TREASONS, STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS: Kings of Northumbria Book 6

by H A CULLEY

  Finally in late November Ælfwald managed to put together an army to invade Bernicia and capture Bebbanburg. We had already laid in supplies to last us the winter and, confident in my stronghold’s ability to withstand a siege, I sent a messenger to tell Beorhtmund this, but also to say that if, in the unlikely event we were still being besieged at the start of spring, I would be grateful if he could send a relief force.

  The reply which came back reminded me of the dangers of being over-confident. My friend and ally had died two weeks previously and now his nephew, Torhtmund, asked King Æthelred to confirm him as the new ealdorman. He didn’t say anything about riding to the rescue after the winter was over and I suspected that he was waiting to see how the dice rolled.

  I mourned the death of Beorhtmund. He had always been his own man but our interests usually coincided. Moreover, he was a leader and where he went the other ealdormen of Lothian followed. On my advice Æthelred replied regretting the death of his uncle. He said that he would gladly confirm him as ealdorman just as soon as he received the customary tax for the transfer of the title and he came to Bebbanburg to take the oath of fealty.

  We heard nothing more before Ælfwald’s army arrived. I had expected him to lead it but his banner was missing. Instead I soon learned that the commander was Sicga of Hexham, who it appeared was now his hereræswa.

  It was an impressive host. Octa, Anarawd and I estimated the numbers the morning after their arrival and came to the conclusion that there were nearly two thousand of them. However, fourteen hundred or so appeared to be members of the fyrd. We had a hundred warriors and some two hundred from my fyrd who had taken refuge in the fortress with their families and animals. The rest of the people of my shire had withdrawn into the Cheviot Hills pro tem, though they wouldn’t be able to stay there once winter arrived.

  We had hidden the flour and other provisions laid by for the winter to prevent our foes getting their hands on them and to feed my people once the supplies they had with them were exhausted. I fully expected that they would have to kill and preserve some of their livestock too, much as they were needed for breeding and providing milk and cheese next year.

