by H A CULLEY
‘You know who I am but I’ve no idea who you are, apart from being an impudent brat, that is.’
‘I’m Ruaidhrí, the king’s bastard. Lethlobar hates me because he thinks our father prefers me to him. He doesn’t, but he finds me amusing, so I play the fool and keep out of the way as much as possible when my brother’s around.’
His name meant the Red King, which suited his hair but was probably not the best name for someone who might be viewed as a rival for Eochaid’s throne.
‘You surprise me. I only met Lethlobar once but we liked each other straight away. I got the distinct impression he was fair-minded though. Are you as insolent to him as you were to me just now? If so, I can understand why that might turn him against you.’
‘Oh! Perhaps I was a little too disrespectful to you just then. I apologise, but I didn’t mean to offend you. I just can’t help trying to make people laugh. That way I hope they don’t regard me as a threat and that I’ll live a little longer.’
Catinus thought he was being flippant again but he saw that the boy was being deadly serious.
‘You really think that your life is under threat?’
‘I’ve probably said too much, especially to a stranger. Forget I said anything.’
With that Ruaidhrí stood aside and let Catinus enter the king’s hall first.
‘Ruaidhrí told me that he’s also your son,’ Catinus said to Eochaid quietly when the boy had left them alone.
The king sighed. ‘Yes, presumably he also told you that he is illegitimate? But it’s not as simple as that.’
Eochaid was silent for a moment as he debated whether to tell Catinus the full story.
‘Can I trust you, Catinus? After all, I know nothing about you.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Well, Catinus is hardly an Anglo-Saxon name, is it? And yet you are an ealdorman, the equivalent of a chieftain or a petty king in Ireland.’
‘I was born a Briton in Mercia and entered Oswiu’s service with my brother as scouts when we were boys. I think he was going to kill us when our task was done but he didn’t and we’ve managed to serve him well over the years. Now my brother is his chaplain and I’m an ealdorman.’
‘I suspect that there is a great deal more to your story than that, but I’ll let it go. I take it, therefore, that you are loyal to him?’
‘Of course. My brother and I owe him everything.’
‘Very well. His brother Oswald was my greatest friend but I parted from him on bad terms, something I’ve always regretted. Oswiu and I have never been that close but he was Oswald’s favourite brother and I admire him for what he’s achieved. A few years after I returned to Ulster to become King of the Ulaidh I was challenged for the throne by the chieftain of one of the most powerful clans that make up our nation. We fought and I won. In the course of sacking his main stronghold I rescued a very pretty girl from being raped. My wife, Lethlobar’s mother, was still alive then but I was enchanted by the girl and I brought her back here to Larne with me.
‘Needless to say my wife was less than happy about this and our son Lethlobar took her side. Nevertheless I couldn’t give her up, so I established her in a hut with two slaves to look after her. I learned later that she was the only daughter of the chieftain who had rebelled but by then she was pregnant by me. I kept it quiet but the old woman who helped her give birth couldn’t keep her mouth shut. When he found out about it Lethlobar was sixteen and beginning to make a name for himself as a warrior. He decided that both the girl and her baby son must die.
‘Her father demanded her return as part of the terms for peace and, as the Uí Néill were getting restless again and I needed the Ulaidh to unite against them, I reluctantly agreed. The girl and her baby were returned to him and she was sent off in disgrace to become a nun. I never saw her again.
‘In time I forgot about her but, when my wife died, I decided not to marry again. I did want Ruaidhrí back though, and I paid a great deal of silver to get him, much to Lethlobar’s disgust when he found out.
‘Ruaidhrí had been raised by a shepherd and his family and I hardly recognised the smelly, filthy eight year old who was brought to me as my son. Even his hair was matted with dirt and grease so that it looked black. At first I thought that I might have been deceived but, when he was scrubbed clean and his hair was washed properly he didn’t look like the same child. He looked like his mother and I knew that, whatever Lethlobar said, I wanted the boy by my side. That was four years ago. He has the common sense to keep out of sight when my elder son is around but Lethlobar is often away and then I can enjoy Ruaidhrí’s company.’
‘Why are you telling me all this? You must have a reason.’
