by H A CULLEY
~~~
Gytha writhed in agony. The birth of Œthelwald had been relatively easy, but her second child was proving to be a very different matter. Acha knew what was wrong – it was a breech birth – but all her efforts to turn the baby had failed. Now Gytha was bleeding badly. Subconsciously, Acha felt that Gytha’s death would be no bad thing for her son. She was the daughter of a minor Mercian noble and not a suitable consort for the King of Northumbria. Although it had been eleven years since her husband had been killed and they had fled into exile, she had never given up hope that one day Oswald would rule at Bebbanburg.
The struggles of the baby gradually grew weaker and Acha feared that the umbilical cord had become trapped, depriving the foetus of oxygen. It had been trying to come out bottom first and Gytha wasn’t big enough to allow this to happen without severe tearing of the birth channel. She had already lost a great deal of blood and as Acha and the women helping her couldn’t get the baby out so that they could try and repair the damage, Gytha’s chances of survival were now extremely slim.
Finally they managed to deliver the baby girl, but as Acha had already concluded, she was dead. They did their best to stitch Gytha up, but she was now very weak and continued to bleed, despite the women’s efforts. An hour later, she too died.
Although Acha tried to tell herself that it was God’s will and it left her son free to marry a princess, she knew that he would be devastated and more than likely, he would hold her responsible. If he did, she couldn’t blame him. She had made no secret of the fact that she had disapproved of the marriage and although she had tried her best to get on with Gytha, there was always a gulf between them. Now she would have to act as mother to four-year old Œthelwald, at least until Oswald returned.
At that moment, her eldest son was unconscious again and calling out in delirium as Eochaid changed his mind and the small fleet reversed course and headed for Iona instead of Dùn Add. Informing Domnall Brecc of the disaster in Ulster could wait.
~~~
Aidan and Ròidh were surprised to see three birlinns drawn up on the beach as their ship neared Iona. They could see a body being lowered from the side of one of the birlinns onto a stretcher and then four warriors carried it up to the monastery. Half an hour later the two monks disembarked, to be greeted by Ségéne mac Fiachnaíhe.
‘Brother Aidan, we had given up hope of seeing you again, it’s been so long since we had tidings of you. I am delighted to see you alive and well.’
He paused and looked at the young monk standing by Aidan’s side.
‘I see that you have a new acolyte.’
‘Not new, Father Abbot.’ Aidan smiled. ‘This is Ròidh, a Pictish prince who has been my aide for the past two and a half years. He served his noviciate on the road and at the new monastery at Ceann Phàdraig, where he took his vows.’
‘Welcome to Iona, Ròidh. Do you plan to stay with us now, or will you continue to accompany Aidan when he leaves us again?’
‘I would like to stay here awhile, if I may, Father Abbot, to improve my knowledge of Holy Scripture and to learn new skills. But I wish to accompany Brother Aidan on his next journey, so I’m hoping he’ll stay for some time, too.’
He and Aidan exchanged smiles and Ségéne realised that the two were close friends as well as colleagues.
‘Ròidh has the making of a good healer as well, Father Abbot. I’ve taught him what little I know, but I’m hoping he can spend some time with Brother Brendan as well.’
‘Well, why don’t you go up to the infirmary now? You know Oswald, who they call Whiteblade, of course. He was badly concussed at a battle amongst the Ulaidh and has a nasty swelling on his head.’
‘I’ve seen this before,’ Ròidh told Brendan. ‘It’s not just a bad bruise. We had a wise woman when I was a boy who cut into the head to relieve pressure on the brain of one of our warriors. She kept the cut open until all the muck had drained out. When he recovered, the man was the same as before.’
‘When you were a boy?’ scoffed Brendan’s assistant, a monk who was a year or two older than Ròidh. ‘You still are a boy. What do you know?’
‘An awful lot more than you do, I suspect.’ Ròidh retorted angrily.
The two glared at one another and Aidan sighed. It was unlikely that Ròidh could work with Brendan, given the antipathy between him and the other youth.
