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It was a good two-days journey to the shelter of the Priory church of St John’s which had been rebuilt on land that overlooked the river outside the walls of the old Roman city known as Chester. Father Gregory had already returned to his duties there and had promised them warm benches and food when they arrived. The expectation of Mass that could be taken with him before heading into the dark forests that lay between the safety of the old walls and the dangers of the northmen was a welcome one.

The first part of the journey north was relatively easy. The road from Shrewsbury to Chester was well known and well trodden and the weather was kind to them: the wind was not too fierce and the clouds kept the rain to themselves, as if God himself was blessing their undertaking. The men chatted and laughed. They were still in Mercian territory with few problems to worry about. They were far enough away from the Welsh and from the major rivers to fear attack from those sources and a big enough party to keep outlaws at bay. The dogs took to running into the woods to scare up game, and the men brought down a fine deer, which was quickly butchered to provide trail meat, the dogs enjoying the scraps and entrails and the birds getting their share as well.

William enjoyed the camaraderie around him, it felt like he was home, he kept expecting to see Xander or Connor on one of the mounts but it was Godwin’s face that appeared under the iron helm. William spent the time thinking planning his actions. It was necessary for him to appear strong so that Ingimund wouldn’t take advantage of the situation, but he needed to appear concilliatory as well. He really wanted this peace to work, for very selfish reasons. It would mean he would never have to lift his sword in anger against Buffy’s kin, and even if he could never see her again he would have kept faith with his promises in his heart.

The first night on the road saw William and Godwin stop the train at a large farm in the area known as Wem. The farmer made the party more than welcome: he had a warm fire and his wife fed them a good, wholesome rich stew and fresh baked bread, straight from her oven. The butter was a rich, golden colour and had kept well over the winter. It reminded William of the hall he had spent the previous year in: warm, cosy even. They were all well fed, and the beer was tasty and brewed to perfection; their horses having had good oats to eat and been given a rub down, were soon enjoying the warmth of the stable. William and Godwin sat talking with the farmer long into the night until not so subtle hints were dropped that the cover needed to go onto the fire. The men acquiesced with humour and William wrapped himself up in his cloak and bedded down with the rest of the troop, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the dying embers. He tossed and turned for a while, still thinking hard about how to approach Ingimund and the northmen. He hoped they remembered him from the year before, but he had only been with them a couple of days and Ingimund had been more concerned with news of his relatives than with a Saxon prisoner who was going home to his own people. William spent his waking moments trying to drag from his memory all the customs and manners that were held important by Buffy’s people. He knew Connor and Eirik valued trade, and Ingimund had said that he did too. The offer he carried was a good one. He only hoped he had a chance to deliver it properly without making a fool of himself or Athelred. He had to succeed, so much relied upon it and him.

The next evening saw the men trotting over the flood plain to the town below them. The old Roman walls had stood the test of time, standing proud over the city and guarding the river. The men watched as the tidal bore raced passed the walls and on up the river. This river could and would take the sea going ships the Northmen loved so much. They turned their horses towards the church that had been rebuilt in the last year. They could hear the bell summoning everyone to evening prayer, its solid tolls reminding William strongly of his time at Lindisfarne.

The Gateman was waiting for them as they dismounted from their tired horses and handed the reins over to the stable lads. Godwin and William unpacked the gifts and kept them close. They were responsible for their safe delivery. Honour demanded. Father Gregory had put aside a small hall for their use and they were grateful to see a fire burning well on the fireplace. A pottery vessel stood close by it with warm fish stew heating in the embers that were piled around it. There was fresh bread and jugs of ale on a table by the wall. All William could see were the sleeping areas, he desperately needed to sleep and he longed to take advantage of the mattress that was waiting for him. He was, however, fully aware that as the King’s Messenger he would have to make nice with the Prior and nobles waiting for him in the Priory refrectory.

The Prior sat amongst his clergy and watched as the men from The Mercian Court entered and took places on the benches. He was studying the young lord, gauging his responses to everything that was being said to him, and his attitude to his peers. He might be capable of bring some sort of peace to the area but the churchman doubted it, he couldn’t believe in his heart of hearts that the Northmen could ever change. He had believed they were devils for so long, but now the King thought there was a chance; he would however demand certain conditions, have requirements to meet just like anyone else.

After Mass the next morning William sat quietly with Prior Gregory in his chamber. William gratefully accepted the glass of wine as he watched the play of light through the horn window. He never thought that he would be an honoured guest in such a room, it made him smile to himself and he turned his attention back to the holy man.

‘We need reassurances that they won’t just raid the church, we’ve all heard stories about what can happen. Lindisfarne has been attacked so often…’

‘I know, that’s how I was taken north originally. I spent three years in the scriptorium there before I was transported as a hostage: I spent nearly a year with them.’

‘I never knew… and yet after living with them you still think there is a chance for peace?’
‘Perhaps it’s because I did live with them, but what I saw was an honourable people, very different from us, but honourable nonetheless. They have laws which they abide by, and a Witan, they call it The Thing. They even allow women to speak there.’

‘Surely women can’t understand politics and law?’

William laughed. ‘Would you say that out loud to the Lady Athelflaed? Because I wouldn’t!’

The priest had the decency to look abashed. ‘Maybe not, but surely all the women you met weren’t as clever as our lady?’

‘No they weren’t, she truly is an exception; but the northmen don’t automatically assume a lack of intellect, in fact they wanted women to speak. They said that they view the world differently from men and that difference was what made the Witan strong.’

‘I suppose I could concede that, but I can’t allow pagan practises inside the city.’

‘There is no need. I know that some of them follow ‘The White Christ’ as they call Our Lord, and are willing to undertake baptism and conversion to the true faith. The proposal is that a small group of them will start a settlement and market down by the river, outside the walls and away from the Watergate; we could insist that they have to be of the True Faith, and allow them to have a second market at the great beach at Meols for those that aren’t. It would bring revenue into the city.’

‘You have a wise head, young man,’ Father Gregory said as he refilled the wine cups.

‘I’m just doing what I have to.’

‘What makes you try so hard? Building a fortune so you can take a wife?’

‘I was a wimp, the youngest and smallest of my mother’s sons.’

‘So you fight to make a name for yourself, and to remove the shadow of your siblings.’

‘No, I work to be the man a certain Lady knew I could be, and I will undertake any task I need to fulfil my vow to her.’





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