She dreamt of the Vikings making their way through Engla-lond, burning homes and stabbing children, stealing food and pissing on what they didn’t want, taking slaves and killing monks.
She relived the horrendous scene she had witnessed when she was four years old. She hid in a church in Lundenburg when Sweyn Forkbeard and his army attacked the old Roman city. They burned whatever they could, and even in the big stone church the smoke stung Aydith’s eyes and filled her chest with a terrible cough. Then some of them broke in, and one of them stabbed a monk until his sword came out the other side, and he didn’t even stop there. His blade opened the monk wide, and even though Aydith’s maid tried to put a hand over the little girl’s eyes, she still saw everything, spilling onto the church floor.
Then something strange happened in her dream. She grew up suddenly and became Aethelfleda. She married the ealdorman of Mercia and bore him children. But at the same time, she was already ensuring her role as the Lady of Mercia. She did this by advising her husband and signing his documents. People began to call her the Lady of Mercia long before her husband died and she led armies against the pagans.
Next she led a fyrd against Sweyn Forkbeard, even though he had not yet been born in the time of Aethelfleda. He had fought the men of Hampshire, and killed so many noble men, and his Viking warriors ran all about burning and destroying. But she, this new version of Aydith, knew exactly where they were headed next, and knew how to gather an army there that could stop them. But she could not gather the fyrd herself. She would have to tell her husband to do it.
She woke up trembling and covered with sweat, but even as she clutched her sticky blankets, a smile stretched her face.
“Hastings? Hastings!”
She sat up, searching for him in the darkness. Only a few candles remained lit, and the brazier had faded to the dull red glow of its embers. A shadow moved and she turned hopefully, but she only saw one of her dim-witted maids, peering at her with a weary face.
“He was relieved of duty, my lady.”
Aydith plopped back down on her sheets, strangely disappointed, even though Hastings was not the man to which her dream, and thus God, had directed her.
She had no husband, of course, and her father would not listen to her; but she had two older brothers who were in line to take the throne and could make important decisions. She knew without a doubt that God wanted her to keep talking to Aethelstan, just as Aethelfleda had signed her husband’s documents. She would do so more humbly, next time. Just like Aethelfleda, she would provide support to those in power, and they would not even notice what power she obtained for herself, in the meantime. Besides, power was not the point. The point was to save Engla-lond from the pagans.
Her eyes peered heavenward, glittering as if with holy light, even as her eyelids drifted shut once more. “Yes, Lord,” she whispered. “I understand. It is Aethelstan who must gather the armies, and I must help him. I must ...”
Her body slipped from her consciousness, and her mind returned happily to her dreams, which were much more pleasant now than before.