by H A CULLEY
~~~
Beagnoth was dead and Bebbanburg was mine once again, but that mattered not at all if it had cost me my son. I rushed to where he lay with the arrow sticking out of his chest. He groaned, so thank the Lord God that he was still alive. I pushed those clustered around him out of the way and knelt by his side.
The arrow had broken the links of his chain mail and had cut through the leather and his clothing, piercing the skin. Thankfully it had been deflected by a rib bone and hadn’t hit his heart or any other vital organs; at least I didn’t think so. He was breathing unevenly and he was unconscious, probably because he had banged his head inside his helmet when he hit the ground.
I got some of my men to carry him carefully into the hall and I followed. Uuffa went to join me but I stopped him.
‘Someone had to take care of the men, make sure the wounded are looked after and take care of the corpses. Our foes can share a common grave but our dead need preparing for a proper burial.’
I looked at the women weeping over Beagnoth’s corpse and those of his men.
‘Let them take care of their dead, then they are to leave this fortress, together with his reeve and servants. I want them all gone by dusk. The slaves stay. Understand?’
‘Yes, father. Will Octa be alright?’
‘I hope so. We’ll pray for his recovery later.’
‘What about the chaplain?’
‘You stayed with him. Is he Beagnoth’s man or can I keep him on?’
‘I don’t think he liked Beagnoth; he was a hard lord and the ceorls and villeins hated him. I think you can trust him.’
‘Very well, he can stay for now. Go and free him. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news about your brother.’
He nodded and hurried away as I went into the hall.
Once the blacksmith had cut through the rings of his byrnie around the wound, the old slave who knew something about healing removed Octa’s clothing to expose the wound. She washed it clean of blood, though it continued to well out of the wound, and then used a sharp knife to cut around the barbed head so that it could be removed. After that she poked around and removed all the bits of cloth and leather she could find, then washed the blood away again. That done she turned to me.
‘It hasn’t done too much damage as far as I can see, lord. However, if I sew the hole up it’ll stretch the skin and the stitches will probably tear out again. I need to cauterise it.’
‘Go ahead, but be careful. I’ve seen men die of shock when the hot iron is applied to a wound.’
‘Your son is unconscious so he shouldn’t feel a thing,’ she said, giving me a smile that exposed her gums and few remaining blackened teeth.
I suppose it was meant to be reassuring but it was more like a horrible leer.
She heated the iron and, whilst men held Octa’s feet and arms just in case, she applied it to the wound. The blood boiled and there was a stench like burnt pork. Octa arched his back and groaned but didn’t wake up. Then it was all over. I went outside to tell Uuffa.
Two days later the burials were over, the signs of fighting had been removed and it was as if I and my family had never left, apart from the absence of Hilda who was still in Paris. Seward had cleared out Beagnoth’s possessions, all except his chests of silver and a small one of gold, and brought my sea chest up from the ships. Octa had regained consciousness and seemed to be recovering. He did nothing but complain, more about his forced inactivity than about the pain he was in, which had to be a good sign.
Æthelred had moved into the king’s hall, a separate building constructed some time ago for royal visits, with Wulfgang and a few other young warriors under training who would be his companions and the nucleus of his gesith. The boy was pleased to have his own hall, but he tried not to show it. After all, if he was going to be a king he’d better start behaving like one.
Meanwhile I had sent messengers out to every ealdorman, bishop and abbot announcing Æthelred’s return and calling for the Witan to meet to formally depose Alchred and elect his replacement. I deliberately didn’t refer to Moll’s son as king or to myself as hereræswa. I wanted the Witan to have the appearance of choice, though only an idiot wouldn’t realise where this was heading.
I had chosen Yeavering as the meeting place. It was within my shire and it was the ancient summer palace of the Kings of Bernicia, so it had symbolism. It also had the advantage that the nearest ealdormen were all supporters of a change in regime. Those from Lothian were definitely in our camp, as were the ealdormen of the two shires on the west coast. I was less certain of the rest of Bernicia but there was a good chance that most could be persuaded to support Æthelred. The one who certainly wouldn’t do so was Sigca of Hexham. Alchred might well have supporters in Deira as well but I hoped that enough of them could be won over.
