthy that the men barely noticed they were not settled in the inn.

He was sitting in the bow, along with Titus, Otha, and Ceadda, after Lord Æthelweard, now giving the orders as the nautical commander, had announced that the bulk of the Saxon fleet, which now numbered twenty-two ships and had required the addition of another dock here at Hamtun, would be departing in the morning. That they were spending this night aboard the Ærendgaest and not complaining about it was an example of the kind of shrewdness that the father had possessed that had clearly been passed down to the son, Otha thought as he sat, enjoying the dazed expression that Titus still bore.

Lord? Titus asked, understandably confused. Your father wanted to make me a Thegn? Then, he hesitated, before deciding he would rather know, even if it risked offending Eadward, why didn’t he?

If he couldn’t take the risk of sending for you, Eadward explained patiently, he definitely couldn’t take the risk of elevating someone of your...age, he decided to be diplomatic, which was true enough; Titus’ age had certainly been an issue, but the larger one was being the son of Leofric, not only a one-hide ceorl, but a follower of the disgraced and disappeared Wulfhere. For a heartbeat, Eadward considered telling Titus everything about the threat posed by Ealdorman Cuthred and his ambitions towards Wiltscir, but decided that could wait until they were finally home.

Fortunately, Titus understood immediately, all of it, which he signaled with a thoughtful nod, but this was only part of what bothered him.

Was I your first choice, Lord? he asked bluntly, and as he intended, he saw the look of surprise on Eadward’s face.

However, before Eadward could speak, Otha came to his rescue, saying simply, No, you weren’t.

But, you were my second choice, Eadward put in.

Titus was about to ask who it was, then experienced a flash of insight, communicating this by how he suddenly looked towards the stern of the ship to where, seated on the bench he had occupied when it was called Sea Viper, and seeing how Uhtric was surrounded by the men who he instinctively knew formed the core of the band of Saxon warriors who were sworn to Lord Eadward, he breathed the name.

Uhtric. He turned to look directly at Eadward, and said flatly, You wanted Uhtric to take Aelfnod’s place.

To his credit, Otha saw that Eadward did not hesitate, replying steadily, Yes. Otha, Ceadda, and I agreed to approach Uhtric first.

Before Eadward could go on, Titus stood and, without asking for leave, turned and moved down the center of the ship, which unlike The Redeemer and being a Danish-built ship did not have a centerboard, so that Titus had to lift his feet to avoid tripping on the strakes. It was a technical breach of courtesy, but Eadward wisely ignored it, exchanging a glance with Otha, who shrugged.

Better he hears it from Uhtric than us, he commented.

Titus reached Uhtric, and he experienced what would be the first of the awkward moments as men he had drunk with, whored with, and fought beside were suddenly confronted by his elevation, one that Titus was struggling with as well.

Ber...er...Lord, Hrothgar stammered, his eyes going wide at what could have been considered a grave offense, but Titus laughed, and clapped the man he had supplanted as the strongest man in Wiltscir on the shoulder.

Don’t worry about it, Hrothgar, Titus said. It’s going to take me some time to become accustomed to it myself. Now, he lowered his voice a bit, I’d like to speak to Uhtric in private.

Titus experienced the first example of his changed status in how quickly, and without argument, Hrothgar, Ealdwolf, and Willibald all moved away quickly, although privacy was a relative term, so it meant that Titus spoke barely above a whisper to demand, Is it true?

Is what true? Uhtric asked, but he did not fool Titus, who snapped, Don’t play games with me, Uhtric. You know what I’m talking about. Lord Eadward told me, and Otha confirmed that you were his first choice to take Aelfnod’s holding!

For, when all was said and done, that was what it meant to be a Thegn in their world; yes, they were warriors, but they were warriors with land who, in turn, could support other warriors, and while Aelfnod’s holding had been the smallest, and Otha’s the largest, which Titus had learned had grown from fifteen to eighteen hides during his absence, at nine hides, it was still a significant holding for men of their class; in fact, it was more wealth than Titus had ever dreamed of possessing.

I was, Uhtric replied calmly. But, Titus, I turned them down for a number of reasons.

