THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

  ‘That was a bad business, Brother Cuthbert. I had hoped that by appointing you as guest master I had put an end to problems with travellers.’

  ‘I agree, Father Abbot, but I don’t see how I could have handled matters differently. I regret laying hands on the young man, naturally, but at the time I feared that our brothers were so incensed that they might well have attacked him and that would have been a far worse mess. I had to get him away from there.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that. However, I cannot let the matter pass. I believe that I should make a complaint and seek weregeld for the monastery for the injury done. Perhaps I should write to your father?’

  ‘You are welcome to do so, of course, but the eorl is frail and bedridden. I came here by way of Dùn Barra to visit him and I was shocked by his appearance. My mother now runs the eorldom. My younger brother is barely ten and it is by no means certain that King Oswiu will let Beornheth inherit, given his young age and the importance of the position. He might, however, let him succeed when the time comes, but with my mother as regent until he is old enough.’

  ‘I see. Perhaps I should write to her then?’

  ‘You would be within your rights to do so, though I doubt she will welcome a claim for weregeld. The eorl’s situation, and therefore hers, is vulnerable and she needs the support of the thegns. They won’t like it is one of their number is made to pay compensation to us.’

  ‘What do you suggest then? I cannot let this pass. An attack on one of us is an attack on all.’

  ‘I suggest that I write privately to King Oswiu and ask for his advice.’

