THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

  Cuthbert fingered his plain wooden crucifix as his lips curled in distain when he saw the heavy ornate gold one embossed with several jewels worn by the abbot. He studied his face surreptitiously and saw a face that would have been angular if the sharp bones hadn’t been hidden by plump flesh. It was in keeping with the slightly rotund body. Obviously the good abbot liked his food and drink.

  When he dismounted a boy ran up and took the reins to lead the horse away to the stables. Wilfrid lowered the cowl of his cloak revealing his Roman tonsure. Even this was dissimilar to that of other Roman monks that Cuthbert had met. They had the hair shaved from the crown of their head to a diameter of four inches. That on Wilfrid’s head couldn’t have measured more than an inch and a half across.

  The abbot looked at the monks standing outside the nearly completed church and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes and Cuthbert thought he detected a hint of a sneer before he greeted the prior. His eyes then lit on Cuthbert and he walked towards him, hand outstretched.

  ‘You must be our new guest-master. Welcome Brother Cuthbert. Welcome to Ripon. I trust you had a good journey from, where was it? Ah yes, Melrose.’

  He said Melrose as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth. Cuthbert shook the proffered hand and a surprised frown disfigured the abbot’s fleshy face. It was only then that Cuthbert suspected that Wilfrid had expected him to kneel at his feet and kiss his ornate gold ring studded with gems. The man’s next words confirmed it.

  ‘It is normal for monks to kneel and kiss my ring,’ Wilfrid said with some asperity, whipping his hand away from the other man’s grasp.

  ‘Not in the Celtic Church it isn’t, father abbot. We kneel only to God and to His Son, Jesus Christ.’

  For a moment he thought that Wilfrid was going to strike him. It took a little time for the abbot to regain his composure before he hissed his displeasure at the new guest-master.

  ‘I was told that you were a devout and obedient monk and I had expected you to treat me with the respect due to my position. I see now that it may have been a mistake to have appointed you to a position of responsibility here. I shall make sure that our patron, King Alchfrith, knows of my displeasure with you, as it was his idea to send for you.’

  ‘You must do as your conscience dictates, abbot, and I will do the same. I am happy to return to Melrose, or to go wherever else God needs me. Perhaps to Eoforwīc? Father Conomultus tells me that the king – that is King Oswiu, not his son and vassal – would welcome me as a member of his administration.’

  A look of alarm appeared on Wilfrid’s face. Cuthbert was evidently going to be an enemy and the last thing he wanted was for him to become close to Oswiu.

  ‘You have a clever tongue, Cuthbert; too clever. You have evidently been with that, arseling Eata, for too long. You will stay here and learn proper humility and obedience. As a start you will keep a vigil on your knees in front of the altar for forty eight hours without food or water whilst you contemplate your many failings, including the sin of pride.’

  Cuthbert was shocked at the word Wilfrid had used to describe the pious Eata and he had to bite back the rebuke that came unbidden to his lips. It was something he expected warriors to say, but not churchmen. He paused to compose himself before continuing.

  ‘If you so desire, father abbot, I will of course comply; but perhaps you might wish to join me? I’m sure I’m not the only one who is guilty of the sin of pride.’

  ‘How dare you! Get out of my sight before I have you whipped.’

  Without another word Cuthbert walked into the half built church. The inside was bare apart from the wooden table that served as a temporary altar and the simple wooden cross sitting on it. He knelt before it and bowed his head in prayer, shutting his mind to everything else to concentrate on meditation.

  Outside the prior regarded his abbot with unconcealed distaste.

  ‘That was undeserved, father abbot. Only a petty minded man would inflict such a penance on a senior monk for standing up for his beliefs.’

  ‘Do you want to join him?’ Wilfrid replied with a snarl.

  Without a word the prior went in to kneel by Cuthbert’s side. Wilfrid realised that he was beginning to look like a fool and his temper grew worse as a result.

  ‘Is my new hall finished?’ he spat at the unfortunate monk who supervised the building work.