What reasons could you possibly have? Titus demanded.

There are four, actually, but there are three that are the most important, Uhtric answered, still calm, and it took Titus a moment to understand that he was referring to his sister, his nephew, and his niece.

"But, Uhtric, nine hides! Titus argued. Surely, Leofflaed deserves being able to afford the kind of things that much land brings!"

She deserves more than that, Uhtric agreed quietly. But do you remember Aelfnod, and how miserable he was?

He was grieving for his brother, Titus said dismissively. I remember that, but that was right after Sigurd raided Stanmer and his brother was killed.

No. Uhtric shook his head. He was unhappy long before that. We talked about it. He was a Thegn because his father was a Thegn, but he never wanted all the responsibility of caring for his men, and their families. When his brother was killed, that was more than he could take. He paused, then said, And Titus, Leofflaed not only agrees, it was her idea in the first place. Which, he added, brings us to the fourth reason.

Which is?

You, Uhtric said simply. Titus, you know better than I do that you are born for this. You’re meant to lead, and not just a half-dozen warriors. Anyone who has been around you for any length of time knows it. Why, he asked, do you think that I decided to follow you when you were all of fourteen years old?

For Titus, this was as baffling, and disturbing, a conversation as he could remember having, and that included his most recent one with Lord Eadward, because in his mind Uhtric had taken the fourteen-year-old under his wing, protecting him from his father, and from himself.

I...I don’t know what to say, Uhtric, he said honestly. But I swear to you, on my oath as a Thegn, they both grinned at this, that I won’t let Lord Eadward, Lord, er, I mean Otha, or you and Leofflaed down.

See that you don’t, Uhtric said as he stood, then laughed. Because I’d never hear the end of it from your sister. Somehow she would figure out it was my fault.

Well, Titus gave an elaborate shrug, it would be.

Uhtric punched him in the shoulder, then he sat back down on his bench and Titus returned to the bow, dropping to the deck and mumbling, Uhtric just explained things to me.

I suppose we should discuss matters, like who will be in your service, Eadward said, but Titus held up a hand.

Lord, I’d like to suggest that we wait on all the details, he said. "I think we need to get as much rest as we can, then tomorrow get used to being back on the Sea Viper."

"You mean the Ærendgaest," Eadward corrected him.

Yes, that’s what I said, Titus replied blandly. "The Ærendgaest. They all settled down then, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, but when Titus muttered, But Sea Viper is better," Eadward did not say anything, smiling up at the night sky as he thought how nice it was to have the Berserker back where he belonged.

Unable to sleep, Titus was up and about when, out of the predawn darkness, a figure approached the Ærendgaest, but it was not until the person was at the bottom of the plank that Titus recognized him, gasping, Dagfinn?

Lord Æthelweard said that I am to be your steersman again, Berserker, he said, and yet while his tone was cheerful, Titus sensed the tension there, but he did not hesitate to gesture for him to board.

Despite the clear invitation, the Dane approached Titus cautiously, and Titus realized that he had a reason to be, feeling a flare of anger that he tamped down with difficulty. No, you need to hear what he has to say first, he told himself; later, he was glad that he did.

I need to go speak to the shipmaster, Titus, Dagfinn said after they embraced, but Titus stopped him.

Before you do, there are some things that I need to tell you, Titus spoke quietly, keeping his voice down both because his shipmates were still sleeping and because he did not particularly want this overheard. He began with, The first thing is that, at least in public and in front of others, you need to address me as Lord. Or... he could not help the grin spreading across his face, "as Thegn Titus."

Dagfinn’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open, but the Saxon did not sense any duplicity when Dagfinn said, That is truly good news, Ti...Lord! Truly! Although, he added, still smiling, it does not surprise me. His eyes had never left Titus’ face, and his smile faded at the expression he saw on the Saxon’s face. What else?

I think you know, Titus answered even more quietly. When Dagfinn remained silent, he sighed then said, When you and Lord Einarr were in Boulogne, it wasn’t because your King was worried about what Sigfred was up to; he sent you there to let him know that Guthrum was ready to abandon Alfred and break the treaty and join him.

