text: Aedwen went down to Exanceaster's western gate to watch the king and the fyrd return. She hadn't really wanted to, but Agnes had begged her to go.
  
  Ever since she had shown the girl some kindness, the novice nun would often seek her out, sneaking into her room long after she was supposed to be asleep. There, hidden beneath the blankets, the two girls would whisper and share their secrets and fears. Agnes was sad most of the time. She missed her brothers and sisters and felt so lonely in the monastery. When she had heard that the king had called the fyrd to arms she had grown certain that her brothers would join the defence of the realm. Her family's steading lay to the southwest and so, as the two were old enough to bear shield and spear, it seemed likely they would join the levies of their hundred and march to stop the Norse and Wéalas force.
  
  She had become convinced that they would either be dead or return in glory, basking in the favour of the king, and so had begged Aedwen to look out for them when the men came back to the city.
  
  Aedwen had pointed out that she did not know what Agnes's brothers looked like and also that they would more than likely have returned to the family farm, as they would pass it on the way back to Exanceaster, but Agnes would hear none of it.
  
  "The abbess does not permit any of us to leave the monastery," she had whispered, her breath hot against Aedwen's cheek in the cool dark of the room. "So you must be my eyes. Twicga looks just like me, but taller, and a boy, of course." Agnes giggled. "Leofwig is broader and shorter and looks more like my father."
  
  When Aedwen had commented that she had no inkling of Agnes's father's appearance, Agnes had waved her hands in annoyance.
  
  "You will recognise Twicga sure enough," she'd said. "We are like two beans from the same husk. And Leofwig will be with him."
  
  Aedwen had been very doubtful she would see the young men, or even that they would enter Exanceaster, but Agnes had been so insistent, that in the end, she had relented and joined the crowds awaiting the fyrd's triumphal homecoming.
  
  It was a warm day and the sun was high in the sky when the mounted nobles and their hearth guards splashed across the wide expanse of the Exe. The people had gathered, awaiting the moment when the tide would make the crossing possible, and now the horses sent up great sheets of spray as the thegns and ealdormen trotted their mounts through the shallow river. They rode up the dry slope and clattered between the stone columns of the gate into the city. The streets were thronged with people. Tidings of Ecgberht's victory over Wessex's enemies had reached Exanceaster two days previously and the town had been abuzz with thankful chatter and bustling with preparations for the fyrd's return.
  
  The smells of cooking and brewing hung over the settlement like a cloud, and now the women who lined the streets held out bread, cakes and pies to the men who had defended their land. Young women smiled and looked through their lashes at the dashing thegns, bedecked in iron-knit shirts, riding proudly in the king's retinue. Many of the warriors returned the smiles of the girls and called out to them suggestions of how they might repay their bravery in battle. Flirtatious laughter rippled amongst the young women.
  
  Aedwen did not understand the attraction of these men. They had the hard faces of the horsemen who had attacked Dunston. They were younger versions of Dunston himself, she thought. Tough, unyielding, dour and steadfast.
  
  These past few days, the old warrior had regained much of his strength. He was able to rise and walk for short distances. He revelled in the fresh air and had taken to walking around the walls with Odin. Each day he managed to go a little further before he grew tired and needed to rest. The abbess had been dismayed at his stubbornness, telling Aedwen that she needed to ensure that Dunston did not overexert himself. One grey drizzled day, Dunston had set out to walk with his dog and the abbess had confronted him.
  
  "Would you undo that which the Lord has repaired?" she had asked. "You will catch cold. If it goes to your chest, then what?"
  
  "Then the Lord will have to heal me again," Dunston had said. The abbess had trembled and it seemed as though the old lady might scream with fury, but Dunston had placed a hand on her shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. His ice-chip blue eyes glinted. "Lady Abbess," he'd said, holding her gaze. "Bebbe. You know that I am indebted to you for healing me. But I will surely die if I am not allowed to feel the fresh wind on my face or the rain in my hair. I will be well."
  
  He had stepped out into the rain, wrapping his cloak about him.
  
  The abbess had wheeled on Aedwen, as if Dunston's behaviour were her fault.
  
  "The man is insufferable!" she hissed. She was flustered and smoothed her habit with nervous strokes of her bony hands. "You must talk sense into him. If he grows sick and dies, I will not be held responsible. But I would not be sorry to see the end of the cantankerous fool."
  
