by H A CULLEY
It wasn’t until much later that I heard the full story from Bleddyn; all I heard at the time was contained in a somewhat terse letter from Archbishop Ecgbert, saying that Oswulf had been assassinated on the night of the twenty fourth of July whilst he was staying with a thegn at Wicstun, on the site of the old Roman camp of Delgovicia. He asked me, as hereræswa, to join him at Loidis so that we could rule the kingdom jointly until the Witan could be summoned to appoint Oswine as the new king.
I smiled grimly at that. I knew that Oswine was currently in Wessex arranging his marriage to a daughter of King Cuthred. What I didn’t know then was that Cuthred had died just before Oswulf was murdered and his successor, a distant cousin called Sigebehrt, had been elected to succeed him against significant opposition. Sigebehrt was destined to rule for less than a year, not that it mattered to Oswine. He had set out to return by sea immediately after Cuthred’s death. Marriage was now the least of his priorities, particularly to the daughter of a dead king.
Although I wasn’t aware of this at the time, I was determined to get Æthelwold Moll elected and crowned as soon as possible. The longer we delayed the more time we allowed other candidates to canvas support, especially Ecgbert on behalf of Oswine. There was also Oswulf’s son, Ælfwald, although he was still a young boy.
Accordingly I sent out messengers calling the Witan to meet at Durham on the seventh of August, just two weeks after Oswulf’s death, and wrote to Ecgbert informing him of what I had done and to the Ealdorman of Durham asking him to host and preside. I was acting well outside my powers as hereræswa but speed was of the essence. The next day I set out for Loidis to comply with Ecgbert’s summons, expecting a difficult meeting.
To say that Ecgbert was furious with me would be an understatement. Obviously he’d wanted to hold the meeting at Loidis, chaired by him, after Oswine had returned. He yelled and swore at me, calling me a traitor and worse.
‘When you have quite finished, archbishop, I think you should calm down and listen to what I have to say,’ I told him when he stopped his tirade for a moment to draw breath.
‘How can you explain what you’ve done,’ he sneered. ‘You have deliberately undermined my authority and evidently want to prevent Oswine taking the throne that is rightfully his.’
‘There is no right about it,’ I replied sharply. ‘Oswine is merely one ætheling amongst others. His claim stems from his descent from Ida, who was King of Bernicia, not Northumbria. The only true æthelings are those of the House of Æthelfrith, and there is only one of those left alive - Æthelwold Moll.’
‘That’s merely a rumour,’ he scoffed. ‘There is no proof that King Osred was his father.’
I didn’t reply but handed him a scroll.
‘What’s this?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Read it, Ecgbert, and then tell me it’s a rumour.’
He gave me a long hard look, then unfurled the document and scanned it. His expression at first was dismissive, then he frowned and read it more carefully, his face paling as he did so.
‘I see. And the veracity of this statement was sworn on holy relics?’
‘His mother came to Bebbanburg to swear it on the arm of Saint Oswald, witnessed, as you can see, by my grandfather and by Eadfrith, the then Bishop of Lindisfarne. However, they agreed to keep the document secret unless it became necessary to reveal it. All involved were anxious to preserve the good name of Æthelwold’s mother if at all possible.’
‘I assume that she’s now dead?’
‘Unfortunately; she died the year after signing the document.’
The archbishop peered at the two seals hanging from ribbons attached to the piece of vellum. One seal was the wolf’s head used by my family and the other the Celtic cross symbol used by the Bishops of Lindisfarne since the time of Saint Aidan.
‘Then I agree that Æthelwold Moll is entitled to be considered alongside Oswine.’
‘Set aside your family interests, Ecgbert. You and I know that Æthelwold will make a far better king than that callow youth, Oswine. He’s a proven warrior and an experienced ealdorman as well as being something of a scholar in his own right. Oswine likes to get drunk and bed women. Even his brother didn’t deem him fit to become an ealdorman when vacancies arose. Instead he appointed his cronies.’