  ‘N-no, father abbot,’ the man stuttered. ‘We are concentrating on finishing the church, working on the roof first, and then there’s the chancel and the apse to…’

  His voice trailed away as he recoiled from the thunderous look Wilfrid was giving him.

  ‘You mean that you haven’t even started work on it?’

  ‘N-no. I thought that the church should be the priority. Is not the house of God more important? Your hut is ready for you, of course.’

  His voice faded and he swallowed hard.

  ‘You expect me to live in a hovel?’

  ‘We have to, abbot,’ one of the other monks called out. ‘Why shouldn’t you? Other abbots lead by example and share the privations of their monks.’

  There was a loud murmur of agreement.

  ‘It is also normal for monks to elect their abbot,’ another said. ‘We didn’t elect you, you were imposed on us. Perhaps it’s time we had a proper election.’

  Wilfrid couldn’t understand what was happening. The humble and obedient had suddenly risen in revolt and he was now seriously alarmed for his safety. The two warriors who had escorted him there were about to return to Loidis but Wilfrid yelled at them to dismount and protect him. The two were members of Alchfrith’s warband; they might be prepared to die for their king, but they felt little loyalty to Wilfrid, especially after what they had just witnessed. However, they had been charged with his protection.

  ‘I think you had better ride back to Loidis with us, abbot. You’ll be safe there,’ the senior of the two said, not without a hint of derision.

  Wilfrid flushed but nodded. Once his horse had been brought back he, his servant and the two warriors trotted out of the gate and back onto the road south.

  ‘You can get up now, Brother Cuthbert,’ the prior said as soon as he was told of Wilfrid’s departure.

  ‘He ordered me to do penance for forty eight hours and he is my abbot, whatever we may think of him, so here I stay for two days.’

  ‘Well, my old knees won’t stand for it so, if you’ll excuse me I’ll leave you to it.’

  Cuthbert nodded and remained on his knees, only changing position to lie prone with his arms outstretched before the altar at times to prevent his knees locking up. He didn’t like doing it but he was sure that God didn’t want him to cripple himself.

  ~~~

  Oswiu hadn’t wanted to push things with Eanflæd. He was thankful that they were back on speaking terms at last and, although their relationship had improved considerably since the return from Whitby, it was still early days. When they had stayed at Bebbanburg they had gone riding together, talked animatedly as before and had even cavorted in the sea like a couple of children. However, they still slept in separate beds. It had been a little awkward whilst they had stayed with Catinus because he had given them the screened off part of the hall normally occupied by him, Leoflaed and their children. Oswiu had used the small bed where little Hereswith and her nurse normally slept, leaving his wife to occupy the main bed. At least they had shared the same chamber once more, if not the bed.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s about time we started to act like man and wife again?’

  Oswiu was taken by surprise, both by the statement and by the sultry way it was said. They had been back at Eoforwīc for over a month by then and the nights were drawing in as Christmas approached. They had been sitting in front of the fire blazing in the central hearth of the king’s hall talking about nothing in particular when Eanflæd had suddenly whispered in his ear.

  He grinned at her and, scooping her up in his arms, he carried her through the doorway into the chamber where he had s
lept alone for so long. Placing her on the bed he gently started to disrobe her but she responded by pulling his clothes off more urgently. It was evident that she had missed him in her bed just as much as he’d missed her.

  They made love three times that night, at first like a couple of wild animals and then more gently. The next morning Oswiu woke with a sore back and grinned when he realised that she had clawed at him with her nails and drawn blood in the throes of her passion. He entered her whilst she was still asleep and she woke looking alarmed before smiling at him when she realised what was going on.

  ‘You’ve no idea how much I missed this,’ she murmured.

  ‘Not as much as I have,’ he whispered back.

  ‘You remained faithful?’

  She thought that he had but not many men, let alone a powerful king, would have gone without having sex for very long. There were many women who would have readily shared Oswiu’s bed.

  ‘Of course. Didn’t you think I would?’

  ‘Yes, but it shows how much you must love me.’

  Nothing more was said as he finished what he’d begun. She sighed in contentment and pulled him to her as he shuddered in pleasure. Three months later, as the snow lay on the ground, she told him that she was pregnant once more.

