SHORTLY AFTER BREAKFAST, THE big gates were dragged closed with much shouting and effort by dozens of men. Only the man-sized door in the left-hand gate was left open for the last of the families who lived in the area to squeeze through. The Powys army had been spotted.
“They will be here by sunset,” Wulfstan said, reading the message strip the courier had brought from the spies watching Llewelyn’s progress.
Sentries and lookouts began to patrol the palisades, keeping a watch to the west as the sun climbed in the sky. When it was at its highest, a shout went up.
“Lone rider!”
“English?” Aethelfreda asked.
“No!”
Aethelfreda gave no reaction, except that her eyes narrowed, as if her thoughts were hurrying along. She had taken up a position at the top of the town square. There was a short section of flat road that ran past the church, straight to the gates. From the western edge of the square, Aethelfreda had a clear view to the gates and the guards standing in the towers.
Aethelfreda had adopted Sydney’s style of military dress. She’d asked her women to construct a gunna that was split at the front and the back just as Sydney’s was. She wore a mail shirt beneath and male leggings and long boots. There was a sword in her belt.
Alfwynn also wore a sword but had not had the courage to give up her kirtle. She had, though, looped a section of both the kirtle and the gunna and tucked them into her belt, so that her man-style boots were visible beneath and to give her freedom of movement.
The three of them stood together at the top of the square and waited while reports came from the gatehouse. As the day lengthened, slaves bought wine and cakes.
And now this, a lone man who was not English.
“A messenger from Llewelyn, perhaps,” Wulfstan muttered. “Offering terms.” His mouth turned down.
“Is he armed?” Aethelfreda asked.
Wulfstan shouted to the guards at the gate and the answer came back. “No weapons, no shield, no helmet.”
There was more calling from the guards, although this time they were facing to the outside of the fence. They were talking to the messenger and Sydney could hear the man shouting back. The words were indistinguishable.
A soldier came running down the road to the square. He stopped in front of Aethelfreda, breathing hard. “The man is from Llewelyn. He wishes to speak to you on behalf of the king of Powys. He says he is here to negotiate a peace.”
“That is a delicate way of offering terms,” Wulfstan said dryly.
“Perhaps,” Aethelfreda said. “Search him for weapons, then let him in.”
The soldier ran back again, his sword clinking softly.
The man-sized gate was opened and a dozen armed soldiers slipped through. Then, after a few minutes, three of them moved back inside. Among them was a tall man with dark hair and a trimmed beard, wearing a long green tunic and no cloak.
He looked along the length of the road toward them.
It was Alex.
Sydney’s heart fluttered and she pressed her fingers to her chest, trying to stop herself from gasping or otherwise reacting. Her mind buzzed with incoherent thoughts, the strongest of them a bewildered puzzlement. How was Alex here? It simply wasn’t possible…
Marit. The thought came to her almost as if someone else had spoken Marit’s name aloud. Along with it came certainty. Marit had done this somehow. Marit and Alex’s serum that let him see time itself.
He had seen her now and his gaze fixed on her as he walked toward the Lady and her assembled household.
Sydney began to tremble. Relief circled through her. If Alex had been with Llewelyn, then he would have seen Rafe. The two of them would have been able to work together and this was the result.
Then her relief faded. How could he be here to negotiate peace? Peace had never been achieved. Both Powys and the Mercians had been trampled under by the Vikings as they swept across the land, their differences unresolved.
What was Alex doing here, then?
At the last minute, he pulled his gaze away from her. He stopped in front of Aethelfreda. He stood nearly a foot higher than the Lady. He bowed low. “Lady Aethelfreda of Mercia, I am Alexander of Cordoba, a physician to the King of Powys. I am here by command of the King. He has a request to make of you.”
“Terms of surrender, I suppose?” Aethelfreda replied.
“Not at all,” Alex replied, with a small smile. “Our two armies have had the measure of each other in the last few days. The king feels it would be interesting to see your greatest strength arrayed against his, in a match of combat, to determine who is the strongest—Mercia or Powys.”
“A match?” Wulfstan repeated, puzzled.
“A contest, between your champion and ours,” Alex explained. “Witnessed by everyone to ensure the proceedings are fair. The winning champion will determine who has the stronger army and therefore wins the day.”
“What a remarkable idea,” Aethelfreda murmured. “A battle between two people instead of two armies.”
“The winner dictates terms?” Wulfstan asked curiously.
“Indeed. Terms are to be settled before the outcome is decided,” Alex said.
There was a distant shout, that jerked Sydney’s attention away from Alex and the lady. There had been a note of alarm in the shout.
There was a man standing on the roof of one of the houses that sat at the very edge of the town, up against the levies and the palisades. He lifted his arms up to his chest as Sydney looked and fright tore through her. “Crossbow!” she screamed.
Alex was closer to Aethelfreda than Sydney was. He didn’t hesitate. He threw himself forward, bringing the Lady down with him.
Sydney flung herself at Alfwynn, who wore a puzzled frown as she searched for the source of the alarm. Sydney caught her across the waist as a high pitched whizzing sounded in her ear.
Alfwynn grunted as Sydney brought her down to the ground. Sydney landed heavily, Alfwynn even more so, for she landed on her back. More whispers of air sounded and Sydney looked up as a thick crossbow bolt shot past her face. The bolt buried itself deeply inside a water barrel, that gushed liquid around it.
Sydney looked down at Alfwynn. She was clutching at a bolt that was buried in her shoulder, as blood seeped into her cloak and dress.
“Oh God,” Sydney whispered.
People were shouting all around them, Wulfstan the loudest of them. “Get him off her. Guards, put him in irons! Move it!”
Sydney rolled over. Alex was getting to his knees, his hand under Aethelfreda’s head. He had managed to stop her from landing as heavily as Alfwynn had. “Are you hurt, Lady?” he asked Aethelfreda.
Then the guards grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet and wrenched his arms behind him.
“No, Wulfstan. He was helping!” Sydney cried.
“He brought men with him to attack while we had our guard down,” Wulfstan said, as he helped Aethelfreda back onto her feet.
“I did not,” Alex said calmly. He was not struggling in the grip of the soldiers. “Your daughter is hurt, Lady Aethelfreda. I have medical supplies on my horse, outside the gates. Let me help her.”
Aethelfreda had dropped to her knees again, next to Alfwynn. Her chin was trembling.
“My Lady,” Sydney said softly, to catch her attention. “The man is a physician. He can help Alfwynn.”
“We have our own physicians,” Wulfstan said, his voice hoarse.
One of Wulfstan’s captains came running up, his sword out and tinged with red. “We got him, my lord. There was just the one.”
“I guarantee the man is a lieutenant acting on orders that Llewelyn has no idea have been given, my lady,” Alex said, his tone urgent. “There is opposition in the King’s camp. Many would prefer to slaughter you all and be done with it, while Llewelyn is holding out a peaceful solution because he is a reasonable man, who would rather see honor restored without bloodshed. Take the offer, my Lady. Let me help your daughter.”
“Help her first,” Aethelfreda told him. She wiped absently at her eyes, which were damp with tears. “If she dies, so do you and all who stand with your king. If she lives, I will accept the offer.”
Alex nodded and the guards let him go. He bent forward and scooped up Alfwynn in his arms. “Where is a table I can work upon?” he demanded.
“This way,” Wulfstan said.
“Someone get his tools,” Aethelfreda called.
Sydney turned toward the gate. Aethelfreda caught her arm. “Go with them,” she said, nodding toward Alex as he hurried after Wulfstan, Alfwynn in his arms. “If my daughter dies, I order you to kill him.”