‘He is still the son of King Eadbehrt,’ he stubbornly maintained.
‘Who was deposed for incompetence, hardly much of a recommendation is it?’
‘Very well, but the Witan must be postponed until Oswine can be present.’
‘That will hardly please all those who have already set out for Durham,’ I pointed out. ‘Surely, as his uncle, you can stand as proxy for Oswine and present his case?’
Ecgbert scowled, then nodded, all signs of his previous fury having dissipated. He waved a hand in dismissal and I left him to his thoughts.
Chapter Seven - Æthelwold Moll
759 to 764 AD
I had never been to Durham before. It consisted of a relatively small settlement perched on top of a steep hill above the River Wear. The whole place was surrounded by one palisade with another inside the first to defend the ealdorman’s hall. Beside it lay a timber church surrounded by huts within a thorn fence. This was the monastery of Durham, which was part of the diocese of Lindisfarne.
Although not as impregnable as Bebbanburg, it would certainly be difficult to attack. My first task was to talk to the ealdorman and the abbot and, hopefully, enlist them to support Æthelwold. My initial conversation with Ingwald, the ealdorman, was not promising.
‘What the devil do you mean by calling the Witan to meet here without consulting me first?’ he asked me, eyes blazing, as soon as I rode in through the gates of the compound surrounding his hall.
‘Didn’t you get my message?’ I replied coolly, sitting on my horse and looking down at him.
‘The message telling me that I was hosting the Witan? Who do you think you are, the king?’
‘No, the message before that asking you if you would mind hosting the Witan here. I asked you to let me know if you weren’t prepared to do it.’
‘No, there was no message,’ Ingwald replied, clearly puzzled.
I was lying of course; there hadn’t been time for that sort of nicety. However, it put him on the back foot and took the heat out of the situation.
‘Then I can only apologise. I am concerned about what happened to the messenger though. Well, we’re here now and the rest of the ealdormen, the bishops and the abbots will be on their way so it’s too late to change the venue.’
I dismounted and, still grumbling under his breath, my unwilling host led me inside his hall.
The rest drifted in the following day and the morning after that the Witan met. Ecgbert had asked our host to delay the meeting but, as Ingwald was having to pay for the food and drink we were consuming, he firmly refused the archbishop’s request.
Ingwald called the meeting to order and asked those who wished to be considered as candidates for the vacant throne to stand. Æthelwold Moll went to rise but Alchred beat him to it. Ecgbert also got to his feet and said that he was representing Oswine who was still on his way to Durham and also Ælfwold, the son of the late King Oswulf.
‘But Ælfwold is still an infant. You’re surely not suggesting that he could take the throne?’ Bishop Cynewulf asked.
‘That is for the Witan to decide. He is the son of the last king and should at least be considered,’ Ecgbert replied somewhat frostily.
There was no love lost between them. Lindisfarne had been the seat of the bishops of Northumbria since Saint Aidan’s time and we in the north resented the primacy of Eoforwīc dating from when the original single diocese was divided into three. Now, of course, there were four sees with the addition of Whithorn on the north coast of the Solway Firth.
‘Very well, it seems we have four candidates. Archbishop, perhaps you would start by outlining the cases for Oswine and Ælfwold?’
‘Very well, Oswine is the broth
er of our late lamented King Oswulf,’ he began.
‘Not lamented by me,’ one of the ealdormen called out.
That brought a smile to several faces and a murmur of agreement. Ecgbert glared at the man who had interrupted before continuing.
‘It is customary not to comment when candidates are stating their case. It is not only bad manners but it is unfair.’ He paused before continuing. ‘He is a man of excellent character and would make an exceptional king. As to Ælfwold, I agree that, at two years of age, he wouldn’t be able to rule on his own for at least twelve more years. However, I would be more than happy to act as regent and bring him up to be a true Christian king.’
‘Thank you, archbishop. Ealdorman Alchred, would you state your case please?’
