797 A.D Winter season.
Judith studied the gate as it slowly opened for their retinue, the heavy wood groaning against its iron hinges. She could hear every sound around her.
Mounted soldiers flanked their carriage at the front and rear.
She rode with her mother and brother, both trying to look brave. Her father is inside with his usual angry face. They sat still, close enough that their sleeves touched.
Meanwhile, the gate continued to open. Inch by inch.
The gap widened. Through it, Judith could see the courtyard beyond. People. Many people. More than she'd expected.
The wheels creaked beneath them as they moved forward.
The banners carried by the men at front snapped sharply in the cold wind. They passed through the gates, and Judith watched the guards standing motionless with their spears and shields, their faces blank and forward-facing.
Beyond the guards, the crowd began.
They lined both sides of the path ahead. Men mostly, but women too. Some had brought children. A boy near the front, maybe seven years old, stood on his toes trying to see over the shoulder of the man in front of him. A woman behind him had her hand on his shoulder, keeping him from pushing forward.
Someone whispered something. Judith couldn't hear the words, only the sound of them, low and sibilant. Another voice joined it. Then another. The whispers spread through the crowd like wind through grass. No one spoke loudly or shouted. Just whispers and murmurs that rose and fell.
Judith's hands were in her lap. She realized she was gripping her own fingers too tightly. She loosened them, but slowly, so no one would notice. Her palms were damp.
Her brother was looking at the crowd too.
He was eleven and trying to sit the way Father sat to look older, back straight and chin up. It made him look younger somehow. She wanted to tell him to relax, but she didn't speak.
The path seemed longer than it should be.
Finally, the chariot slowed then it came to a halt with a jolt that made her grip the wooden side.
For a moment, no one moved. The horses stood. The guards sat on their mounts. The crowd waited.
Judith waited as well.
Then her father stirred. He gathered himself, his shoulders pulling back. He stepped down from the chariot. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud.
And three long blasts shattered the stillness. The sound was enormous, echoing off the stone walls around them, rolling through the courtyard and beyond. Judith felt it in her chest. The traditional greeting for a king. For King Aella of Northumbria.
She watched people's faces as the horns blew. Some remained expressionless. Others showed something—what was it? Not quite contempt, and not quite pity. Something in between.
The horns faded and silence reigned over them.
Her mother moved. She rose from her seat with practiced grace, though Judith felt the slight tremor in the chariot as she did. Her mother reached for Judith's brother, steadying him as he stood. Then she looked at Judith.
Judith stood. Her legs were stiff from the journey. She moved to the edge of the chariot and a guard was there immediately, his hand extended. She took it—his palm was rough and warm—and stepped down. Her feet touched the ground and she released his hand.
She moved to stand beside her mother and brother. Her father was already ahead of them. They formed a line. A family. A royal family. That's what they needed to look like.
Judith looked forward.
And there, on the raised platform ahead, a man stood waiting.
The platform wasn't high, but it was enough. Her father stood at ground level, and the man stood above him. The difference was impossible to ignore. Everyone could see it, and that was the point.
The man didn't move. His posture was perfect—spine straight, shoulders level, head held at just the right place. Not tilted up in arrogance. Not tilted down in false humility. Simply straight.
He wore dark blue. The fabric was rich, almost black in the shadows, brilliant blue where the light hit it. His cloak matched perfectly, held at his shoulders by a gilded clasp worked in some pattern she couldn't make out from this distance. Gold thread ran through the edges of his tunic. More gold at his wrists.
And on his head, the circlet.
It was massive. Heavy gold worked in bands and patterns, studded with stones that caught the light. It made her father's crown look like a practice piece. Like something a child might wear in play.
That was the point too, she realized.
Judith felt her mother's hand land on her shoulder. The touch was gentle but firm. Then her mother reached for her brother's shoulder with her other hand. Holding them both and anchoring them.
Judith turned her head slightly to look at her mother's face.
Her mother was smiling. But the smile was all wrong. Judith could see the effort to hold it there. And she could see what lived behind her eyes.
Terror.
Not the panic of something happening now. This was the terror from last year, from the Northmen, from the raid.