  ‘Thank you Cuthbert, I’m grateful to you.’ He paused. ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry if I seemed critical earlier. You handled a difficult situation well.’

  ~~~

  Catinus spat out a mouthful of filth and wondered, not for the first time, whether he shouldn’t have just sailed away and reported the changed situation in Strathclyde to Oswiu. The garbage chute was a stone channel cut at forty five degrees through the rock on which the fortress was built. It emerged near the top of a cliff, from where the detritus from the fortress dropped two hundred feet straight into the waves pounding at the base of the cliff below.

  It had taken him and six other men, all of whom were good climbers, three hours to quietly edge around the base of the palisade until they were above where the chute emerged. In some ways they were helped by the incessant rain that fell. It kept the sentries out of the way, sheltering in the dry, but it made the foot wide area between palisade and cliff edge quite slippery. Their progress wasn’t helped by the strong gusts of wind what would suddenly whip around the rock, threatening to pluck them from their precarious perches at times.

  However, he reached the chute exit safely and he climbed up into it. For a moment he thought that he’d slide out again and plummet to his death as he couldn’t get a grip on the slimy bottom of the chute. Just in time he managed to get a handhold on the roughly cut rock surface at the sides of the chute. He whispered a warning to the man behind him and then started to haul himself up the tunnel towards the dim circle of light at the far end.

  By the time he reached the end he calculated that it must be about the middle of the night. However, he was exhausted and he lay there breathing in the fresh air whilst he recovered. He felt the man behind him tap his foot and he forced himself to clamber out of the hole in the ground. He found himself in a small area surrounded by a low fence, presumably to stop people falling into the chute. There wasn’t room for all seven of them behind the fence so he eased his seax out of its scabbard and slipped over the fence and into the shadows.

  Once the other six had joined him, he led them along the inside of the palisade towards the gates. They passed by the backs of several huts and they heard the sound of snoring and the occasional fart faintly through the timber walls. Catinus kept looking up at the walkway above him for sentries but it wasn’t until they neared the gatehouse that he saw anyone.

  A platform had been constructed above the gates. It consisted of a walkway, three foot high walls front and back and a roof to keep most of the rain off the sentries. In the poor light he could just make out two heads looking out towards the path that led up from the beach where the combined forces of Elfin, Lethlobar and himself were camped.

  To the left of the gates there was a hut built against the palisade. Catinus assumed that this was where the rest of the men guarding the gate slept until it was their turn on watch. There was nothing to do now but wait until the sentries changed.

  Meanwhile, in the camp on the beach men were making their way quietly to the bottom of the defile. The fortifications that guarded access to the path that led up to the fortress had been captured earlier that day and the gates stood wide open. Unlike Catinus and his half a dozen men, who were dressed in tunics and were only armed with seaxes, these men were fully armed.

  They settled down just inside the entrance to the defile and waited for Catinus’ signal. If the plan was to work they would have to ascend the steep path to the gates as quickly and quietly as they could. If the alarm was sounded before they reached the gates then they would have failed and their men inside the fortress would be killed.

  Catinus tensed as he heard movement and two men came out of the hut cursing the lousy weather. When they got to the base of the ladder leading up to the walkway above the gates two silent figures stepped behind them and, putting one hand over their mouths, they drew their seaxes across their throats. They pulled the bodies into the shadows beside the gates.

  ‘Come on you two, what’s keeping you?’

  The voice calling out in Brythonic startled Catinus and he signalled for two of his men to ascend the ladder. The Britons had been dressed in tunics with oiled woollen cloaks. One had a helmet but the other was bareheaded. The two men quickly donned the cloaks, grabbed the helmet and the dead men’s swords and started to climb the ladder, the one in the helmet leading.

  ‘About time too,’ one of the sentries grumbled as the first had appeared at the top of the ladder, though Catinus’ man didn’t understand what he’d said.

  The warrior kept his head down so that the helmet hid his face until he was at the top of the ladder, then he plunged the sword in his hand through the mouth of the surprised sentry, cutting off any sound. The point pierced his brain and he slumped onto the wooden planking. The second man had been waiting impatiently behind him and was initially paralysed by shock when he saw his friend killed. The man in the borrowed helmet was having difficulty pulling his sword out of the dead sentry’s head and so he abandoned his efforts and pulled out his seax.

  The second Briton had opened his mouth to cry out a warning as he scrambled to pull out his own sword. Before he uttered a sound, his attacker thrust the point of his seax into the man’s throat. The blow didn’t kill him immediately but it prevented him from shouting out. The second of Catinus’ men finished the job by thrusting his sword through the man’s heart.

  Meanwhile the five men outside the hut were dealing with the rest of the gate guard. Catinus quietly opened the door and glanced inside. There were six palliasses filled with straw on the floor, four of which were occupied by sleeping men. Leaving Leofric outside to guard the door, Catinus and three of his men slipped silently inside and, when each was kneeling over their chosen victim, Catinus nodded and they cut the four throats as one. The gate was now secure.

  ‘Leofric, there is a torch burning outside the king’s hall. Go and fetch it.’

  The boy ran off but returned empty handed a few minutes later.

  ‘There are two sentries outside the hall, lord.’

  Catinus cursed. The agreed signal was a torch being waved to and from in the open gateway. The rest of the attackers would then ascend the defile and secure the fortress.

  ‘Right, run down the track and tell Elfin and Lethlobar that we’ve captured the gateway but there are no torches. They are to come up here as fast as they can. Off you go.’

  He waited on tenterhook
s for them to appear, praying fervently that no-one would come to check on the gate guard. He was also far from certain that there weren’t other sentries around the parapet at the top of the palisade. He hadn’t seen or heard any, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. He couldn’t believe that anyone who knew that there was an enemy at his gates wouldn’t have posted a strong watch, whatever the weather.

  Suddenly he spotted someone who had evidently been sleeping getting up and stretching on the parapet a hundred yards from the gateway. He must have pulled his cloak over his head to keep the worst of the rain off and settled down with his back to the top of the palisade. Now the man was pissing down into the mud below him. Once he’d finished he looked up and his gaze swept over the fortress. Catinus imagined his forehead furrowing as he noticed the absence of anyone standing guard above the gates. He could have kicked himself. He should have left his two men up there. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

  ‘Get back up on duty, you idle sods,’ he called out in Brythonic, just loudly enough for the sentry to hear him.

  The two men who had killed the original sentries clambered back up the ladder to resume their supposed vigil. Seemingly satisfied the sentry sat down again and pulled his cloak over his head. Thankfully he hadn’t bothered to look outside the palisade or he might have spotted the shadowy mass of warriors struggling up the steep path to the gates.

  When he got the signal from the two posted on the walkway, Catinus and the rest unbarred the gates and swung them open. Something must have alerted the sleeping sentry because he climbed to his feet and was alarmed to see armed men pouring into the compound below him. He called out a warning but by then it was too late. Lethlobar led his men towards the warriors’ hall whilst Elfin made for the king’s hall.

  The rest of his gesith joined Catinus. He posted the men who had originally accompanied him to close and guard the gates to prevent escape, sending the rest along the walkway to deal with any sentries. In the event they only found two. The man who had been sleeping under his cloak and another who’d been in the lookout out tower at the north-west corner of the fortress. He too had been asleep.

  Half an hour later it was all over. The garrison were either dead or had surrendered. Whilst Elfin was arranging the disposal of the dead on both sides and making what was now his hall habitable again, Lethlobar walked over to talk to Catinus.

  ‘God in Heaven, you stink!’

  The smaller man grinned at him.

  ‘You try climbing up a slimy chute full of rotting debris and come out smelling all fresh and clean. Besides, the stench of blood and sweat on you hardly gives you room to talk.’

  ‘You’re right. I suggest we leave Elfin to it for now and come back up later this morning. A dip in the sea down there looks quite inviting to me.’

  ‘Good idea. Bathe, eat and sleep in that order I think.’

  ‘I’ll let Elfin know. Then I’ll race you to the beach.’

  Catinus shook his head.

  ‘I’m too weary to run.’

  ‘You’re getting old.’

  It was the wrong thing to say. Catinus was very conscious of the fact that he’d just turned thirty. He looked at the other man and guessed his age to be twenty or thereabouts.

  ‘Right you’re on. Get someone else to tell Elfin.’

  With that he ordered his men to open the gates again and sprinted through them. A stunned Lethlobar watched him go; then, with a laugh he followed his new friend down the steep path. Leofric watched them go, leaping down the track like goats and shook his head. They’d survived the capture of Dùn Breatainn unscathed and now they risked breaking a leg or smashing their brains out on a rock, and for what? However, they reached the bottom without injury and with Catinus still in the lead. As Lethlobar was still clad in his chainmail byrnie, the older man had a distinct advantage; nevertheless the boy was proud that his master had won the stupid contest.