‘I’m not only married to the daughter of King Eadbehrt but I’m an ætheling in my own right, being descended from King Ida via his son Eadric. I am young, not something that Æthelwold Moll can claim, so you can look forward to a long and prosperous period with me as king. However, I’m not so young that I’m inexperienced. I have ruled my shire for several years and I’m a proficient warrior. In that regard, I have a distinct advantage over Oswine who, at twenty, has scarcely managed to grow any hair, except on his head.’
That raised a chuckle. Most men remained clean shaven or grew a moustache in adulthood - few grew beards - but Oswine was notorious for only having a few wisps of hair in his armpits as yet. His gesith had presented him with a shaving knife as a jest on his eighteenth birthday and he’d flown into a rage.
When he sat down to some muted applause, Æthelwold got to his feet.
‘You all know me. I’m no callow youth, as Alchred so kindly pointed out, but neither am I yet in my dotage. Yes, I’m in my late forties as is Ealdorman Ulfric of Bebbanburg, but no one would regard him as old; neither am I. The other æthelings are descended from Ida but he was King of Bernicia, not of Northumbria. I’m not proud of my father - in fact I’ve always detested him. King Osred was not a man a son could regard with any respect. However, he was descended from Æthelfrith, the first King of a united Northumbria. I therefore hold that, despite being born a bastard, I have a better claim than any descended from other branches of Ida’s family.
‘Alchred had been an ealdorman but a short time and his only experience of warfare, as far as I’m aware, was being shut in Loidis whilst the Mercians besieged it. He is therefore something of an unknown quantity as far as being a ruler and a military leader is concerned. As for Oswine and Ælfwold, I don’t think I need to repeat what Alchred has already said. In any case, they are not here to speak for themselves and to answer any questions you might have so I suggest that they should be eliminated by default. If you choose me I promise I will rule Northumbria justly and fairly and, if necessary, defend it by diplomacy and by force when needed.’
The applause that greeted this speech left the result in little doubt but the Witan was invited to question the candidates. The only question came from the new Ealdorman of Catterick, one of Oswine’s toadies.
‘You say you are the son of Osred, son of Aldfrith, son of Oswiu, son of Æthelfrith, but what proof do we have that this is true?’
‘Perhaps I can help with that,’ my father said, getting to his feet. ‘I was on Lindisfarne when my father, Swefred, told Æthelwold of his parentage. I wasn’t actually present when my father told him, but he was very upset to learn how he was conceived. He was my foster brother and we were very close, so it was natural for him to confide in me.’
‘But how do we know that what Swefred told him was true?’ the man who had queried Æthelwold’s claim persisted.
Cynewulf sighed as he stood and beckoned one of his monks who had been standing at the back of the hall. The man gave him a leather pouch and then withdrew again.
‘I was hoping to avoid this but it seems that, as Ulfric’s word is being questioned, I have little option. This is the written statement from the Abbess of Coldingham concerning the deathbed confession of Æthelwold’s mother. She very nearly carried her secret to the grave but decided to confide in the abbess at the last moment. She in turn wrote down what she was told and entrusted it to my care the month before she herself died.
‘I don’t propose to read the statement as that would break the seal of the confessional, but I will tell you the essence of what it says. King Osred raped a novice whilst he was staying at Whitby and she became pregnant.
‘I am told that subsequently the novice was sent to Bebbanburg to give birth and the child was fostered by Ealdorman Swefred and his wife Kendra, who had given birth to Ulfric at around the same time. The novice entered Coldingham monastery and stayed there as a nun for the rest of her life. Her son was baptised Æthelwold, later being given the nickname Moll.’
He sat down to stunned silence. Everyone avoided looking at Æthelwold. There was no shame in bastardy - King Aldfrith, Oswiu’s eldest son, had been a bastard – but being conceived through rape was a different matter.
‘I hope that the Ealdorman of Catterick is now satisfied, having caused my good name to be dragged through the mire,’ Æthelwold said bitterly, fixing the man with a venomous stare. ‘What you have been told is true, but it must never be repeated outside this hall. If I am elected as your king I shall require all of you to swear an oath to that effect.’