It hadn't left. It couldn't leave. It lived in her now, and the smile had to exist on top of it, and the smile would never look right again.
For they both knew; mother and daughter, nowhere is safe anymore.
Judith looked away for she couldn't watch it anymore.
Her father's voice rang out across the courtyard. "King Ecbert."
He paused, and Judith could hear him breathing, preparing himself. "It is good to see you are still in good health."
He took another pause but shorter this time. "I have travelled from Northumbria so that together, you and I, Wessex and Northumbria, can save our country."
He stopped. Judith watched him reach for his tunic, both hands pressing flat against the dark red fabric over his chest. His fingers spread wide. He looked up at Ecbert on the platform. Then he shouted.
"God save England!"
The words broke from him with desperate force.
The response came immediately from the people around them; from her family, from some of the crowd.
"God save England!"
Judith heard her own voice join in immediately. Her mother's voice. Her brother's voice, cracking slightly on the last word.
But King Ecbert said nothing. He stood on his platform completely still. Looking down at her father. His face showed nothing, not even approval or the opposite. Nothing.
His men stood silent too. Waiting and watching their king.
The heartbeats stretched.
Judith's heart was pounding. She could feel it in her throat, in her wrists, behind her eyes. Her hands were ice cold. The air felt thin. Why wasn't he speaking? Why wasn't anyone moving?
Her father stood below the platform, looking up. Waiting.
The silence expanded. It filled the courtyard. It pressed down on everything.
Then.
"God save England."
Ecbert's voice was calm. He spoke the words as if commenting on the weather. No fervor or passion in his words.
The bishop to his left reacted instantly. "God save England!" he bellowed, his voice booming with the enthusiasm Ecbert's had lacked.
On Ecbert's right, his son stepped forward. "God save England!" he shouted.
And he was looking at Judith.
Directly at her. His eyes found hers across the courtyard and held them. She couldn't look away. She knew what that look meant. He knew too. They both knew what had been decided. What marriage they would make, and the duty they owed. What price would be paid for this alliance.
She forced herself to keep her face still.
The crowd erupted around them. Men raised their weapons—swords, spears, axes—thrusting them toward the sky. Their voices rose together, louder and louder, feeding off each other.
"God save England!"
"God save England!"
"GOD SAVE ENGLAND!"
The sound was enormous now. Louder than it had been for her father, much louder. The enthusiasm was real this time. These men loved their king and they believed in him. The difference was impossible to miss.
Her father stood very still below the platform. He kept smiling but it didn't reach his eyes.
Ecbert finally descended.
He moved without hurry. Down from the platform, across the short distance to where her father waited. He reached him and spread his arms.
The embrace looked genuine. Both men smiled broadly now, as if they were brothers reunited after long separation. As if this meeting was about affection and not survival. As if everything was exactly as it should be.
Around them, the men continued shouting. "God save England!" The words had become rhythm.
They pulled apart. Ecbert gestured toward the villa entrance. Her father nodded. They began walking together, side by side now, though Ecbert somehow still seemed slightly ahead.
Their group followed.
They passed through an arched doorway into the villa proper. The noise from the courtyard faded behind them, muffled by stone walls.
Judith looked around as they walked.
The interior was unlike anything in Northumbria. Art covered the walls—not tapestries, but paintings. Images rendered directly onto plaster. Faces stared out from the walls. Scenes she didn't recognize. Landscapes that looked foreign. The colors were still vivid despite obvious age.
Stone sculptures occupied corners and alcoves. Figures of people, animals, things she couldn't identify. The stone was pale, almost white, worked so smoothly it looked soft to the touch.
A servant was speaking to her brother, his voice low. "...say giants made them, in the old time, before the words of Christ came to these lands."
Her brother's face showed open skepticism. "Giants," he repeated, flat disbelief in his voice.
Judith almost smiled despite everything. Even an eleven-year-old could see through that story. These were made by human hands. Old hands, certainly. Skilled hands. But human. Obviously human.
They turned down a corridor where servants appeared, multiplying as they walked, moving into position to guide them.
"Your rooms are prepared," one of them said, bowing. "This way."