Eochaid sighed. ‘I’m getting old and frail and I don’t know how much longer I’ll live. Lethlobar thinks he’ll succeed me, but he doesn’t have the support of enough of the Ulaidh to do so. They’ll probably choose Dúngal Eilni mac Scandail of Clan Fiachna as he’s the most powerful. He’s Ruaidhrí’s uncle and the brother of the girl I abducted. However, Ruaidhrí could be a double threat to him when he’s older, being descended from both me and the leader of the Fiachna.
‘So if Lethlobar doesn’t kill him, Dúngal will?’
‘I fear so.’
‘How can I help?’
‘I was going to send him to Iona to be educated with the novice monks in a few months when he turns twelve, but I no longer feel that he’d be safe there, especially with Domnall as King of Dalriada.’
‘He would never violate the Holy Isle of Iona surely?’
‘He might prevail upon the abbot to give him up though. After all, Iona is in his domain.’
‘So, you want me to take him to Lindisfarne?’
‘He should be safe there, yes.’
‘Very well, provided you can give me a birlinn as escort back to Rheged.’
~~~
Ruaidhrí proved to be an entertaining companion. Once away from Ulster his whole personality changed. He no longer played the fool or tried to be impudent. Instead he became more respectful and his conversation became witty and quite erudite for one so young.
A messenger rode to meet him with the news that he had a son who had been christened Alaric. Immediately Catinus increased the pace but soon left the baggage horses behind, so he was forced to slow down again. He wondered idly what his new son would be like and whether he’d be a warrior like his father when he grew up. When Ruaidhrí caught up with him again he realised that he hadn’t thought about the boy’s future.
‘What do you want to become when you’re man, Ruaidhrí, a warrior or a cleric?’
‘The life of a scholar has a certain appeal, as well as eliminating me as a threat to anyone, but I think I would find life in a monastery claustrophobic; and the dreary routine would drive me mad.’
‘You could become a priest, like my brother.’
‘Perhaps, but I want more out of life; even if it means that life is cut short.’
‘So, you want to train as a warrior?’
‘As soon as I can, which I suppose means fourteen, yes. However, that means finding a lord who will train me and employ me in his warband in due course. I don’t suppose…’
He gave Catinus a cheeky grin, the first since leaving Ulster.
‘You know full well the answer is yes.’
When they crested the last ridge before Bebbanburg Ruaidhrí whistled in appreciation.
‘That makes Larne, or anywhere else in Ulster that I’ve seen, look like a hovel. That’s your home?’
‘Strictly speaking it’s King Oswiu’s but he rarely visits it now. I’m the custos and live there with my family so, yes, it’s my home.’
‘But you’re more than the custos?’
‘Yes, I have a number of thegns who owe me loyalty as their lord. My land stretches from the River Twaid in the north to the River Aln in the south.’
‘Thegns?’
‘Yes, there’s no equivalent in Ireland. They are lords of one
or more vills, which are areas of land occupied by freemen called ceorls – most farmers, but some artisans as well – the villeins, who are free but tied to the land and, of course, slaves.’
‘Do these ceorls and villeins and their families live separate from each other then? Doesn’t that make them vulnerable to attack?’
‘Most live in settlements but some also live in isolation, especially in the Cheviot Hills over there.’
Catinus pointed to the dark hills topped by low cloud some fifteen miles or so to the south west of them.
‘Your land stretches into those distant hills?’
‘Yes, as far as the junction of the Rivers Twaid and Teviot, all except for Yeavering, which is a royal possession. Beyond that the land belongs to the Eorl of Dùn Èideann and the Abbot of Melrose.’
‘And in the south?’
‘Another ealdorman, Alweo.’
‘Alweo? Penda’s nephew?’
‘You are remarkably well informed.’
‘Is he your friend?’
‘Perhaps not like Oswald and your father were friends but, yes, he’s my friend. Now, enough talking. I want to see my son.’
With that, Catinus dug his heels in and galloped the rest of the way to the fortress. As soon as he entered the gates he jumped off his horse, leaving a startled stable boy to chase after the snorting stallion and calm him after the hectic race to the fortress, and ran into his hall.
