THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

  Oswiu and Elfin, with the two hundred and fifty men who were unwounded after the battle near the old hill fort, were camped near the headwaters of Loch Lomond awaiting news of Garnait.

  Meanwhile Oswiu had sent messengers to the other four kings asking them to convene at Stirling in three months’ time. They, together with the Eorl of Prydenn and Catinus, as Eorl of Penntir, would need to elect a new high king as well as agree on who should rule Hyddir now that he had declared Garnait a traitor. He believed that that would give him enough time to hunt Garnait down and then advance into Dalriada to depose the slippery Domnall. It would have to be. He didn’t want to be trapped in the mountains when the weather deteriorated later in the year.

  He had also sent messengers to Alchfrith and to the three eorls in Goddodin, ordering them to join him with their warbands. However, it would take at least three weeks for the latter and a lot longer for the former to reach him. Redwald wondered if Oswiu wasn’t being a little obsessive in his determination to control the north at the expense of his southern border. At the moment Wulfhere was behaving, at least as far as Northumbria was concerned, but withdrawing Alchfrith and his warband and leaving just the eorls, their warriors and the fyrd to protect Northumbria might just be too tempting a situation for him to resist.

  Two weeks later his scouts found Garnait. He and his cousin, Drest, had taken up a position on the narrow neck of land between Lochs Katrine and Arklet. The scouts estimated the numbers at five hundred, mostly on foot but about a tenth were mounted on the surefooted mountain ponies that the Picts rode.

  Only the three eorls from Goddodin had joined him so far, bringing the combined Northumbrian and Strathclyde army to about the same size as that of the Picts. There had been no communication from Alchfrith so Oswiu had no idea when he and his men would arrive, or even if they were on their way. He seethed with anger at Alchfrith’s silence. He should at least have let him know when he expected to join him.

  He would have preferred to have waited, but he was conscious that he still had Domnall to deal with and the date set for the council of the Picts was now only two months away. He therefore decided to march with the men he had.

  Three days later he sat on his horse on the lower slopes of Beinn á Choin and looked down at the narrow neck of land between the two lochs. The Picts were camped along the south bank of Loch Katrine, below a mountain called A' Bheinn Mheanbh but, as soon as Oswiu’s army made an appearance, they rushed to take up their positions on the high ground to the south of the isthmus.

  ‘If we attack head on, we’ll be forced onto a narrow front by the two lochs,’ he said thoughtfully to Elfin and Redwald.

  ‘I’m not certain, Cyning,’ Redwald replied, ‘but the ground just beyond the isthmus doesn’t look quite right. But then, my eyesight isn’t what it was.’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Elfin agreed. ‘I’d be willing to bet that they’ve dug pits and covered them with frames made from thin branches, then put sods cut from the surrounding grassland on top. They must have done it a little while ago because the grass is yellowing.’

  ‘Yes, and there are bare patches of earth to the south of that small loch where the sods must have come from,’ exclaimed Redwald.

  ‘Well spotted. That rules out a frontal assault then. Do any of your scouts know this area well, Elfin?’

  ‘One or two do. I’ll send for them.’

  That night, whilst Alweo, Catinus and their horsemen remained behind to keep the campfires on the southern slopes of Beinn á Choin burning, a few scouts led the rest on a long night march to the north of Loch Arklet and then along the east bank of Loch Lomond until they turned along a steep sided valley that eventually led them to the south west slopes of A' Bheinn Mheanbh.

  His men were tired and dawn was fast approaching so Oswiu decided to camp beside a small lake called Loch Ard. Let Garnait and Drest wonder where he’d gone to when they awoke. The more unsettled they were, the better.

  ‘Where in the name of God have they disappeared to?’ Garnait asked his equally bewildered cousin the next morning.