  ~~~

  A hundred and fifty miles to the north Leoflaed had just given birth to a son. Catinus was in Ulster at the time. He had ridden across the country to Caer Luel in Rheged and sailed from there to Larne in Ulster, Eochaid’s capital. As the birlinn he was on approached the port two smaller ships came out to ask their business.

  ‘I’m Ealdorman Catinus and I’m known to Prince Lethlobar. I’m here as the emissary of King Oswiu to his friend King Eochaid,’ he called out across the water.

  ‘I remember you from Dùn Dè, Catinus. Men are still talking about how you managed to sneak into the fortress and take it,’ the man standing in the prow of the leading ship called back. ‘Follow me in.’

  ‘Have you come to aid us in our fight against Dúngal?’ the man who had greeted him asked as soon as they were ashore.

  ‘Is he the leader of the Uí Néill?’

  The man, who had introduced himself as Fiachra, shook his head.

  ‘The Uí Néill are too busy fighting amongst themselves again to bother us. No, unfortunately so are we. Dúngal Eilni mac Scandail is a distant cousin of King Eochaid and he fancies himself as something of a war leader, so he’s trying to gather support amongst the Ulaidh to seize the throne as soon as Eochaid dies. Lethlobar is doing the same; trying to gather as much backing as possible I mean.’

  ‘I assume that, in the current situation, the Ulaidh are in no position to get involved in the struggle for the throne of Dalriada?’

  Fiachra looked at Catinus sharply, then shook his head again.

  ‘The days when we were one kingdom divided by the sea are long gone, Catinus. It doesn’t matter to us who sits on the throne at Dùn Add.’

  Dùn Add was the fortress on the west coast of Caledonia where the High King of Dalriada was based.

  ‘Unless they intervened to support one contender for the throne of the Ulaidh against another?’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘To gain an army to help in their struggle for the throne, perhaps?’

  ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘Only rumours. Look, I think I need to find Lethlobar. Where is he at the moment?’

  ‘I’ll take you to meet him, but first come and meet King Eochaid.’

  He wasn’t what Catinus had expected. He knew that he was nearly a decade older than Oswiu but the man who watched him enter his hall had bright, alert eyes and appeared little older than his own king. It wasn’t until he tried to shift his position on the ornately carved throne that Catinus realised that Eochaid suffered from pain in his joints and could hardly move without assistance.

  ‘Welcome Ealdorman. Any friend of Oswiu’s is a friend of mine.’

  He had spoken in English so Catinus replied in the same language.

  ‘Thank you, Cyning. My king sends his greetings and wishes to thank you for your son’s help in resolving the problems in Strathclyde.’

  For a moment Eochaid looked puzzled and Catinus wondered whether Lethlobar had told him about the death of Mermin and the capture of Dùn Breatainn. If not, he wondered what else his son had kept from his father.

  ‘Did he now; yes well. My son is a most resourceful young man.’

  Eochaid invited Catinus to come and sit on a stool by his side. It was only then that he noticed a young boy sitting on a smaller stool on the king’s other side. The child smiled brightly at him and Catinus smiled back politely, wondering who he was. When he had been with him in Strathclyde Lethlobar had said nothing about having a younger brother.

  ‘I don’t suppose that Oswiu sent you all this way to a man he hasn’t seen for over twenty years to enquire after my health. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

  Catinus thought for a moment before replying, but decided there was little to be lost by being honest.

  ‘As Bretwalda of Caledonia he is concerned about the current situation in Dalriada. I’m sure that you are well aware of the situation. Oswiu is determined that it mustn’t be allowed to disrupt the fragile peace that has existed throughout Caledonia in recent years.’

  ‘You haven’t heard then?’