He found Leoflaed suckling the baby in their bed. He paused at the door, his chest heaving until he steadied his breathing, and watched them until she looked up; a brilliant smile lighting her face when she saw her husband standing there.
‘Thank the Lord that you’re safe, Catinus. I was worried about you.’
He crossed the room and gently kissed her on the mouth before stroking the few strands of dark hair on the baby’s head.
‘Do you approve of my choice of name?’
‘Alaric? It means noble ruler, doesn’t it? A fitting name for my son and heir.’
At that moment a hesitant Ruaidhrí appeared at the door, unsure whether to intrude or go and find somewhere to wait until Catinus remembered him. Leoflaed noticed him first.
‘Who are you and what do you want? Do you have a message for my husband?’
‘I apologise for disturbing you at such a time, lady. I didn’t release that you were, er, um.’
‘Not like you to be lost for words, Ruaidhrí. Go and wait in the hall, I’ll come and find you shortly.’
‘Who is he? He’s too well dressed to be a servant.’
‘He’s the son of King Eochaid of the Ulaidh in Ireland. It’s a long story which I’ll tell you later. I said that I would escort him to Lindisfarne to be educated in the monastery.’
‘He’s to be a monk then?’
‘No, I promised him a place in my warband when he’s older. Look, forget about him, are you fully recovered?’
‘Enough for you to make love to me again, you mean?’
He blushed. ‘I had better go and sort Ruaidhrí out,’ he stammered and made a hurried exit. It was exactly what he’d been wondering about but he’d been embarrassed when his wife had guessed.
~~~
Catinus had invited Ruaidhrí to stay for the Christmas celebrations and a few days later he rode northwards with him toward Lindisfarne. As soon as he’d landed at Caer Luel he’d sent a messenger to Oswiu at Eoforwīc to acquaint him with the situation, both in Dalriada and Ulster, but he intuitively felt he should report to him in person as well. He intended to set out as soon as he’d taken the boy to meet Finan but, as they entered the gap in the hawthorn hedge that formed the perimeter of the monastery, he knew that something was wrong.
Finan was dead. The abbot was elderly but quite spritely the last time that Catinus had seen him. Apparently he’d died suddenly in his sleep. The ealdorman went to pay his respects and found the old man in a simple wooden coffin on the floor in front of the altar. He looked at peace but his face displayed the pale grey pallor of the dead. Catinus crossed himself and said a swift prayer before exiting the church. Unheated stone buildings were cold in winter at the best of times but today it seemed ten degrees colder than the air outside.
The monks had already elected the prior – Colman – as their next abbot but they wanted the king’s blessing on their choice. Furthermore they needed a bishop to ordain Colman as the next Bishop of Northumbria. Catinus therefore offered to escort Colman to Eoforwīc.
There remained the problem of Ruaidhrí. A monastery in mourning was a gloomy place and, unsurprisingly, the boy didn’t want to start his education at such an inauspicious time. In the end, Catinus, said that he could accompany him and Colman to Eoforwīc and then start his schooling on Lindisfarne upon his return.
‘I congratulate you on your election, Brother Colman. Naturally I’m more than happy to accept the monks’ choice as abbot,’ Oswiu said warmly.
Finan and he had disagreed on a number of subjects and secretly he wasn’t sorry he was dead. He only hoped that he would get more support from Colman.
‘Of course, we will have to find another bishop to consecrate you,’ he went on.
Wilfrid, who was standing off to one side with Oswiu’s son, Alchfrith of Deira, frowned at this. He had been trying to persuade Oswiu to move the seat of the bishop to Eoforwīc; Lindisfarne was such a remote place in his opinion and he was doing his best to get himself chosen as the next incumbent. He saw no reason why it should be tied to the abbacy of Lindisfarne.
He was also making progress with his scheme to replace the Celtic Church with that of Rome in Northumbria and he now saw the chance to make a little mischief.
‘There are several suitable bishops you might ask to conduct the ordination, Cyning. Perhaps Bishop Boniface of the East Angles would be a suitable choice in view of the marriage of your son Ecgfrith to their king’s niece?’
