Chapter Four

      ‘I have found a way,’ Ansithe announced, hurrying into the hall. She had taken a few breaths to allow her heart to stop pounding and she hoped her cheeks were not as red as she feared they might be. She was simply unsettled and flushed with excitement at the prospect of obtaining her family’s freedom.

      Her sisters remained about the table, finishing their breakfast. Her father’s wolfhounds sat under the table, looking hopefully for any scraps that might fall. Cynehild stopped spooning porridge into Wulfgar’s mouth and frowned.

      ‘Well, don’t you want to hear what it is?’ Ansithe asked.

      ‘You are going to apologise to Cedric and accept his offer to take the prisoners?’ Cynehild picked up a cloth to wipe the spilled porridge from Wulfgar’s face. ‘Ansithe, I knew you’d do the right and proper thing once you had time to consider.’

      ‘Cedric was always intent on cheating us out of the full value of the ransom we would receive. I doubt that has changed.’

      ‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Cynehild said. ‘You only suspected. However, I’m willing to listen to your ideas and see if they are feasible. I know what you were like with the weaving rota before I changed it. You thought you had an excellent scheme, but it didn’t work. My way was better.’

      Ansithe ground her teeth. Cynehild seemed to positively delight in making things more difficult. And ever since her return, she had criticised Ansithe’s household management. Never overtly, as that was not Cynehild’s way, but she kept coming up with little ideas which she claimed would make things easier for everyone. Sometimes as with the weaving rota, if Ansithe was being honest, the ideas did work.

      What Ansithe worried about was—what if Cynehild decided to stay, rather than Leofwine finding fresh lands as she’d promised would happen? Her father would not have any need for Ansithe’s services then as he’d always said that Cynehild did things in a similar fashion to their late mother, which he would surely prefer.

      ‘I’m hardly ignorant of the situation,’ Ansithe said when she knew she had her temper under control. ‘All the prisoners made it through the night and they have had their gruel for breakfast. But they are not in a fit state to be moved yet. They need to regain their strength.’

      ‘Do you think Guthmann will be doing that to Father and my Leofwine?’

      ‘Let me see.’ Ansithe pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, pretending to concentrate for a long heartbeat. Then she opened them wide. ‘No idea, Cynehild. Nor do you.’

      ‘If they escape from you, we will have gone through this for nothing. How are you going to contact Guthmann? Have you considered that?’

      ‘Cynehild,’ Elene said before Ansithe gave way to her growing ire. ‘Ansithe said she had found a solution. Can we hear it before you find all the reasons it won’t work? You thought she’d fail with using the bees as weapons as well.’

      Ansithe reached down and gave the wolfhounds a pat while Cynehild did a good imitation of having encountered a particularly nasty odour.

      ‘Of course I will listen, Elene. Our sister sometimes does have useful ideas.’

      ‘They are wearing brooches which give a clue to their identity, particularly to their jaarl. Cedric mentioned this and Moir Mimirson confirmed it.’

      ‘And?’ Cynehild crossed her arms. ‘How does that get us any closer to obtaining Leofwine’s freedom?’

      ‘The prisoners can’t be moved yet without risking their health, but the brooches can go to the summer gathering where the Mercian nobles and the leaders of the Northmen are discussing the treaty. Our new King, once the nobles confirm who he is, can send a guard.’

      ‘Our new King will send guards?’

      After the Battle of Ashdown the old Mercian King had fled the country. Part of the gathering was to confirm who would rule in his stead—either a new king or perhaps merely a lord until the King and his family could return. ‘Why not? Or we can hire them there, having taken his advice. Sell the prisoners’ weapons.’

      The silence which punctuated her announcement only ended when Wulfgar grabbed the bowl of porridge from Cynehild’s hand and poured it on top of one of the wolfhounds.

      ‘Who is going to look after the prisoners for the time it will take you to get to court, arrange for the guards and return?’ Cynehild asked. ‘Owain and the stable lads are liable to forget to do something vital and let the men escape.’

      Unfortunately, what Cynehild said made a certain amount of sense. After earlier, she could not trust Owain or the swineherd to look after the prisoners properly for any long period. ‘A tiny insignificant detail which can be solved later.’

      ‘Not a tiny detail, Ansithe, but an insurmountable obstacle. If the prisoners escape before you return, I will never see my Leofwine again. And I do so want to see him.’ Cynehild put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

      ‘You have the wolfhounds as a deterrent,’ Ansithe offered.

      Cynehild pointed to where they were examining the floor in search of more porridge. ‘They’d sooner lick a Northman to death than bite him. It is why you put them in hiding with Ecgbert, Wulfgar and the maids, remember.’

      The elder of the two wolfhounds sighed and covered her nose with her paw.

      Ansithe made a face. ‘The Northmen don’t know that and I put the dogs away because they were my last line of defence.’

      ‘You are needed here—not traipsing across the countryside, having an adventure.’

      ‘One of us needs to go. It is the only way to be certain that the brooches are delivered to the right person and we don’t get cheated,’ Ansithe insisted.

      ‘I refuse to be parted from Wulfgar. He’s teething and he is always such a poor traveller.’ Cynehild cuddled a squirming Wulfgar closer to her chest. ‘You can have no comprehension of what a trial it was when we had to make our way here. This time I would not be able to lean on Leofwine.’

      ‘Are you seriously suggesting that I go on bended knee to Cedric? He wants to cheat us, Cynehild.’

      ‘I will go.’ Elene’s gentle voice resounded in the hall. ‘I can do it. I can take the brooches and the weapons to court.’

      ‘You are too young,’ Cynehild snapped. ‘I’d no sooner send you than send my baby boy on his own.’

      ‘You need to stop thinking of me as the baby sister. I am older than you and Ansithe both were when you were married.’ Elene’s mouth became mutinous. ‘I should have been married by now with a great estate of my own