"That is not true. Dagfinn shook his head so vigorously that the bones he had braided into his beard actually made an audible clicking sound. He hesitated, then murmured, At least the part about Guthrum breaking the treaty. He has not broken the treaty...yet. But, he held up a hand, we were not there for Guthrum, Titus. We were there because of Lord Einarr."

Titus noticed the lapse, but was not inclined to comment on it, more intent on understanding the Dane’s explanation, which prompted him to demand, What does that mean ‘you were there for Einarr’?

I mean that while King Guthrum is not ready to abandon the treaty, there are many Danes who are. And, he sighed, I am afraid that Lord Einarr is one of them.

Titus heard someone gasp, only dimly aware that it was him.

Does Guthrum know this? he asked once he found his voice.

Our King, Dagfinn replied with a bitterness that was impossible to miss, even at a whisper, "only cares about the next life that you Christians love to talk about. He has surrounded himself with priests and monks, and they spend the day talking about your savior, the slave who was crucified! It is, Dagfinn shook his head, and Titus saw the despair on his friend’s face, all he cares about these days, not Valhalla as a Dane should, but your Heaven!"

The fact of the matter was that, even in Frankia, there had been much talk about Guthrum, which, like most Saxons, was how the Franks referred to him, and his seeming obsession with his newfound Christianity, while the consensus, one that Titus shared, was that this was a ploy on the part of the Dane, who had proven to be a cunning and able adversary. Hearing Dagfinn confirm that his conversion, even if it had been done for the sake of expediency at the time, had a profound effect on the Danish King of East Anglia shook Titus almost as much as the news of Einarr’s defection.

So what does Einarr plan to do?

He has joined with Hallsteinn, Dagfinn answered miserably.

Did you tell Lord Æthelweard this? Titus asked, and Dagfinn nodded, but it was the next thought that struck Titus like a blow. Is he with these ships we’re going after now?

No, Dagfinn replied immediately. He was still in Lunden when I left to come here.

And why did you come?

Dagfinn considered Titus’ question for a moment, then replied sadly, While I agree with Lord Einarr that Guthrum has lost his way and is no longer a Dane, he is still our King. And, he finished simply, looking up and directly into Titus’ eyes, I swore an oath to him.

This was something that Titus understood perfectly, and he felt a strong pang of sympathy for, next to Einarr, the Dane he considered one of his closest friends. Indeed, even before his time in Lunden, he and Dagfinn had enjoyed a bond, partly because of their youth, but also because they shared a similar outlook and sense of humor about the world around them.

All right, go talk to the shipmaster, Titus said; though he had more questions, he decided these could wait. "His name is Cuthread, I believe. Be sure you tell him that you were the steersman when she was the Sea Viper."

Dagfinn had started to move that direction, but he stopped at this, asking cautiously, "You mean she is not called Sea Viper any longer? Titus shook his head, dreading the next question, which came immediately, Then what is she called now?"

"Ærendgaest," Titus replied, but said nothing else, hoping that Dagfinn would not ask; it was a hope that lasted less than a heartbeat.

What does that mean? Dagfinn asked.

It means Archangel, Titus answered, yet while Dagfinn may not have understood the first part of the word, he clearly divined the meaning of the second.

Those are those beings that you Christians talk about being in your Heaven, yes? Men with wings?

Yes, Titus sighed. But the Archangel Michael is different. He carries a sword, or so the priests say.

Dagfinn brightened at this, but something seemed to occur to him, and he asked with some concern, When the ship was renamed, was the proper ceremony carried out?

What ceremony? Titus asked cautiously, then thinking he knew, he assured Dagfinn, I’m sure that they had a priest do a blessing and sprinkle her with holy water.

Holy water? At first, Dagfinn looked horrified, then he asked hopefully, Is that what you Saxons call virgin piss? Holy water?

Now it was Titus’ turn to be disturbed, replying indignantly, Of course not! What kind of pagan nonsense is that? Recognizing that they were talking around each other, Titus said, Tell me what you mean about using virgin piss.

Whenever a ship is renamed, a virgin must piss in the bilge to appease Rán and her husband Ægir, or the ship and her crew will suffer ill fortune, Dagfinn explained soberly.