  ‘Heard what,’ he said more sharply than he had intended, then added ‘Cyning’ to soften his reply.

  ‘Domangart is dead and Domnall Dhu is now on the throne. I fear he is no friend of Oswiu’s; or of mine. I was close to Oswald, who he blames for his father’s overthrow and death.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘A month ago I believe; I only heard about it recently so I’m not surprised that the news hasn’t reached Northumbria yet.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t. I must return and let Oswiu know as soon as possible.’

  ‘It’s far too late to set out today. At least stay tonight and keep an old man company.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

  ~~~

  ‘Sail in sight.’

  The bellow from the ship’s boy up the mast of his birlinn didn’t improve Catinus’ headache. He’d stayed up drinking with Eochaid, listening to the stories of his and Oswald’s exploits when they were young until it was nearly dawn. He had only just fallen asleep on the hard packed earthen floor of the hall when one of the boys had woken him to tell him that the shipmaster was about to leave to catch the tide.

  He had tried to catch some more sleep on the birlinn’s deck but its motion soon had him lurching to the gunwale to say goodbye to the food he’d eaten the previous evening. Thankfully he’d spewed over the leeward side of the ship. He’d only just started to feel a little better when the boy’s call awoke him.

  ‘Whose ship is it?’ he asked the shipmaster when he reached where he was standing.

  ‘Not ship, ships. There are three of them, which is not good news in these waters.’

  ‘Irish then?’

  ‘Or possibly Mercian pirates from Man.’

  ‘Are they birlinns?’

  ‘Their sails are only just coming over the horizon so I can’t tell from here. Jared, can you make out what size they are?’

  The twelve year old up the mast, whose name was evidently Jared, looked hard with shaded eyes for a moment.

  ‘Difficult to tell as yet, but there are only three; no that’s wrong. There are more behind them. They look to be smaller than us; perhaps pontos or currachs, but I can now see five of them.’

  ‘Can we outrun them?’

  ‘Probably; the wind is from the west so they are on a broad reach and they’ll have to tack soon. We are larger and better built so we should be able to get away from them if we turn about onto the same course. The trouble is, we need to head south east to get home and that’s straight towards them. If we head away from them, it’ll take us into Dalriadan waters.’

  ‘Should we not hea
d back into Lough Larne in that case?’ Catinus asked the shipmaster, alarmed by Jared’s report.

  ‘If we try they may be able to head us off before we get there, as we’d have to turn directly into the wind and row. We’ve barely got one man for each oar and they may have more. That means ours will tire quicker.’

  Catinus thought quickly. The last thing he wanted was to head north into the numerous islands that were part of Dalriada. If Domnall got hold of one of Oswiu’s nobles he would probably send him a present of his head in a basket. If the approaching ships captured him they’d ransom him if he was lucky, or kill him out of hand if he wasn’t. No, he decided, heading back to Larne was the safest course of action.

  It was a close run thing. The birlinn’s rowers tired as they approached the headland that marked the entrance to the lough and the leading pontos was closing fast, but then Catinus swapped six of his men for the most exhausted members of the crew and the other four took their bows out of their oiled leather sheaths. Two minutes later three volleys of arrows sped across the sea, one after the other, and half a dozen of the enemy rowers on the side nearest to them were hit. It was enough. The pontos slewed through ninety degrees as the power died on one side and the ship nearly broached.

  This time when Catinus stepped ashore at Larne he was greeted by the quiet boy who had sat beside Eochaid in the hall when he’d arrived. At some stage before the feast the boy had disappeared. Now he was flanked by four of the Ulster king’s gesith.

  ‘Welcome back, Catinus. We didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Was the sea a little rough for your delicate stomach?’

  He looked at the boy sharply, not expecting to be teased by someone so young. The boy grinned at him and he couldn’t help smiling back, despite the twinge of annoyance he’d felt. The boy wasn’t as young as he’d first thought in the dim light of the king’s hall. He was probably eleven or twelve and had bright red, almost orange, hair that came down to his shoulders.