  But Aedwen had noted the frequency of the abbess's visits to check on Dunston. She had seen how the old lady's face lit up when he spoke to her. Once, Aedwen had even heard Bebbe giggling at something Dunston had said, like one of the girls who mooned over the returning thegns. No, Aedwen thought, the abbess would be very sorry if anything were to happen to Dunston. And yet, despite her warnings that he would fall ill once again, Dunston did not cease in his activities, and with each passing day, his strength grew. He would be ready to leave soon, she knew, and a shiver of anxiety ran through her at the thought. She was alone now, and did not know what the future would hold for her. The thought of losing Dunston terrified her. He may be an ill-tempered old man, but he had protected her and had proven himself a man of honour.
  
  Carts and waggons, pulled by oxen and mules, were trundling into the town now. The mood of the crowds altered. These were the wounded; those too badly hurt to ride or walk. The onlookers grew sombre. Many wept at the sight of so many injured men. As the waggons passed, Aedwen glimpsed pallid skin, blood-soaked linen, vacant, staring eyes.
  
  One woman, her eyes dark and cheeks flushed, rushed forward, calling out the name of her man. The carters shook their heads and waved her away. After a moment, another woman pulled her back, away from the wounded. The first woman sobbed, clearly convinced her husband had been slain. Aedwen scanned the faces of the other women gathered there. All were pinched and guarded. Some wept, but most held on to their hope with dignity.
  
  After some time, the fyrdmen, bedraggled, dirt-smeared, wet-legged from their crossing of the river and leaning tiredly on their spears, made their way into the city. Soon the air rang with the happy laughter and joyful weeping of women being reunited with their loved ones. Aedwen watched as the woman who had been inconsolable moments before now laughed with abandon, clinging to an embarrassed-looking man who patted her head awkwardly. Aedwen looked away, suddenly angry with the woman. She had someone to worry about, a man to hold and to fuss over.
  
  Nearby, a plump woman called out to a warrior she clearly recognised.
  
  "Hey, Bumoth. What of Edgar?"
  
  Bumoth's face was ashen and he would not meet the woman's gaze. He looked down at the worn Roman cobbles of the street and shook his head. His meaning was clear, and the woman wailed, her face crumpling in grief as tears washed over her cheeks.
  
  Aedwen turned away. It was too much. She didn't know what she had expected when she came to witness the return of the Wessex fyrd, but she had not been prepared for this outpouring of emotions. She had her own grief and sorrow that weighed on her heavily enough without watching others learn of the deaths of their kin.
  
  Pushing through the crowds, she wandered the shadowed streets, her head teeming with dark thoughts. The sounds of the people at the gate receded and she found much of Exanceaster quiet and strangely peaceful. Most of the populace had gone to welcome the triumphant men home. She gave little thought to where she walked, but after some time, she found her way back to the monastery.
  
  She could hear the sound of singing coming from the chapel and she prayed that Agnes was at Vespers. Aedwen could imagine how she would react when she told the novice she had not seen her brothers. She could not face the girl and her weeping.
  
  Aedwen's stomach growled and she wished she had asked one of the goodwives for a pie or some bread. She could have shared it with Dunston. Perhaps they could find some food and eat together. She would like nothing more now than to sit quietly with the old man and his dog. She felt safe when she was with them. Perhaps the time had come to broach the subject of her future.
  
  But when she arrived at Dunston's small cell, she knew she would find no peace any time soon. Two grim-faced warriors, cloaks and boots still muddy from the road, stood in the room. Their bulk all but filled the space.
  
  "Ah, Aedwen," said Dunston, noticing her. "It is good that you have come."
  
  Aedwen said nothing, but she knew her expression must have been one of anxiety. Her nerves had become as taut as a bowstring.
  
  "It is nothing to fear," the old woodsman said. "The king has returned, victorious from Defnascire. And we are summoned."
  
  "Summoned?"
  
  "To an audience with the king. We are to attend him at the great hall."
  
  The thought of an audience with Ecgberht and his nobles in the grand hall filled her with dread. In the silence, her stomach grumbled noisily.
  
  Dunston smiled.
  
  "I am sure the king will be hungry too after his journey. There will be food in the hall, no doubt. Come, let us go. The sooner we have spoken to the king, the sooner we can be gone from this place."
  
  The warriors led the way out of the cell and Aedwen followed behind Dunston. She knew he was keen to be gone, to return to the forest and his old life. But what of her?
  
  Walking behind the two broad-shouldered guards, she wondered for how much longer she could avoid confronting her next steps.