But she’s a Christian ship now, Titus argued, though even as he did he knew he was wasting his breath.

I will ask the shipmaster, Dagfinn muttered, then made his way to the stern, expertly maneuvering around the legs of the crewmen still sprawled on the benches.

What did the Dane say?

Titus almost jumped out of his skin at Otha’s voice just behind him, but he managed to sound unsurprised, whispering what he had learned, noticing that he could see Otha’s features more easily, and that his mouth was set in a grim line.

I wish I could say that I was surprised, Otha said when Titus was finished. A man like Einarr needs to be facing an enemy with a sword in his hand, and these last few years have to have been hard on him.

How do you know that? Titus asked, though he suspected he knew the answer, which was confirmed when Otha said, Because it’s been hard on me.

To Dagfinn’s relief, while Cuthread was a Saxon, he was also an experienced seaman who had commanded ships manned by a mixture of Saxons, Danes, Frisians, and a smattering of Franks, and had long before adopted an egalitarian view of the various superstitions that were inherent in a life at sea, and he assured Dagfinn that his own daughter, who was only seven, had done that duty after the ship was renamed.

Now, Cuthread had informed Dagfinn, it did not make the priests very happy, but not one of those pale-faced clerics volunteered to go to sea with us, so I do not much care.

With the number of ships that had to cast off, the masters and their deck crews were kept busy, bellowing curses at each other as, one by one, they slipped out into the Itchen, the steersman relaying the orders of the master to the oarsmen, with one side making a few strokes, then the other, often in the opposite direction to skew the vessel around. There were several near misses, and Titus, who had been forbidden by Eadward from sitting on a bench and pulling an oar, stood in the bow with his Lord and fellow Thegns, feeling quite odd. Most of the faces, or their backs, given they were all seated facing the stern, were familiar; Godric, Wulfsige, Eggberht, Cynebald, and Aedelwine, all from Alfred’s bodyguard and who had been part of the original crew, were back and sitting in their original spots, yet there were also faces missing, and despite it being years earlier, Titus felt a stab of remorse at the thought of Willmar, whose death had roused the beast inside him, along with the other Wiltun men who were no longer there. All of these men were replaced by men of the original crew, Cuthread choosing those he claimed were the best not only at pulling an oar but who could hold their own in a fight.

There was one face missing that Titus knew was not due to dying in the fight, and he had asked Otha without much interest, Where’s Snorri?

He vanished, Otha answered readily enough, but in a flat tone that caused Titus to glance at Ceadda, who whispered, Don’t ask.

Otherwise, the Saxon fleet that had once numbered less than ten ships in total left Hamtun but was now fourteen strong, with seven ships left behind, entered The Solent with The Redeemer leading the way, and once they were out in open water, it gave Titus the opportunity to see the composition of the fleet’s new additions.

Pointing to one, he asked Eadward, That looks like a Danish ship, but it wasn’t with us before. Where did it come from?

It does, Eadward agreed. "It looks like a Danish ship...but it’s not. It was built here in Hamtun."

"Cum lā! Titus exclaimed, glancing at Otha, but the Thegn nodded and assured Titus, It’s true."

You mean Father Æthelweard and his priests didn’t convince the King that copying the pagans would send us on the path to Hell? Titus scoffed, still somewhat disbelieving.

Oh, there was a bit of argument about it, Eadward assured him. But Alfred has added some new blood to his council with Lord Eardwulf getting near the end, but they’re churchmen. And, he said with some relish, apparently, it was these new churchmen who convinced the King that just because we design ships like the Danes, it doesn’t put our souls in mortal peril.

This was good to hear, because that had been the biggest source of concern among those Saxons who had gone to sea for their land and their King, having seen firsthand that, in the area of shipbuilding, these invaders, pagan or not, had no equal, and being forced to add ships that could match the Danish vessels by capturing them would be a long and painful process that could take years.

Who are these miracle workers? Titus asked, though only partially interested.

There are four or five new clerics, Eadward told him. But there are two that have gotten Alfred’s ear. One of them is a Welsh monk, named Asser. He showed up early this year. The other is, he had