Judith's father stopped walking and Ecbert stopped beside him. Men clustered around them—nobles, advisors, people whose names Judith didn't know. Her father glanced back at his family once, brief and distracted, then turned away.
"We have much to discuss," Ecbert said.
"The Northmen," her father said.
"Among other things."
They walked away together, their group of advisors following, voices already rising in conversation.
Judith watched them go. She knew exactly what they would discuss; the raids, the burned villages and churches, the slaughtered people and the ships that kept coming and the impossibility of fighting them alone and the necessity of this alliance.
The necessity of her marriage.
A servant gestured down a different corridor. "My lady, if you'll follow me."
Her mother's hand was still on her shoulder. It guided her forward and they walked in silence.
-x-X-x-
Aella dipped his hands into the bowl.
The water was warm and clean. A blonde woman held the bowl steady, her arms barely trembling under its weight. She wore white linen, crisp and unstained. She kept her eyes lowered as he washed.
He pulled his hands out and water dripped from his fingers back into the bowl. And another servant was already moving forward with a cloth.
Aella dried his hands slowly. When he finished, he handed it back without looking at the servant.
He turned to the table.
It was covered, completely covered. Roasted meats—venison, boar, fowl. Fresh bread, still warm. Cheeses. Nuts. Preserved fruits. Honey cakes. Wine in silver pitchers. Ecbert had made his point before a single word was spoken.
Aella reached for the grapes. He plucked one from the bunch and placed it in his mouth. It's Sweet and Perfectly ripe. He chewed slowly, then took another.
Ecbert sat near the far end of the table, watching him.
Aella took a third grape. He wasn't hungr, but he wouldn't show that.
"Looking at your past encounters with him, I understand your concern," Ecbert said finally. His voice was careful. "But he is not the only one attacking our shores now. More and more of these Northmen are arriving. Each time one succeeds or is driven back, two more take his place."
Aella stopped chewing. He swallowed, then took another grape but didn't eat it yet.
"He is still the greatest threat," Aella said. Each word filled with anger. "And the greatest disturbance to our world."
He saw Ecbert's posture shift, about to argue.
"I do not think you understand how dangerous is our situation." Aella put the grape down. He stepped closer to the table, both hands pressing flat against the wood.
"He knows our language. Easily enough that he entered Eoforwic—" He paused. Let the name of his greatest city hang there. "The most heavily fortified city in Northumbria. He walked through the gates as if he was taking a stride through a meadow."
Ecbert's expression remained unchanged, yet Aella could see it in his eyes—no matter how hard he tried to hide it—blaming himself for his own failings rather than the Northman's skill.
"Then," Aella continued, his voice dropping lower, "he disguised himself as a monk."
He watched Ecbert's eyes, looking for reaction.
"Do you understand what I'm telling you? A monk. He shaved his head completely. Made himself look like a brother of Christ. And he was called in by the archbishop himself because no one have a tonsure like that. My archbishop. He stood in the presence of holy men and they saw nothing. Nothing."
Aella's hand curled into a fist on the table.
"He earned their trust. He spoke to them. Prayed with them. And the bastard knows Latin better than our own people. Better than priests who've studied scripture their entire lives."
The room was quiet after his outburst.
"We must be prepared for him," Ecbert said in a neutral tone. "That much is clear. I have already taken precautions in case he is bold enough to use the same strategy again."
Aella looked at him directly now. He shook his head, slow and deliberate.
"No. Not prepared." He straightened, pulling his hands from the table. "We must plan and kill him immediately once he returns."
"Once he returns."
"I know he will return!" Aella's voice rose slightly, then he controlled it and brought it back down. "Every time he comes back to our shores, he does so with more men. More ships. It started with just one ship in Lindisfarne. One. Now it's eight. I don't know how many ships and men will come this year."
Ecbert reached up and stroked his beard slowly.
Aella felt his jaw tighten.
"I know what the people whisper behind my back." The words came out bitter. "Aella the coward."
He let Ecbert hear the venom in them.
"But they don't understand. They can't understand until they're in the same situation as me. Until they've seen what I've seen. Until they've had to make the choices I've made."