‘Brother Judoc, unless you have something useful to contribute, keep quiet,’ Brendan told him with some asperity. The infirmarian also seemed to dislike his new assistant. Perhaps Ròidh’s chances of working with him weren’t hopeless, after all. Brendan bent over Oswald’s head and gently pressed the swelling. It certainly seemed as if there was a lot of liquid under the skin.
‘What were his symptoms when he was conscious? Was he sick? Headaches? Stiff neck?’
Eochaid nodded. ‘Yes, all of those and he seemed confused at times. Oswiu was with him most of the time, so he may be able to answer more fully.’
The boy nodded. ‘One moment he didn’t seem to remember the battle, or even where he was, but the next time he awoke he was totally coherent again.’
‘I think Ròidh may be right in his diagnosis,’ Brendan said thoughtfully. ‘It’s not just a simple case of concussion. Judoc, fetch me that small knife and hold the blade in the flame of that candle to cleanse it, then hold the candle over here so I can see what I’m doing. Aidan, do you remember where the tubes are?’
‘I think so; what do you want?’
‘Any small length will do; a short section of artery from a cow would be ideal.’
Aidan nodded and sorted through a chest full of small square boxes before he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Brendan, who had made a small cut in the skin above the swelling. He pushed the tube in and watched as the pus, blood and muck ran out.
‘Right, all we have to do now is wait until it’s all out. When it heals up, he should be back to normal.’
‘I’ll sit with him,’ Aidan volunteered and Brendan nodded.
‘I want to stay, too,’ Oswiu added.
‘Your brother is in good hands now, Oswiu. Don’t forget you are primarily one of my crew and can’t decide to suddenly desert me.’
‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I am concerned for him.’
‘I understand that. He’s probably my closest friend, as well as your brother, so I’ll be staying for another day or so to make sure he is recovering before we leave. Alright?’
‘I suppose so.’ Then Oswiu realised he was just being petulant. ‘I mean, thank you, Prince Eochaid.’
‘What should I do?’ Ròidh asked.
‘Go and drown yourself,’ Judoc muttered under his breath, but not quietly enough that Brendan didn’t hear him.
‘Brother Judoc, I’m afraid I’ve reached the inescapable conclusion that you are unsuited to the work of an infirmarian. I’ll ask the abbot to find you something more suited to your talents.’
Judoc glared at him and then at Ròidh before storming out. Eochaid and Oswiu followed him, saying that they would be back later to check on Oswald.
‘I wonder why Judoc became a monk,’ Aidan mused. ‘He doesn’t exactly seem to have the temperament for it.’
‘Perhaps you should take him with you when you leave. A year or two as a missionary might teach him to grow up and have some compassion for others,’ Brendan suggested with a smile.
‘I assume that you are in jest, brother. It’s bad enough already, having to put up with this lad.’ Ròidh looked at Aidan in astonishment and then smiled good-naturedly when the other two grinned at his reaction.
~~~
It took Oswald several weeks to recover and build up his strength again. During that time he went for long walks with Aidan and discussed what Christianity meant six hundred years after the death of Jesus. He came to admire Aidan’s selfless dedication to spreading the Word of God to pagans and his austere disregard for the comforts of life.
Eochaid had sailed on with t
he rest of the fleet to Dùn Add, to let Domnall know what had happened in Ulster. Oswiu wasn’t happy at leaving his brother behind and was concerned that it would be some time before he saw him again, but he had a job to do and he got on with it.
After a week at Dùn Add, they sailed back to Arran, where they learned about Gytha’s tragic death. Eochaid didn’t want to have to be the one to tell Oswald, but he knew that his friend would rather hear it from him than from anyone else, so he set out again in a small birlinn with a crew of just twenty, to go and collect Oswald. Oswiu had begged to go with him, but Acha had insisted that he stay with her.
‘It’s time you started your training as a warrior,’ she told him, ‘instead of following Oswald everywhere like a puppy. You’ll stay here until you learn how to fight properly; then perhaps you might have a chance of surviving your first battle.’