  Even Alweo and Catinus had moved back along the northern arm of Loch Katrine so that they were out of sight behind the bulk of Beinn á Choin. Garnait and his cousin were left looking at the smouldering remains of the campfires. The smoke still rising made it look as if the occupants of the camp had only recently left. Then it started to rain and the smoking ashes were quickly reduced to a dirty black mess.

  Catinus had taken up a position behind some scrub growing on the lower slopes of Beinn á Choin to keep an eye on the Picts and it wasn’t long before he saw a score of warriors lope away to scout out the surrounding countryside. It wouldn’t take them more than a few hours to find both Oswiu’s camp and his own. There wasn’t much he could do about the other patrols, but he would at least make sure that the scouts crossing the isthmus didn’t report back.

  There were four Picts heading along Loch Arklet before turning up the re-entrant and heading for the summit of the mountain. From there they would be able to see Alweo and his men camped on the shore of Loch Katrine. Catinus had brought three of his own gesith with him and two of those had bows. As the scouts worked their way up the re-entrant to where he lay he signalled the two archers to take care of any who tried to run back down the mountain.

  Suddenly he and one of his gesith, a man appropriately named Beorn, which meant warrior, rose up when the two leading Picts were ten paces away. Before the two men had realised what was happening, Catinus and Beorn cut them both down. The other two were ten paces behind them, so they had time to turn and run as soon as they had recovered their wits. Like most Picts, they were clad in nothing but saffron coloured tunics, though one did have a helmet on his head. Two arrows chased them down the steep slope, one hitting its target in the middle of his back, killing him instantly, but the other was struck in the right shoulder. It spun him around and he gasped in pain, but seconds later he was running again, clutching his right arm with his left hand to stop his injured shoulder from moving too much.

  Catinus and Beorn ran after him. Beorn, being younger than Catinus by a decade, quickly overtook his eorl and he was the one to deliver the fatal blow, half severing the man’s head from his body. The helmet rolled away and Beorn picked it up.

  ‘Worse than useless. It wouldn’t stop a blow from your son, lord,’ he said throwing it away.

  ‘We’d better get back down the hill and keep an eye on the five who went up the loch towards Alweo’s encampment.’

  Beorn nodded and, collecting the two archers, they ran down the hillside towards their camp. As they crested a ridge they saw the five Picts below them up alongside a small stream. The Picts saw them a split second after that. There was a hasty discussion before the five men spread out to meet Catinus and his men as they charged towards them.

  Suddenly the archers stopped and nocked an arrow to their bow. They couldn’t aim immediately, not until they had their breathing back under control but, when they did, the two Picts at either end of the line dropped; one with an arrow through his neck and the other with one in his thigh. The archer who’d aimed at him cursed his poor aim, but it didn’t matter. The arrowhead had nicked his femoral artery and he quickly bled to death.

  That left the other three to face Catinus and Beorn. When Catinus had announced his intention of leading the group to keep watch up the mountain, Alweo had told him he was mad.

  ‘You’re an ealdorman who has just been made an eorl, albeit temporarily. You don’t have to prove anything. Send Beorn by all means, he’s young and dying to prove that the faith you showed in him by making him a member of your gesith was well placed. You’ve got a wife and children. They need you alive.’

  ‘If I thought like that I’d be killed in my next fight. I need to commit myself one hundred percent, not hold back and let others die in my place. That’s not me, and never will be. A brave man frightens his enemies and he survives – in the main anyway. A coward is soon killed. Can’t you see
that?’

  Catinus thought back to their exchange now as he faced the three Picts. One was glowering at him, intent on killing him but the man next to him, scarcely more than a boy, looked terrified. The third one he discounted as Beorn was already racing towards him. As the first Pict thrust his spear at him Catinus batted it away with his shield and brought his sword down onto his opponent’s small shield. The blow unbalanced the Pict and he stumbled. Catinus stepped forward and thrust his sword into the other man’s exposed chest. It was a fatal wound and he fell to the ground.