‘It shouldn’t have been necessary to make my brother bishop reveal the circumstances of Æthelwold’s birth,’ the archbishop said in the silence that had descended on the hall. ‘Ealdorman Ulfric’s word should have been sufficient. I accept Moll as a member of the House of Æthelfrith.’
The result was a foregone conclusion after that and Æthelwold was crowned as king. Crowning was a new ceremony as far as Northumbria was concerned. Previously kings had been anointed by a bishop, but the placing of a gold circlet on his head was something practiced on the Continent that had been adopted in Wessex and Mercia some time ago. Now it had reached Northumbria too.
I didn’t fancy the Ealdorman of Catterick’s chances of keeping his shire for long but, as it turned out, the king didn’t have to do anything. The man fled to Ireland with his family a few days after his return from Durham.
~~~
One of the first things the new king did was to return Bleddyn to me. As I’d promised I freed him and he returned to his duties serving Octa and Uuffa. They were delighted to see him back as his temporary replacement, a miserable old man from Frisia, had refused to play with them or do anything other than the duties required of a slave.
‘Well, what happened?’
‘Happened, lord?’ he replied, looking at me with his innocent brown eyes and a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
I had sent for him as soon as the boys were in bed the first night after his return. Both Hilda and I were eager to know how he had managed to kill Oswulf without being detected.
‘Yes, don’t play games with me Bleddyn. You know what I’m talking about.’
‘No, lord. I apologise,’ he said, not looking the least bit sorry for teasing us. ‘Well, it took time but in the end it was easier than I thought. As you know, I became a slave in the king’s household. Because I had been the body servant to your sons, I was given to the reeve of the king’s hall to serve his ten year old son, a vindictive pint-size brat called Godric. He looked for any small excuse to beat me. I nearly ruined my mission by killing the little bastard, but I bided my time and eventually I was moved to serve the captain of the king’s gesith.
‘His body servant had died suddenly and, as it was just before Oswulf’s tour of his Deiran shires, he needed someone in a hurry. I was therefore loaned to him despite Godric’s protests that he couldn’t do without me. I went out of my way to please my new master and my efforts were rewarded. After a while he gave me my own horse so I could ride behind him instead of travelling in the baggage carts.
‘However, I couldn’t get near the king, not until we reached Wicstun. There was nowhere else nearby to stay so the king had to make do with
the thegn’s hovel of a hall. It was poorly constructed: the wind howled through the gaps in the wall planking and the roof leaked. In consequence the beaten earth floor developed mud patches under the strewn straw covering it.
‘It had rained heavily during the day and I was given my master’s clothing and cloak to dry by the fire. There were others trying to get near the central hearth but the king’s body servant took priority and he invited me to share the space with him. I think he rather fancied me,’ Bleddyn added coyly.
That startled me. Of course, I’d heard tales of monks seeking solace with each other and one had even been executed at Lindisfarne for raping a novice many years ago, but the idea still shocked me.
‘Anyway, when the clothes were dry I offered to take the king’s clothes back to him. Of course, he had a spare set which he had changed into and there was no-one in the thegn’s chamber, which the king had taken over. I laid the clothes on his travelling coffer and was about to leave when the king came in and looked at me suspiciously. I explained who I was and what I was doing there and he muttered about his servant being a lazy sod, then told me to take his boots off. Whilst I did so he took off his jewel encrusted belt and threw it on top of his clean clothes on the coffer.
‘He lay down on the bed and went to sleep, snoring softly. Of course, it was the chance I was waiting for so I put down the boots and quietly drew his dagger from its sheath. I put my hand over his mouth and drew the sharp blade across his neck, severing both carotid arteries. I stepped back to avoid the spurt of blood but it stopped almost instantly as he died. I was tempted to steal the jewelled belt but its possession would have identified me as the murderer. Only the body servant knew I could have killed the king so I went and found him and suggested we went for a chat in the stables.