  For the first time in my life I prayed for snow.

  ~~~

  My prayers were answered a week later when the weather changed from cold and wet to bitterly cold. The first snow arrived overnight but there was only a few inches of it. Then it arrived, driven by a north easterly wind in billowing clouds that restricted vision to a few feet at best. The wind drifted it in great heaps more than the height of two men, one standing on the other’s shoulders, by the time it ceased.

  We huddled around our fires indoors, changing the sentries every hour to prevent them dying of the cold, but in truth there was no possibility of the enemy attacking in this weather. When the blizzard ceased the enemy encampment had all but disappeared under a blanket of pure white snow. We watched with amusement as their men dug themselves out of their tents and started to clear the snow away into tall heaps.

  The snow was too deep for foraging or hunting – not that there would be much game around this time of the year and I wondered how long their supplies would last. Even gathering wood and lighting a fire required considerable time and effort. I could imagine that there would be multiple cases of frostbite and perhaps more than a few deaths from exposure.

  That night the skies cleared and there was a hard frost – a very hard frost. Most of our water came from the well but the reeve had laid in dozens of barrels of water to be on the safe size, given the numbers now in the fortress. It proved difficult to break the ice on top of the water in the barrels when they were checked and it took several blows with an axe to break through it. It measured more than the length of a man’s foot in depth.

  There was, of course, no ready supply of water outside the fortress except for the one in the settlement, and I’d had that poisoned. It would mean digging a new well in due course, but better that than give the enemy a ready supply. They would have to cart water in from several miles away and it would take them a long time to clear the track to get there.

  It stayed fine but intensely cold for three days before dark clouds filled the sky once more. They brought more snow with them, not as much as last time, but enough to block the track to the enemy’s water supply again and cover their encampment with two more feet of the stuff.

  Sicga’s men were starving, very cold and exceedingly miserable. They hadn’t been able to make any attempt to storm my walls and they were on the verge of mutiny. He had brought six ealdormen and their warbands and fyrds with him and now they were desperate to return home. Sicga tried to stop them and there was a clash of arms in which several men died. They stayed one more night and then the next morning the great exodus began.

  It was slow going for them as they had to clear the snow out of the way first. Octa begged to be allowed to follow them and kill the stragglers. It seemed to me that anything which discouraged a repeat of the attempt to capture Bebbanburg was a good idea and Æthelred agreed. He was fed up with being cooped up and wanted to go with Octa. It was only with great difficulty that I managed to persuade him that he was too valuable to risk.

  It was two weeks before Octa returned. He had chased the enemy and killed over a hundred stragglers as they retreated as far as the Tyne. Many more hundreds had died by the wayside from exposure or starvation. Not all of them were from the fyrd either. He estimated that a hundred and fifty of the dead were trained warriors. He brought back pack horses laden with byrnies, leather coats, helmets and weapons to prove it.

  At the Tyne the defeated army had split, the larger group crossing the river and the rest heading west towards Hexham. As the latter was Sicga’s contingent he’d decided to follow them. He and his men had found the conditions very difficult, but at least the enemy had cleared the road for them and the packhorses were laden with supplies.

  At Wylam Sigca’s men had taken all the supplies the inhabitants had, leaving them to starve. Those who resisted were killed. It was hardly likely to endear him to the Ealdorman of Jarrow but Sicga was past caring. Octa said he gave the inhabitants of Wylam what supplies he could spare and told them to head for Jarrow and tell their lord what had befallen them. He added that they should mention that their saviours had been King Æthelred’s men.

  He had caught up with a band of fifty men left behind by Sicga to slow the pursuit. Octa said that he was outnumbered but his foes were in too poor a condition to offer much resistance and he slaughtered them to a man for the loss of three of his own. He had followed the rest as far as Hexham and managed to slay another twenty or more. However, the number of dead and dying by the side of the road as they passed numbered at least ten time that.

  Of the two thousand men who had come north to besiege Bebbanburg I doubted if more than half of that number had made it home safely, and that included the hundreds suffering from frostbite. I suppose I should have been pleased that Ælfwald was unlikely to venture into Bernicia again, but I grieved for the loss of so many. Northumbria had lost a quarter of its fighting men, and for what? An argument over who should sit on a poisoned throne.

  I would continue to support the king to whom I’d pledged my allegiance, but I was tired of the internecine warfare, the plots and the betrayal of oaths for political advantage.

  ~~~

  It seemed that I was not alone. In 786 two papal legates arrived at Eoforwīc to see Archbishop Eanbald. With Ælfwald’s agreement he summoned a church synod which all abbots and bishops in Northumbria attended, including Higbald of Lindisfarne once he’d received a safe conduct.

  Among the measures adopted were laws that debarred illegitimate children from inheriting kingdoms, bishops must not involve themselves in secular affairs and tithes must be given by all men to the Church. It also laid down clear differences in dress between bishops, priests, monks, and laymen in dress. However, the most important edict was against regicide. Anyone found guilty of such a crime would be automatically excommuni
cated and condemned to the fires of Hell.

  Whilst Æthelred and I both welcomed certain aspects of these decisions, two of his ancestors had been bastards and he wondered where that left his claim to the throne. I was, of course, worried about the edict on regicide. The prospect of spending eternity in Hell worried me considerably. So much so that I went to Lindisfarne and confessed my sins to Bishop Higbald.

  ‘Any form of murder is enough to consign you to Hell, Lord Seofon. The murder of a king is, in my view, no worse or no better than the murder of the lowliest of his subjects. If you truly repent and have otherwise led a good life, then I hope that Saint Peter may admit you to Heaven, but it isn’t my decision.’

  With that I had to be satisfied. I was now sixty two, well beyond the age that most people lived and I was beginning to think about the past rather than the future. I decided that I would like to live out my days here at Bebbanburg. My fighting days were over.