  Catinus’ sword was trapped in the dying man’s ribcage and he struggled to pull it out. It was the boy’s chance to stab him with his spear but he hesitated. By the time he thrust it at Catinus, the latter had pulled his shield into place to block the thrust and, letting go of the trapped sword, he pulled his seax from its scabbard.

  The boy crouched down, looking for a second opportunity to stab Catinus but he’d lost his chance. Catinus brought his seax down, chopping at the part of the shaft just behind the bronze point. Had it been his sword it would have cut through the it, but the seax was shorter and the blow lacked power. Nevertheless it cut part way through the shaft and the next time the boy thrust at Catinus he blocked it with his shield and the shaft snapped.

  The boy looked down aghast at the useless length of wood in his hand and tears of frustration formed in his eyes. Beorn made to finish the boy off but Catinus shook his head.

  He went back to the body and finally managed to free his sword. Walking back to the boy, whose escape was now cut off by the other three members of his gesith, he swung his sword, cutting the remnants of the shaft in two.

  ‘Surrender or die; your choice boy,’ he said in Brythonic.

  Now openly weeping the lad threw down his small shield and the last part of the shaft, followed by the cheap dagger he wore at his waist.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Llyffant,’ he replied sullenly.

  Catinus laughed. ‘Frog? Your father must have had a sense of humour.’

  ‘You’ve just killed him.’ He pointed to the man with the fatal wound to his chest.

  ‘He shouldn’t have brought you to war. How old are you?’

  ‘I have eleven summers.’

  ‘You look younger. You’re a brave lad, Llyffant. Tie his hands and put a halter around his neck Eadstan, we’ll take him with us. He may be able to tell us something.’

  The leader of the gesith nodded to Beorn who took the rough lengths of rope that the Picts had worn around their waists as belts and used them to tie Llyffant’s hands together and then fashioned a length of rope just long enough to serve as a lead. He gave it to one of the two archers to hold as they descended the mountain, which proved to be a mistake.

  On a particularly steep section Llyffant gave a sudden tug on the rope and the man holding the end lost his footing and went sliding down the mountainside. The boy took off running back up the mountain. He looked ungainly with his hands tied behind his back but he was still making reasonable progress when an arrow whizzed past his ear and struck the ground in front of him.

  The other archer had deliberately missed and the warning wasn’t lost on Llyffant, who halted and turned around. A second arrow was aimed at his chest and he reluctantly started back down again.

  ‘You seem to have some spirit, boy, but you lack common sense. Don’t try that again. The next arrow won’t be sent as a warning, understand?’ Eadstan told him.

  The boy nodded and the man he’d escaped from gave him such a belt around the head that he was almost knocked from his feet. Grabbing the end of the rope again he gave it a strong yank so that the boy almost lost his balance again. He was docile the rest of the way.

  ‘Now, what do you know that might be useful to me?’ Catinus asked after the boy had been fed and allowed to relieve himself.

  ‘Nothing. No-one tells me anything, I’m just a boy,’ he replied sullenly.

  ‘What was your father?’

  ‘He was a hunter, that’s why he was used as a scout. Ever since my mother’s died he’s grumbled about me costing him money to feed and clothe. He said it was time he taught me to hunt so that I was of some use.’

  Catinus looked at the boy’s tattered tunic and worn shoes and thought that it hadn’t cost the man much to clothe him and, judging by how small and thin he was, he hadn’t spent much on the boy’s food either.

  ‘What were the rumours running about the camp?’

  ‘Rumours?’

  ‘Yes, why did your men think Garnait had let the Dalriadans escape? Did Drest agree with his cousin? Were the men behind their leaders? That sort of thing.’

  When the boy sullenly refused to answer Catinus decided to change his tactics.

  ‘Look Llyffant, I’ve kept you alive because I thought you might be of use to me. So far you have been as much help as a horse fly in a latrine. What do you think will happen to you now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, looking crestfallen. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘What I should have done at first, cut your throat.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I need to know what you’ll do with me afterwards.’