He moved along the table, not looking at Ecbert now. Looking at the food. At the display of wealth and power.
"And it had already started," Aella continued. "He did the same thing to Ireland and to Scotland by attacking their coasts and burning every place he attacked to the ground. And they paid him, both of them. They paid him silver and gold to not attack their lands and to sail away and raid somewhere else."
He stopped walking now, standing very still.
"Mercia and Wessex are the remaining big kingdoms that haven't paid ransom yet. And they will come for them next, that much I'm sure of."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Aella turned to look at Ecbert, still stroking his beard, but his eyes had sharpened. He was calculating now. Aella could see it.
"That's why we have agreed to marry my son to your daughter. Aethelwulf to your beautiful Judith." Ecbert's voice was calm.
Aella's face stayed neutral as they already spoke about this.
"So that when he comes again, or whoever comes, for that matter, I come to your aid. And you do the same for me."
"An alliance sealed in marriage," Ecbert continued. "Together, we are stronger than either of us alone."
Aella looked at him. At this ambitious king who still had everything Aella was losing. Who still had respect. Reputation. Power. "Together," Aella repeated quietly.
"Together," Ecbert confirmed.
Aella reached for the grapes again. Took one. Placed it in his mouth. It tasted like ash now.
"My daughter," he said slowly, "will marry your son. She will become part of your family. And you will help me kill this Northman when he returns."
"We will face him together, and we will triumph with god on our side surely." Ecbert said. Not quite agreeing or promising what Aella wanted.
"No." Aella's voice was firm now. Final. "Not face him. Kill him. That is the only acceptable outcome. He must die, or we will pay dearly."
Ecbert studied him for a long moment. His hand had stilled on his beard.
"He is just a man. Not even a man, from what you've told me, still a boy." Ecbert said finally.
"He is a demon clothed in flesh. And with him march other lost souls, bound by his evil."
"Then we shall purge him." Ecbert responded coldly.
Aella wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that Wessex's strength combined with Northumbria's could accomplish what Northumbria alone could not.
But he had believed he was safe before. Had believed Eoforwic's walls were impregnable. Had believed his housecarls and his fortifications would be enough.
And then a bald Northman had walked through his gates disguised as a monk and proven him wrong.
"When do you expect him to return?" Ecbert asked.
"Spring or summer," Aella said. "When the seas calm and sailing becomes easier. That's when they always come."
"Then we have months to prepare."
"Months is nothing. He has years of experience now raiding our lands and learning our weaknesses. Years of—"
"Months is enough," Ecbert interrupted gently, "if we use them wisely."
Aella looked at him. At his confidence and his certainty.
He wondered if that certainty would survive contact with the Northmen. If Ecbert would still stand so straight, speak so calmly, after he'd seen what they could do. After he'd seen entire villages put to the torch. After he'd seen warriors cut down like wheat. After he'd seen churches ransacked and holy men murdered on their own altars.
"I hope you're right," Aella said quietly.
Ecbert replied. "And your daughter will be well cared for here. Aethelwulf is a good man. A strong man. She will be safe and honored."
Safe. The word almost made Aella laugh. Where is that? No one was safe, not anymore. Not with the Northmen coming every spring. Not with more ships appearing every year. Not with that demon learning more about them with every raid, speaking their language, reading their books, disguising himself as one of their own.
But he didn't say that. Instead, he nodded.
"When will the wedding take place?"
"Soon," Ecbert said. "There's no reason to delay. The alliance should be formalized quickly."
Aella took another grape. He chewed it slowly, tasting nothing.
"Then we have an agreement," he said.
"We have an agreement," Ecbert confirmed.
They stood there, two kings, one table laden with food between them. Outside, Aella could hear voices. The ordinary sounds of a kingdom functioning as kingdoms should.
For now.
But spring would come. And with it, the ships.
Aella finished his wine in one long swallow and wondered if this alliance would be enough to stop what was coming.
He doubted it.
But he smiled at Ecbert anyway, because that's what kings did. They smiled and made alliances and promised each other things they weren't sure they could deliver.
And they sacrificed their daughters to buy themselves time.