  Chapter Thirteen – The Restoration of King Æthelred

  789 to 792

  It didn’t work out like that, of course. I was watching Octa teach eleven year old Eafa the elements of sword fighting when a messenger rode in through the gate. He dismounted outside the king’s hall and went inside. I was curious so I wandered over to find out what news he’d brought. At that moment Cynwise emerged from our hall with Hilda and our granddaughter, Osoryd, who had just turned five. These days my joints ached when I walked so I found it impossible to rush, much as I wanted to.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Hilda asked.

  The pretty girl I’d married thirty eight years before was now a matronly figure with grey hair, but she was ten years younger than me and more agile.

  ‘I don’t know, but the messenger seemed in a hurry.’

  ‘I’ll find out’, Octa said, striding past me. He had now taken over most of my duties as ealdorman. Uuffa was no longer the shire reeve, which was now Octa’s official title. My younger son was Æthelred’s hereræswa, an appointment that I’d given up several years ago. He’d been building up the army, mainly using the wealth from our trading enterprise. Uuffa had a daughter following the loss of their firstborn but his wife had died giving birth to their third child, a boy. He had only survived his mother by a few days.

  Uuffa had never remarried but seemed happy enough. He doted on his daughter, a girl called Odelyn, who was now six. He was away in Paris at the moment visiting Renweard and Odelyn had gone with him for the first time.

  Ten minutes later Octa came out of the king’s hall and asked me to join them.

  ‘Tell Lord Seofon what you’ve just told me,’

  ‘King Ælfwald has been murdered by Ealdorman Sicga,’ the messenger said. ‘He was visiting him at Hexham and they went hunting. They stayed the night at the old Roman fort called Cilurvum. In the morning the king was found dead and Sicga’s warriors then appeared and slew those who had accompanied the king. Sicga has declared that Osred, the elder son of King Alchred, is now the king.’

  ‘Obviously Osred was in on the plot,’ Æthelred said. ‘We cannot continue with two kings in Northumbria. The other ealdormen will be outraged that yet another king has been murdered, however irregular his election. We must be ready to take advantage of the situation.

  ‘Octa, I want you to send messengers to our other ealdormen. Winter is nearly upon us so it’s too late to campaign this year but in early March they are to muster their fyrds and be ready to march on Hexham. Once we have dealt with Sicga we’ll march south. Either the nobles will join us or I’ll replace them. Seofon, I want you to stay and defend Bebbanburg in case it all goes wrong.’

  ‘Thank you for your consideration, Cyning, but I am not yet so feeble that I cannot sit on a horse, even it is a little uncomfortable.’

  I wasn’t about to miss this for the world.

  ‘In that case, ride to Lindisfarne. I’d like Higbald and some of his monks, especially those trained as healers, to accompany us when we go.’

  The weather for early March was good. It was freezing at night, but tolerably warm during the day, and it was dry. We waited for Torhtmund and his men before advancing to the southern end of Redesdale where the men of Selkirkshire and of Otterburn were assembled. We now numbered over nine hundred. When Godwyn and his Cumbrians joined us a few miles north of Hexham it took our army to fourteen hundred.

  It was inevitable that Sigca would hear of our coming, but he thought himself safe behind his palisade. It took us a day to construct enough ladders and then Æthelred led the assault on all four sides of the palisade around his hall at Hexham. I and the other ealdormen tried to persuade him not to risk his life but he was adamant that he wouldn’t ask his men to do what he wouldn’t do himself. It certainly gave them heart, as did the open air mass celebrated by Higbald and his priests immediately before the attack.

  Octa tried to stop me, but I too insisted on leading one of the groups. Godwyn led the third group and Torhtmund the fourth. At seventeen he was young for such a responsibility but, as the most powerful ealdorman in Lothian, the others automatically deferred to him.

  My heart was racing as I lined up with the three hundred men I was to lead. Octa was by my side, as we started the advance. We went steadily with twenty men to a ladder. Even with his fyrd Sigca couldn’t have more than three hundred to defend all four sides of his perimeter. That meant seventy five at most along the stretch that we were attacking.