  ‘What would you like me to do with you?’

  ‘Let me go back to my people.’

  ‘No. That’s not an option. In any case, your father’s dead. Who would look after you?’

  The boy thought for a moment. ‘No-one would want me, you’re right.’

  ‘So what else?’

  ‘Could I stay with you and serve you?’

  Catinus studied the boy to see if he was being serious. Should he trust him? Leofric was now nineteen and he had been thinking of freeing him for a while. The young man would make a good warrior and he knew that’s what Leofric wanted. He decided to take a chance and called for his body servant.

  ‘Take this urchin down to the loch and scrub him clean. Then give him an old tunic of yours to wear. It’ll be far too big so you’ll have to alter it. Then bring him back here.’

  ‘Yes, lord,’ the puzzled servant replied, wondering what was going on.

  An hour later Leofric returned with Llyffant. The boy looked quite different. Instead of being dirty brown, his hair was a dark reddish bronze that shone in the light. Without the layers of dirt his face was quite comely and, when the boy smiled tentatively at him, he found himself smiling back. The tunic was an old blue one that Leofric had cut to size and sewn roughly back together but it would do for now. He’d even given the boy an old leather belt to replace the length of rope around his waist.

  ‘Good. You look almost human now, but I refuse to call you Frog. From now on you have a new name, Hefydd.’

  It meant bronze in the Pictish tongue and the boy looked pleased by his change in name.

  ‘Thank you, lord. What was it you wanted to know?’

  ‘What do his men think about Garnait’s action in letting Domnall and his Dalriadans escape?

  ‘They mainly grumble because the enemy king bribed him with gold, but he kept all of it for himself instead of distributing it to his warband. But that isn’t their only complaint; they also want retribution. The miserable dogs had invaded a part of Hyddir and killed all the Picts who lived there and they should have been made to suffer for that.’

  It was what Catinus suspected and he concluded that the boy was trustworthy.

  ‘What about Drest and his men. Do they support Garnait?’

  ‘I don’t think so. My father said that King Drest and the high king had argued and the men from Pobla didn’t want to fight for Garnait.’

  ‘Good. Now I want you to run an errand for me. I want you to take a message to Drest. Can you do that?’

  ‘I can try,’ the boy said doubtfully, ‘but I don’t think they’ll let me in to see him.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose they will, but you can get close to his tent can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll need my old tunic back though. I should
be able to pass unnoticed in that. Why?’

  ‘Here’s a dagger. Cut a slit in the tent wall and slip inside when it’s deserted and leave this pouch where Drest is bound to find it. Can you do that?’

  ‘With any luck, yes.’

  ‘Then, when you return, you can replace Leofric as my body servant. You’ll have to train him first, Leofric, but then you can become one of my warriors.’

  ‘Thank you, lord, I don’t need to tell you how grateful I am.’

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve for serving me faithfully for the past eight years. I shall free your sister as well, though I expect she’ll want to continue in service to the Thegn of Bebbanburg.’

  He was being diplomatic. Everyone knew that, in addition to managing the thegn’s hall, she also shared his bed. Before Leofric became too euphoric he added a proviso.

  ‘That is always supposing that the boy makes it safely back here, of course,’ he said in English.

  In the event it was simpler than Catinus had expected. Hefydd had passed through the camp that night without a problem and discovered that the only guard on Drest’s tent was at the entrance. He cut a slit in the leather at the rear and slipped inside. From the snores he guessed that there were three people sleeping inside. After letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, he was just able to make out the shape of two men asleep near the entrance, presumably servants. The king himself had to be the man in the bed of furs near the rear wall. He placed the message in its pouch on the man’s chest and returned the way he’d come.

  He’d been challenged when he was leaving the camp but he’d called out that he needed to answer a call of nature and ran off before the sentry could grab him.