Beorhtmund was the first to arrive followed by Bishop Cynewulf of Lindisfarne and the Abbot of Melrose. I had brought eighty warriors with me and Beorhtmund had thirty. Slowly more nobles and churchmen arrived. Both Godwyn of Cumbria and Wynstan of Luncæstershire pledged their support for Æthelred as soon as they arrived. Both had good reason to distrust Alchred; in Godwyn’s case it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he hated the man.
Gradually the rest drifted in. The last to arrive were the king and the archbishop. He had brought a small army of a thousand men with him, including the fyrd of Eoforwīc. I had asked Cynewulf to chair the Witan and he immediately asked the king to send the fyrd home. Alchred refused until I asked the ealdormen on whom I could rely to surround the Eoforwīc camp and disarm the fyrd.
The archbishop’s men and the king’s army had slightly greater numbers but the fyrd weren’t minded to fight for Alchred and they had started to desert on the way to Yeavering. That first night the trickle turned into a flood and Alchred was left with fewer armed men that we had.
The day started with the two sides jeering and yelling insults at one another but many of Alchred’s men refused to join in the usual prelude to a fight and that was enough to show the rest in which direction the wind was blowing. An uneasy calm descended on the various armed camps and I asked Cynewulf to take advantage of it and convene the Witan without delay. I had a feeling that, whatever the disparity in numbers, fighting might break out later, especially if the men started to drink, so I was determined to resolve matters before nightfall.
Cynewulf, usually a mild mannered man in my experience, grasped the bull by the horns as soon as everyone was seated in the king’s hall.
‘We are here because Alchred has proved to be an unsatisfactory ruler in the eyes of some of his nobles. In particular Godwyn of Cumbria accuses him of cowardice for not coming to his aid against Eugein of Strathclyde and Wynstan has no confidence that Alchred would support him if Offa of Mercia renews his claim to Luncæstershire.
At this Alchred, who had remained silent up until now, got to his feet.
‘That is a lie, but that should not be the first business on the agenda bishop. There is one here who is an outlaw accused of regicide and now he has foully murdered Beagnoth of Bebbanburg. He must be arrested and held for trial by the Witan, together with his accomplices – his son Uuffa and the boy Æthelred.’
‘Thank you, Alchred, I think we can resolve that matter first, as you say.’
For a moment I wondered whether the bishop was playing some sort of double game but my thoughts were interrupted by Alchred screaming at Cynewulf.
‘You will call me Cyning, Cynewulf, and I want him arrested. I’ll convene the court at which he is to be tried.’
‘I’m sorry, Lord Alchred, but your fitness to be our king is one of the matters we are here to resolve,’ the bishop said calmly. ‘Now please sit down so I may put the matter of whether Ealdorman Seofon is to be arrested to the vote.’
‘He is not an ealdorman, he’s a murderer!’ Alchred screeched at him.
Cynewulf sat there in silence calmly regarding the erstwhile king until Alchred calmed down and realised that he was ma
king a fool of himself. He sat down and glared at the bishop.
‘Thank you. Now please stand if you think Lord Seofon should be arrested.’
Alchred, the archbishop, several of the abbots and three ealdormen got to their feet. All of the latter were Alchred’s appointees. Looking around them, two of the abbots sat down again then the rest did likewise, leaving just five men on their feet.
‘Well, that seems to have resolved that little matter. You may sit down again; the decision of the Witan is that Ealdorman Seofon is not to be tried for murder. Now we proceed to the matter of the arraignment against the king for cowardice and his unsuitability to rule.’
At that Alchred was on his feet again crying treason.
‘Please sit down. You and your supporters will have the opportunity to put your case once we have heard the accusations against you. I will say this though. Your continual interruptions against the conventions under which the meetings of the Witan are held is doing your case no favours. Godwyn, would you like to speak first?’