‘I’ve already done that!’ he almost yelled at her in his frustration. ‘If it wasn’t for me and Osguid, Oswald would be dead, instead of just injured.’
Acha cuffed him about the head.
‘Osguid’s a priest, not a warrior; you don’t know what you’re talking about. I won’t have my sons telling lies,’ she stormed at him and refused to believe his account of what had happened.
After that, Oswiu refused to speak to her and nothing she tried, neither withholding food nor threatening to beat him, had any effect on him. Both were proud and stubborn people and neither would give in. Oswiu enjoyed the training with the other youths of his age, but he dreaded returning to his mother’s hut every evening and in the end, he moved into the hut with the other trainees.
That had deeply hurt Acha, but instead of trying to heal the deepening rift, she now ignored her son completely. With Offa now a novice on Iona, she had grown closer to her daughter, Æbbe. However, when she started to mention possible suitors to the eleven year old girl, Æbbe astonished her by stating that she had decided to become a nun. It wasn’t what Acha had in mind for her at all and their growing closeness all too quickly turned to confrontation. So instead, Acha focused her affection on Oswald’s son, Œthelwald.
~~~
Oswald could tell that something was badly wrong as soon as he saw Eochaid disembark onto the beach below the monastery.
‘What is it? Has Domnall accepted Congal as King of the Ulaidh?’
‘He has, but that’s not what I have to tell you.’
‘Oh, I see. Is it my mother? I know she is getting on in years now…’
‘Oswald, it’s not Acha; she’s fine. It’s Gytha.’
‘Gytha? Oh yes, the baby must have been born by now -’ His voice trailed away as he saw the desolate look in Eochaid’s eyes.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ he said flatly.
He sat down in the sand and wept. Eochaid tried to comfort him, but Oswald said he wanted to be alone and wandered off to the other side of the small island with just his thoughts for company. He remembered all the happy times Gytha and he had enjoyed and the love that they had shared. He regretted not being together more, but he knew that he wouldn’t have been happy just staying at home. He was a warrior, not a farmer or a fisherman. At one stage he cursed God for taking her from him and then realised that he was being foolish. Death in childbirth was not that uncommon. He did wonder, however, how hard his mother had tried to keep Gytha alive.
He spent the night sleeping in a small beehive-shaped hut built of stone that the monks used when they wanted to be alone to commune with God. He woke the next morning feeling hungry and if not reconciled to his wife’s death, at least ready to face others again.
Eochaid told him what he knew about the stillbirth and said that Œthelwald was now being cared for by Acha. Oswald didn’t reply, but Eochaid could tell that Acha’s care of the little boy would cease as soon as Oswald returned to Arran. Rightly or wrongly, he would blame his mother for not preventing his wife’s death.
‘I need to go to Dùn Add first. I have to confront Domnall over his acceptance of Congal. I mean to lead an army to kill him.’
Eoachaid took him gently by the arm. ‘I don’t think that would be wise, Oswald. It would put Domnall in a difficult position and he could well exile you and your family from Dal Riada. Then what would you do? Don’t forget, you will need his support if you ever have the opportunity to return to Northumbria and seize your father’s throne.’
Oswald was silent for a long time, then his shoulders slumped dejectedly.
‘I suppose you’re right. But how do you feel? That traitor Congal killed your father and took the crown that should by rights be yours.’
‘You know I never wanted the throne – too much responsibility and everyone expects too much of you – but I don’t want my murderous nephew to have it, either. Like you, I’ll have to play a waiting game for now.’
Oswald sighed. ‘Reluctantly, I have to agree with you; but it’s been eleven years already. How much longer can I wait? Edwin seems to get stronger all the time.’
‘You are building a reputation as a warrior and a leader. Men will follow you, but you need to wait for the right opportunity. You’re only twenty three, so time is on your side.’
‘Sage advice, Eochaid, but sometimes it’s hard to do the sensible thing. So, what now? I’ll go back to Arran and visit my wife’s grave, then make proper provision for my son’s upbringing, but what do I do then? Ulster is no longer a possibility and Domnall will want to consolidate his position as High King before he does anything else.’
