Sceapig, Kingdom of Wessex, 886 AD
Sceapig, Kingdom of Wessex, 886 ADThe blond-haired girl stood with arms crossed in front of the giant Dane. For his part, he admired her pluck.
“Who are you, Lady, with the courage to stand and demand audience before Siegfrid Thurgilsson?” He scrutinised her. She was barely a woman, her slim figure only now beginning to blossom. She had no value in his eyes as a woman, although her face was pretty enough. Nay, by her dress, bearing, and elegant speech, she might be worth her weight in silver.
“I am Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred King of Wessex and wife of Aethelred of Mercia. I have come to beseech a boon of you, great chieftain.”
“And what might that be?” he asked, wincing and cradling his bandaged arm with his good hand.
“You are hurt,” she said,