Wynstan followed Godwyn. Their opinion of Alchred was well known and they had nothing new to add, then Wihtgar of Elmet voiced his concerns about Alchred’s ability to protect his shire from the increasingly powerful Offa of Mercia. Beorhtmund got to his feet next and said much the same thing about the threat from the Picts. The Ealdorman of Selkirk supported him. He too was worried about having the Britons of Strathclyde on his western border and wanted Eugein driven back across the Solway Firth. As expected, the Ealdorman of Berwicshire sided with his fellow Lothian nobles. They didn’t believe that Alchred was likely to act and so he had to be replaced.
Next Cynewulf invited Alchred to respond.
‘War is not the answer,’ he began. ‘That has led to disaster in the past. We need to resolve these problems through negotiations.’
‘What has that achieved so far?’ one of the ealdormen who hadn’t spoken until now called out. ‘Your messenger’s head came back in a basket. Unless we fight for what is ours our foes will think we’re a bunch of cowards.’
There was a growing murmur of agreement with that sentiment and Cynewulf had to bang his fist on the table to restore order.
‘Be quiet! Let the speaker be heard in silence. You can have your say later.’
‘We’ve heard enough. Let’s put it to the vote,’ another called out.
‘No, not yet. We must conduct ourselves in accordance with the rules or people will say the decision of the Witan was invalid.’
That silenced everyone and Alchred was allowed to continue.
‘Would you rather lose your lives in a futile war on the far side of the Pennine Mountains? Northumbria has been at peace under my rule and you have all enjoyed prosperity. Going to war would put all that at risk. The Bible say we should turn the other cheek; I’m not advocating that, but we do need to reach a peaceful compromise. In the previous century Northumbria included Lindsey. It lay south of the Humber and we lost many lives in a futile war to hold it. In the end it became Mercian, where it belonged geographically.’
‘So are you saying we should surrender the shires on the far side of the Pennines and reduce Northumbria to Lothian, Bernicia, Deira and Elmet?’ Godwyn asked incredulously.
‘Perhaps you’d give up Lothian to the Picts too, and consolidate our border on the Twaid?’ Beorhtmund enquired sarcastically, ignoring Cynewulf’s repeated thumping of his fist on the table.
Uproar ensued and I thought for a moment that Alchred might be physically attacked. It didn’t happen though. Archbishop Ethelbert got to his feet and glared at everyone until the uproar subsided.
‘May I, Bishop?’ he asked Cynewulf who waved his hand wearily for him to speak.
‘You are forgetting one thing. Alchred is your crowned king, anointed by me in the name of God the Father, Christ the Son and the Holy Ghost. He cannot be unseated by a mere vote of this assembly. He will still be your king in the sight of the Almighty. Now forget this nonsense and reaffirm your oaths of loyalty to the king.’
He sat down amid a stunned silence. I realised that I was in danger of losing the massive gamble I’d taken, so I looked at Cynewulf for permission to speak. He nodded, looking thoughtful.
‘What the archbishop says is true. However, no king who has lost the confidence of his nobles and his people, as this one has, can continue to be an effective leader. There are therefore two alternative courses of action open to us to resolve this issue. As Ethelbert has so eloquently reminded us, we cannot depose Alchred, but he can abdicate of his own free will.’
‘Why on earth should I do that?’ Alchred asked derisively.
‘Because the other alternative open to us is to kill you.’
The king’s face went white and then red with rage.
‘You would threaten to kill your king. That’s treason!’
‘If you leave me no other option, yes I’ll kill you. Now will you abdicate and go into exile voluntarily?’
‘You wouldn’t dare kill me,’ he blustered.
‘Why not? You already accuse me of organising the killing of King Oswulf?’
‘And may you rot in Hell for it.’
‘If Seofon doesn’t kill you, I will,’ growled Godwyn.
One look around the hall apparently convinced Alchred that there was no shortage of nobles who were prepared to see him die, if that’s what it took to get rid of him.
