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had yesterday. The loss of Herd left a hollow place right up under her breastbone. She was cast out into
the world, without a destiny, without a place of comfort, no connection to the gods or anyone who cared
for her.
With a start, she realized the truth of that. Alfred did not truly care for her. He had put her in the way of
battle with her child, even knowing the child was his! They might have been killed, by Danes or by
Osrick. They very nearly were killed and all for Alfred's destiny, his ambition. He did not love her. She
reached instinctively for First Mare's warm hide. She had never wanted his love, she told herself fiercely.
She had wanted his seed, and she had that.
But that had been when she knew who she was. Back then, she'd been her mother's daughter. Now all
was lost. She had betrayed her mother, betrayed the only destiny she understood in search of& of what?
She straightened on First Mare's back. Not Alfred's love. Not that.
Val stood with hands clasped behind him at Guthrum's side. His translations gave him precedence even
over Ragnor, Guthrum's son. Both he and Egill galled the heir. But all Vikings were galled today.
Guthrum might bend to practicality, but he still considered it a day of shame. He would be baptized in the
Christ cult, along with his men. Guthrum did not care that he gave up Odin and Thor and Baldur and Loki
but that he renounced his dream of ruling the whole island.
Val translated Pony's welcome and Alfred's words of brotherhood. Chippenham was lost to him now. It
sat on Alfred's side of the line they had drawn on the map. Val would return to the east with Guthrum,
but he did not know if he would have a place there. That land was already parceled out. What use was
his skill treating with enemies or fighting when there were no lands to conquer? How could he prove his
value to Guthrum now?
"Guthrum," Alfred said solemnly. "I call on you to swear by your old gods, your allegiance to the new."
Guthrum took a breath, then glanced once at Egill, who nodded. "By the one wise eye of Odin, by the
tricks of Loki, by the tears of Baldur, do I embrace Jesu and his father. May the Hammer of Thor strike
me dead if I betray them."
How strange a pronouncement of loyalty, Pony thought. But Alfred was a crafty king. The swearing by
the old gods had been carefully negotiated.
Guthrum loosed his cloak and walked into the water, the first to be dunked. "Holy father," Elbert began.
He pushed the Konnungr's head under the water.
Karn had already declared that he would not be dunked; he would not be disloyal to his gods. Val
looked at him now in wonder. Karn watched, stone-faced, as his king betrayed something he himself
would not. Karn's loyalty to Guthrum's decisions was only as strong as his belief in their rectitude. But the
real wonder was that Guthrum accepted it. The Konnungr had only nodded, and told the gathered
Danes that any might follow Karn's lead.
The Viking leader came up sputtering. A very unsolemn cheer went up around the edge of the stream.
Alfred waded into the water and clapped Guthrum on the back. "My brother in Christ!" he said. Guthrum
did not need translation.
"Ja," Guthrum said, dripping. "Broder in vaather."
"Water?" Alfred asked, then burst into a series of chuckles. "Aye, brothers in water." Laughter rolled
over the assembled host.
Val did not join in. Egill strode into the water with a purpose bom of long hours of bargaining. Egill took
the dunking to seal their agreement, no more, not because he believed. But it was Karn's decision that
disturbed Val. This day had brought a clear choice: to be disloyal to one's gods or to one's king. One
could not have it both ways. For Kara, his gods had come before his king.
What did Val believe? Ah, there was the trap. For the Kristr cult was seductive, A god who forgave
you? An afterlife that promised more than endless battles and feasting and whoring? It promised the
renewal of a man's spirit. It was a richer way, this Kristr cult. But it was also meant for the weak, men
who could not live with their deeds, who needed forgiveness, whose souls were not courageous enough
to battle on, even until the certain destruction of Ragnorok.
He could not truly embrace such a religion. Forgiveness was not for him. Pony had showed that to him
clearly three weeks ago, on the rise at Eddington, her face disfigured with revulsion for his crime. Still, the
ways of the old religion had grown stale. Valhalla was no enticement for him. The gods, if they existed,
were indifferent. Why should he not be indifferent, too?
Elbert motioned to him, smiling, so Val waded into the stream. It didn't matter. If neither religion called to
him, he might as well choose loyalty to Guthrum. The water was cold around his thighs. He pushed on as
it chilled his genitals and caressed his waist. The little priest called Asser stood in the river to his chest.
Under his chin, he held a book bound with leather. Val could see the thin sheets of sheep's hide tanned
almost to translucency covered with the strange and complicated curving runes of the Saxon church. "In
nomini Patri, spiritu sanctu " the little monk read as Elbert pushed Val's head down. Val felt the cold
water penetrate his ears, his eyes. Elbert kept his head under water as they finished their prayer. Just
when his lungs had started to protest, Val felt the hand removed from his head and he surged up, gasping.
As the water drained away, his eyes came to rest on Pony, sitting on her pregnant mare, a picture of
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