Oswiu scowled. Although Audrey was King Æthelwold’s niece, she was twenty five and had already buried one husband. She hadn’t appealed much to the virile fifteen year old Ecgfrith, especially as she was reputed to be a virgin. Oswiu needed the alliance and wanted it sealed through a union of their two families. It was unfortunate that they were the only two available candidates for this.
His son had agreed, albeit very reluctantly, to the match, but he reproached his father about it every time they met. The situation wasn’t helped by Audrey’s refusal to share her new husband’s bed. He gave up after a while and took a mistress instead.
Before Oswiu could respond to Wilfrid’s suggestion Colman replied with some vehemence.
‘No, Boniface is a Roman Catholic. If I am to be consecrated it must be a bishop of the true church, the Celtic Church.’
Oswiu sighed wearily. It looked as if Colman was going to be as difficult as Finan had been.
‘Very well. Who do you suggest?’
‘Bishop Utta of Prydenn is probably the nearest.’
‘A Pict?’
Wilfrid looked horrified.
‘No, not a Pict. He’s an Angle, like you. He used to be my Chaplain,’ Oswiu almost snapped at him.
He was getting tired of the continual bickering between the churchmen belonging to one or other of the two Churches. He’d been brought up in the Celtic faith but his wife, Alchfrith and Wilfrid, who were all Roman Catholics, were beginning to wear him down.
‘I could take Abbot Colman north by sea once the season for winter gales has passed,’ Catinus offered helpfully, earning himself a dirty look from Wilfrid and a venomous glare from Alchfrith.
‘Yes, good idea. Thank you Catinus. Helpful as ever.’
The smile that Oswiu gave the ealdorman of Bebbanburg was warm and friendly, something that wasn’t lost on either Alchfrith or Wilfrid.
At noon Catinus and Colman were invited to sit with the king for the main meal of the day. Eanflæd was noticeable by her absence and Catinus wondered whether she and Oswiu had fallen out again until his brother explained that she was expecting anoth
er baby and suffering from the sickness that often seemed to be a feature of the early stages of pregnancy. Colman, Wilfrid, Alchfrith, his wife Kyneburga – sister of Wulfhere of Mercia, Ecgfrith and Ethelred, Kyneburga’s brother, made up the top table.
Ethelred had remained at Oswiu’s court, not so much as a hostage but as a possible alternative king to Wulfhere should Mercia become a problem again. In any case, it was an open secret that the two brothers didn’t get on and Wulfhere was likely to either imprison him or kill him if Ethelred fell into his hands.
Alchfrith’s recent wedding to Kyneburga had been another political move to strengthen the truce between Northumbria and Mercia. However, unlike Ecgfrith’s marriage to Audrey, Alchfrith and Kyneburga seemed to have a happy relationship. Catinus wondered about Audrey’s absence but Conomultus explained that she was on retreat to the monastery at Ely, something she was wont to do from time to time. Ecgfrith didn’t seem to mind and, from the way that he kept looking at a young girl sitting at one of the other tables, Catinus surmised that she must be his mistress, Eormenburg.
When the main course, a spit roasted pig, was being served the main door into the hall was opened, letting in blast of icy air and a flurry of snow. Evidently winter was making itself felt for one last time before giving way to spring. The man who entered was dressed like a cleric but he had no tonsure, either above his forehead like Colman or on the crown of his head like Wilfrid. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties and carried himself with a certain authority.
‘Aldfrith. What’s he doing here?’ Conomultus said quietly to his brother.
‘I thought he was a scholar on Iona?’
‘He was, or so I thought.’
‘Aldfrith!’ Oswiu exclaimed getting up from his seat. ‘What brings you to Eoforwīc?’
‘You do, father. How long is it since we last saw each other?’
Aldfrith was the illegitimate son of Oswiu and Fianna, the daughter of a farmer on Bute that he had taken as his mistress when she was thirteen. When he had fallen in love with Rhieinmelth, the daughter of the last King of Rheged, he quickly forgot about Fianna and their son. Although Oswiu had made sporadic attempts to improve the relationship between them, Aldfrith had become alienated from his father. The last thing he was likely to do was to travel all the way from Iona to visit him.