‘Very well,’ he said, his shoulders slumping. ‘I’ll abdicate.’
Once the deed of abdication was signed, I had the former king escorted to Bebbanburg where he would await his family before leaving on one of my birlinns to wherever he elected to settle. His gesith was disbanded and the other armed warriors who had accompanied him to Yeavering seemed content to accept the Witan’s verdict.
I had thought that Alchred might decide to become a monk, but he chose to flee to the Kingdom of the Picts with his wife and two sons – Osred and Almund. There were those who worried that he would return with an army of Picts, but I wasn’t. The man lacked the backbone to fight for his lost crown. I was more worried that his sons might do just that once they had grown up though. However, they were just small boys at the moment and so I dismissed them. That was a mistake.
However, we were not out of the woods yet. I still had to ensure that Æthelred was elected. The Witan met again the next day to hear the submissions of the candidates and this time I brought Æthelred with me. He was only twelve but you could already see his father in his face.
As captain of his gesith, Wulfgang accompanied him and they made a handsome pair. Both wore their fair hair down below their shoulders and were richly dressed in tunics made from the best wool, trimmed with wolf fur, trousers cut in the Frankish fashion - which was tighter to the leg than the English favoured - and fine brown leather boots. What I hadn’t realised was that seeing them together like that would merely inflame people’s suspicions as to the nature of their association.
By comparison his rivals looked like ceorls. Æthwald was the son of Oswulf, the king that the boy who was then called Bleddyn had killed and therefore the grandson of King Eadbehrt. The other claimant was Sicga, Ealdorman of Hexham and a cousin of Alhred’s. He was one of those who had become a noble during Alhred’s reign, in his case by marrying the only child of the previous ealdorman.
He had no blood ties to the sons of Ida, the first king of Bernicia, although he did to the defunct royal house of Deira. It didn’t take the Witan long to rule that he was no true ætheling, which made the man scowl and mutter imprecations under his breath. I disliked and distrusted him; he was a man who needed to be watched.
Æthwald was the next on his feet. As he was descended from two kings he had a good claim but he was only fifteen and inexperienced. The Witan knew that, if they elected him, he was just about old enough to rule on his own, the age of majority under Anglo-Saxon law being fourteen. No-one could see him as a war leader; if they wanted an incapable ruler they would have stuck with Alhred.
Cynewulf th
anked him for outlining his claim and asked if anyone wanted to speak. I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to get up to oppose him openly. Although I’d done my best to orchestrate the outcome I wanted, I wished to stay in the background as much as possible. I didn’t want to make any more enemies; I had quite enough as it was.
Just when I thought I’d have to get to my feet Godwyn beat me to it. I wondered why Beorhtmund hadn’t spoken, or one of the other nobles who had pledged their support to Æthelred. Perhaps each was waiting for the other, then another thought came to me, and not a pleasant one.
What had united us was the need to get rid of Alchred. Now that he was gone they didn’t want to hand me the power that would accrue to the king’s guardian, especially if he was also the regent and the hereræswa. I would be king in all but name and, as my great-uncle had sat on the throne, albeit for just a few months, it seemed likely that they thought I had ambitions over and above regaining my former status. The fact that I could trace my descent back to Ida, albeit through the female line, gave some credence to their fears, if I was interpreting their silence correctly.
Having Æthwald on the throne, an impressionable youth with scarce a hair on his face as yet, might suit some of them better. He wouldn’t be able to control them and they could then act as petty kings in their own shires. Of course, that would spell the end of Northumbria as a powerful kingdom and it might even split back into its original constituent parts. Unless I was overthinking this, those who thought like that were being very short-sighted. All the petty-kingdoms of England – and there had been over twenty of them at one stage – had been swallowed up by their more powerful neighbours.
Whilst I had been thinking Godwyn had sat down and Wynstan was on his feet saying much the same thing, but about the threat from Mercia. After he had had finished Cynewulf asked if anyone else wanted to add anything. No-one did.