‘I’m not so sure. He’s talking of recovering the Dal Riadan territory lost in the past fifty years. He wants to conquer the Cowal Peninsula on the other side of Loch Fyne and retake the Isle of Skye from the Picts.’
‘Strathclyde borders Northumbria to the south, so it wouldn’t be sensible for me to antagonise Belin. Skye and the Picts are a different case, though. My half-brother is a Pict and he has a better claim to Northumbria than I do, so they are unlikely to help me. Perhaps I’ll go and visit Fergus after I’ve been home.’
Chapter Eleven – Arran
Autumn 627 to Spring 628 AD
Oswiu was waiting eagerly at the dock in Duilleag Bán na Cille when Eochaid returned with Oswald. Acha had also wanted to be there to greet him, but she was wise enough to realise that her presence would lead to an awkward confrontation in public. She recognised now that her domineering attitude was gradually driving all her children away from her, but she didn’t know what to do to rectify matters. In the end, it was Rònan who resolved an uncomfortable situation.
He had joined the crowd waiting to greet Oswald, but at first he hung back. Then Oswald spotted him. With one arm around Oswiu’s shoulder he made his way towards him and flung his other arm around the shoulders of his former slave.
‘It does my heart good to see my brother and one of my closest friends again. I’ve missed both of you. Tonight we three and Eochaid are going to get uproariously drunk to celebrate my homecoming.’
When he awoke the next morning, Oswald groaned at the pounding in his head and rushed outside to vomit. When he walked back into the hut he wondered where he was, until he saw Rònan asleep across the other side of the hut with a very pretty girl in his arms. A baby lay wrapped in furs near them and a woman, presumably their slave, slept close by with a small child. Evidently Rònan had somehow brought him home last night.
He went down to the river, dunked his head in the saline waters of the river estuary and rinsed the sour taste out of his mouth. Fresh water had to be brought down from the non-tidal part of the river each day and he resolved that one of the first things he would do was to dig a well in the settlement. There had to be underground springs of fresh water somewhere. It would be a good diea to see if there was a water supply under the fortress as well, instead of having to keep the storage tank full.
He started to make his way to his own hut, but then he remembered that Gytha was dead and a wave of sadness washed over him. Eochaid and the body servant he had brought with him from Larne now occup
ied it. His friend had rightly assumed that he wouldn’t want to live there now; there were too many memories. Oswald was certain, however, that Eochaid had said something about building him a new hut, but he didn’t know where it was.
Suddenly a small boy hurtled into him and gripped his legs so tightly that he nearly fell over. He was about to rebuke the boy and push him away when he realised that it was his son, Œthelwald. He picked the little boy up and threw him in the air, swinging him around when he caught him and making the child giggle with delight.
‘You’ll make him sick. He’s just eaten,’ a voice said quietly.
Oswald turned to see Acha standing a few feet away, looking nervous and uncertain.
‘Good morning mother. I was coming to see you; we need to talk.’
His tone was neutral – neither warm nor cold – and Acha couldn’t discern his mood. However, it certainly wasn’t too encouraging, considering the time they’d been apart and his brush with near death. She turned to the slave woman standing behind her.
‘Take Œthelwald back to the hut for now. You can spend time with your father later, child.’
The boy unwillingly took the hand of the woman and walked away with her, looking back over his shoulder at his father and his grandmother. Even at the young age of four, he could sense the tension between the two people he loved most and it worried him.
Oswald was just about to ask his mother what had happened when Gytha had died, when they were joined by a slightly out of breath Rònan. He took Oswald gently by the elbow and steered him away.
‘I need to talk to you, or rather my wife does, before you talk to Acha.’
Oswald was somewhat taken aback. Although they were friends, Rònan had never forgotten that he was once Oswald’s slave and had always treated him with a certain degree of diffidence. However, there was nothing diffident about his insistence that his friend postpone his discussion with his mother for now.