  ~~~

  Eanflæd rode her small horse next to Oswiu as they reached the last crest before Whitby. They halted and gazed across at the new monastery taking shape on the other side of the estuary. The stone walls appeared to be half built with men hauling up cut stone onto the top of the wooden scaffolding whilst others chose pieces of it and mortared it in place. Others were sawing stone to produce the cut blocks from a pile of rocks whilst carters urged their horses to drag more stone from the quayside, where it had been unloaded, up the hill towards the site.

  The place bustled with activity. In contrast the wooden huts in which the nuns and monks lived in their separate compounds seemed almost bereft of life. Then she saw them in a nearby hollow on their knees whilst Hild led them in prayers. She scanned the crowd for sight of her daughter but couldn’t spot her. Ælfflaed was old enough to attend services now and so her absence worried her. She prayed that she wasn’t ill.

  She had been excited by the prospect of seeing her daughter again ever since they had set out. She hadn’t forgiven her husband for depriving her of Ælfflaed but relations between them weren’t as frosty as they had been. Perhaps, once she’d seen her daughter she would be able to forgive him, but she was far from certain about that.

  For his part Oswiu seemed content that his wife was once more at his side. He wasn’t a patient man but he knew that restoring their relationship to anything like what it had been would take time – lots of it – and he was resigned to taking things slowly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Síþwíf, but your daughter is ill.’

  Abbess Hild had taken Eanflæd aside as soon as the formal greetings were over.

  ‘What’s wrong with her? Is it serious?’

  ‘She’s got a fever and usually children get over that in a day or two, but she’s had it for three days now and doesn’t seem to be able to keep anything down, so she’s growing weaker.’

  ‘Take me to her now please.’

  Eanflæd tried to keep the panic out of her voice but she feared she had arrived just in time to see her child die. Hild looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise, Síþwíf.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘She has developed swellings on her neck and in her armpits,’ she said at last.

  The queen was puzzled for a moment and then something she had heard about as a child surfaced in her mind.

  ‘What sort of swellings?’ she asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘They are quite large and have started to darken.’

  ‘The plague,’ she almost whispered.

  ‘It’s possible yes, though we don’t know much about it or its symptoms. The last outbreak was a long time ago on the west coast.’

  ‘Has anyone else gone down with the same symptoms?’

  ‘Yes, a merchant, three of the monks and five nuns.’

  ‘Did the merchant contract it first?’

  ‘Yes, how did you know?’

  ‘He must have brought it with him. How is he?’

  ‘He died yesterday.’

  ‘Burn his body, his clothes and his bedding. Abbot Wilfrid told me about the plague of Justinian amongst the Romans. No one knows how it’s spread, but so many people died of it a century or so ago that the depopulated empire was unable to resist the barbarian hordes.’

  She paused deep in thought before continuing.

  ‘We must send for Abbot Wilfrid. He’s the only person who knows anything about this dreadful disease. Meanwhile we must keep those who have contracted the plague isolated from the rest. I will nurse my daughter myself; you must find volunteers to look after the rest. They mustn’t come into contact with anyone else until the outbreak is over.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘No, I’m not but these are sensible precautions until Wilfrid arrives. Now I had better let the king know.’

  Oswiu took the news badly. At first he was incredulous, then he blamed himself for giving his daughter to the Church. Had he not done so Ælfflaed would not be ill, possibly even dying; she would have been sa
fe at Eoforwīc.

  At first he wouldn’t be persuaded to return to Eoforwīc, leaving his wife behind to nurse their daughter, even when Redwald, Aldhun and Hild joined Eanflæd in telling him that he was putting the future of Northumbria at risk by staying. It wasn’t until Abbot Wilfrid arrived and took charge that he finally made him see sense and he left.

  By then Ælfflaed had been ill for a week and the lumps had turned black and spread to her groin as well as her neck and armpits. Mercifully she was unconscious for much of the time and when she was awake she was delirious. During her few moments of lucidity she screamed and complained that her head and body hurt. All Eanflæd could do was to comfort her daughter as best she might and to keep bathing her fevered body in cold water.

  Wilfrid worked tirelessly with the hard pressed infirmarian and the volunteers, both male and female, to tend the other victims. Over the next week the numbers grew until fifteen had caught the plague. Of them eleven died but the other four slowly recovered. Ælfflaed’s fever broke on the tenth night but she was still in agony. Her mother stayed with her day and night until she collapsed with exhaustion.

  ‘Put her in one of the huts that has been cleansed,’ Hild told the two monks who came to help her.

  ‘But she might infest the others,’ one protested.

  ‘Is she displaying the symptoms of the plague? No? Well then, do as I ask.’

  Eanflæd slept for the next twenty seven hours without waking. Ælfflaed had been a favourite amongst the nuns, none of who would have children of their own, ever since she had arrived with her wet nurse as a small baby. The wet nurse had lost her own baby shortly after birth and consequently she had developed a strong relationship with the royal baby. When the time had come for her to leave she had ignored the pleas of her husband and had become a novice. Now she was overjoyed to take over as the child’s nurse.