The Vikings and the people of Lindsey had not yet mobilized when King Ethelred attacked with his fyrd.
She was still imprisoned in her chamber when it happened. There was nothing she could do. She awoke to the sound of yelling. She felt heat pour through the wooden walls. She heard horses neighing and blades clashing.
“What’s going on?” cried Alfgifu to Canute’s housecarls. “Go and see, you fools!”
A few of them obeyed her. A few stayed behind, determined to keep constant watch over her.
The acrid smell of smoke bit the air. People screamed. Swords tolled. Light flashed beyond her shuttered windows.
Fear seized her limbs. Her heart fluttered in her ribs, weak and rapid like a butterfly’s wings. Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. She hated fear. She wanted to believe it could not touch her. She wished she could forget how it felt, that day the king’s soldiers barged into her beautiful manor, stabbing the men who had been loyal to her all her life, trying to catch her mother Wulfrun as she ran screaming, then grabbing her brother and throwing him to the floor …
Alfgifu flinched as another scream echoed through the walls. She nearly fainted when the door of the lodge opened, but it was only one of Canute’s housecarls returning. She glimpsed blood splashing in the air before he closed the door behind him.
“It’s Ethelred’s army,” said the housecarl.
“How many soldiers?” gasped Alfgifu.
“A few thousand. Hard to say—they’re pouring in.”
All of the housecarls exchanged uncertain glances. They could not stand idly by doing nothing while they listened to their brethren fight and die around them. After all, they loved battle. It was their life, and their death.
Alfgifu wanted to feel the same way they did. Instead, she felt debilitated. She could hardly believe that Ethelred had worked up the nerve to come here and fight Canute after months of exile from his own kingdom. Had she been wrong to come here? Had it all been for nothing? Would Canute’s forces be demolished, even more quickly than they had been gathered? Would she lose everything—her loyal hearth companions, her estates, her wealth, her dignity—all for a young Viking who would not live up to his father’s legacy?
“Well go on, let’s fight them!” she cried.
Most of them fell for it: they drew their blades and ran from the chamber. But one remained behind, sword drawn, determined to ensure that she did not escape.
So the two of them remained in their dark prison, and he alone witnessed the way she trembled and cowered, unable to face the possibility of defeat. Better to stay here in the haze and darkness, she thought, and let it blind her.