and from that day on we rode ever deeper into Wessex, carrying the message that the king lived and fought, and some days we met Danish bands, but we only fought if we outnumbered them for we could not afford to lose men.
?lswith gave birth to a daughter whom she and Alfred called ?thelgifu. ?lswith wanted to leave the swamp. She knew that Huppa of Thornsaeta was holding Dornwaraceaster for the Ealdorman had replied to Alfred's letter saying that the town was secure and, as soon as Alfred demanded it, the fyrd of Thornsaeta would march to his aid. Dornwaraceaster was not so large as Cippanhamm, but it had Roman walls and ?lswith was tired of living in the marshes, tired of the endless damp, of the chill mists, and she said her newborn baby would die of the cold, and that Edward's sickness would come back, and Bishop Alewold supported her. He had a vision of a large house in Dornwaraceaster, of warm fires and priestly comfort, but Alfred refused. If he moved to Dornwaraceaster then the Danes would immediately abandon Cippanhamm and besiege Alfred and starvation would soon threaten the garrison, but in the swamp there was food. In Dornwaraceaster Alfred would be a prisoner of the Danes, but in the swamp he was free, and he wrote more letters, telling Wessex he lived, that he grew stronger and that after Easter, but before Pentecost, he would strike the pagans.
It rained that late winter. Rain and more rain. I remember standing on the muddy parapet of the new fort and watching the rain just falling and falling. Mail coats rusted, fabrics rotted and food went mouldy. Our huts fell apart and we had no men skilled in making new ones. We slid and splashed through greasy mud, our clothes were never dry, and still grey swathes of rain marched from the west.
Thatch dripped, huts flooded, the world was sullen.
We ate well enough, though as more men came to ?thelingaeg, the food became scarcer, but no one starved and no one complained except Bishop Alewold who grimaced whenever he saw another fish stew. There were no deer left in the swamp, all had been netted and eaten, but at least we had fish, eels and wildfowl, while outside the swamp, in those areas the Danes had plundered, folk starved.
We practised with our weapons, fought mock battles with staves, watched the hills, and welcomed the messengers who brought news. Burgweard, the fleet commander, wrote from Hamtun saying that the town was garrisoned by Saxons, but that Danish ships were off the coast.
'I don't suppose he's fighting them,' Leofric remarked glumly when he heard that news.
'He doesn't say so,' I said.
'Doesn't want to get his nice ships dirty,' Leofric guessed. 'At least he still has the ships.'
A letter came from a priest in distant Kent saying that Vikings from Lundene had occupied Contwaraburg and others had settled on the Isle of Sceapig, and that the Ealdorman had made his peace with the invaders. News came from Stith Seaxa of more Danish raids, but also a reassurance from Arnulf, Ealdorman of Suth Seaxa, that his fyrd would gather in the spring. He sent a gospel book to Alfred as a token of his loyalty, and for days Alfred carried the book until the rain soaked into the pages and made the ink run. Wiglaf, Ealdorman of Sumorsaete, appeared in early March and brought seventy men. He claimed to have been hiding in the hills south of Barnum and Alfred ignored the rumours which said Wiglaf had been negotiating with Guthrum. All that mattered was that the Ealdorman had come to ?thelingaeg and Alfred gave him command of the troops that continually rode inland to shadow the Danes and to ambush their forage parties. Not all the news was so encouraging.
Wilfrith of Hamptonscir had fled across the water to Frankia, as had a score of other Ealdormen and thegns.
But Odda the Younger, Ealdorman of Defnascir, was still in Wessex. He sent a priest who brought a letter reporting that the Ealdorman was holding Exanceaster. 'God he praised,' the letter read, 'but there are no pagans in the town'.
'So where are they?' Alfred asked the priest. We knew that Svein, despite losing his ships, had not marched to join Guthrum, which suggested he was still skulking in Defnascir.
The priest, a young man who seemed terrified of the king, shrugged, hesitated, then stammered that Svein was close to Exanceaster.
'Close?' the king asked.
'Nearby,' the priest managed to say.
'They besiege the town?' Alfred asked.
'No, lord.'
Alfred read the letter a second time. He always had great faith in the written word and he was trying to find some hint of the truth that had escaped him in the first reading. 'They are not in Exanceaster,' he concluded, 'but the letter does not say where they are. Nor how many they are. Nor what they're doing.'
'They are nearby, lord,' the priest said hopelessly. 'To the west, I think.'
'The west?'
'I think they're to the west.'
'What's to the west?' Alfred asked me.
'The high moor,' I said.
Alfred threw the letter down in disgust. 'Maybe you should go to Defnascir,' he told me, and find out what the pagans are doing.'
'Yes, lord,' I said.
'It will be a chance to discover your wife and child,' Alfred said. There was a sting there. As the winter rains fell the priests hissed their poison into Alfred's ears and he was willing enough to hear their message, which was that the Saxons would only defeat the Danes if God willed it. And God, the priests said, wanted us to be virtuous. And Iseult was a pagan, as was I, and she and I were not married, while I had a wife, and so the accusation was whispered about the swamp that it was Iseult who stood between Alfred and victory. No one said it openly, not then, yet Iseult sensed it. Hild was her protector in those days, because Hild was a nun, a Christian, and a victim of the Danes, but many thought Iseult was corrupting Hild. I pretended to be deaf to the whispers until Alfred's daughter told me of them.
?thelflaed was almost seven and her father's favourite child. ?lswith was fonder of Edward, and in those wet winter days she worried about her son's health and the health of her newborn child, which gave ?thelflaed a deal of freedom. She would stay at her father's side much of the time, but she also wandered about ?thelingaeg where she was spoiled by soldiers and villagers. She was a bright ripple of sunlight in those rain-sodden days. She had golden hair, a sweet face, blue eyes and no fear. One day I found her at the southern fort, watching a dozen Danes who had come to watch us. I told her to go back to ?thelingaeg and she pretended to obey me, but an hour