  Those with bows went ahead of us with a companion to hold his shield in front of the pair. I had thirty bowmen – a mixture of hunters and warriors trained as archers who used a more powerful bow. Our constant barrage of arrows kept the defenders heads down and very few arrows came back at us. I saw several of the defenders hit as they incautiously tried to see where we were.

  The ground was uneven, which dictated our slow pace, but it hadn’t rained for some time - unusual for that time of year - so the ditch when we came to it was almost dry. I slid down into the bottom and waited with my shield over my head as half a dozen men pushed a ladder into place. My bowmen were now joined by those boys from the baggage train who had slings. They and the archers kept up a steady rate of fire aimed at the top of the palisade to prevent men from pushing the ladders away.

  As soon as my ladder was in place I started up it, followed by the other men in my small group. There was only room for four or five men on the ladder at once so the others had to wait impatiently at the bottom with their shields raised to ward off the odd missile and rock that came down at them.

  I was really feeling my age as I climbed up the ladder but adrenalin gave power to my aching leg muscles and allowed me to ignore the pain in my hips and knees. When I reached the top an axe man swung his massive weapon at my head. I ducked and it whistled over my head to imbed itself in the shield I carried on my back. It stuck fast and I grabbed the dagger I had between my teeth and stuck it under the hem of his byrnie into his groin. He screamed and fell back, knocking the defender behind him off the parapet at the far side.

  That gave me time to clamber over the top of the palisade, breathing hard, draw my sword and swing the shield round to my front. I knocked the imbedded axe free with my sword and turned just in time to confront a spearman who was intent on gutting me.

  For a moment I was worried about my unprotected back but then I heard Octa say he was behind me and I concentrated on the spearman.

  He was a youth who looked to be no more than fourteen and I wondered if he had even started his training yet. His only protection was a leather cap and one of the small round shields used by young boys to practice with. I nearly made the mistake of sparing such an unworthy opponent, but then he made a jab for my eyes and I brought my shield up to deflect the point and I stabbed forward with my sword at the same time. He managed to get his shield in the way and my sword slipped off it to the right.

  The lad looked both pleased and relieved that he had survived so far, but my next move – to punch the boss of my shield into his unprotected face – took him by surpris
e. His nose was smashed and probably his jaw too. The pain blinded him, which gave me enough time to bring my sword back into play and gut him. Dying of a stomach wound can be a long and painful process so I stabbed down into his throat to spare him that before stepping over him to meet my next opponent.

  An arrow ricocheted off my helmet with a loud thunk and I looked round to see where the archer was. He was up in the tower beside the main gate but, as I watched, one of our men climbed into the top of the tower and stabbed the man before throwing his body out of the tower to crash onto the ground below in a bloody mess of broken bones and torn flesh.

  I was brought back to the battle for the ramparts by a blow on my shield but it wasn’t delivered by a weapon. An enemy had backed into me whilst fighting off two of my men. It was hardly playing fair, but that isn’t something you do in a fight if you want to survive. I whipped my sword round into his neck, half severing it from his body and he collapsed onto the walkway. I pushed him off into the courtyard and out of the way and looked around, ready for my next opponent. Only then did I realise that there were no more men left to fight.

  A quarter of the garrison had perished by the time that the rest surrendered. Of course, there was little point in fighting on after Torhtmund had killed Sicga. The news spread and his men threw down their weapons. A few were still killed until the bloodlust died, but that always happens.

  It was only then that reaction set in. Every muscle in my body screamed in agony and I was hardly capable of moving. I collapsed wearily against the side of the palisade and sat there thinking that I would never, ever be able to move again.

  ~~~

  It took me two days to recover and even then I was still stiff and sore. By that time Æthelred had appointed a new ealdorman from amongst the thegns of the shire who had sworn fealty to him and the dead had been buried. The Bishop of Hexham, a man called Tilbeorht, had died during the attack and the king appointed a priest called Æthelberht, who had previously been Bishop of Whithorn in Galloway, to replace him. That meant that the only bishop who didn’t support him now was Eanbald, Archbishop of Eoforwīc.