by H A CULLEY
‘You did what?’ Oswiu was not pleased when Catinus told him what he’d done.
‘I didn’t have time to find you and get your agreement first, Cyning. I acted in what I thought was the best interests of us all, and you in particular.’
In truth, Catinus was more than a little annoyed at the king’s reaction when he told him what he’d done. The message left for Drest by Hefydd had promised him the support of Oswiu and the Pictish kings loyal to him if he refused to fight alongside his cousin in the coming battle. With Drest hopefully neutralised, Oswiu would outnumber Garnait by two to one.
‘Well, what’s done is done but I refuse to be held by a promise that you had no right to make on my behalf.’
‘Then you had better find someone else to look after Penntir for you. I can hardly be its eorl if I’m forsworn.’
‘Get out! Get out before I take Bebbanburg away from you too.’
Catinus bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue, bowed curtly and swept out of the king’s tent, nearly knocking down the sentry standing outside on his way. He was learning that the favour of kings could be somewhat fickle.
‘You’re right, of course, Catinus had no right to compromise your choice of the next high king,’ Elfin said later when Oswiu told him what had happened. ‘However, he’s given you victory on a plate, and without costing you men in battle that you can ill afford to lose if you want to pursue Domnall next.’
Oswiu saw the sense in what Elfin was saying, but he refused to accept it. He was still furious with Catinus for what he saw as his high handed action.
When he formed his army up on the north slope of A' Bheinn Mheanbh overlooking the Pict’s camp he saw that the part of the camp that had been occupied by Drest’s men was deserted. Only the smouldering remains of their campfires and patches of dead grass where their tents had stood showed where they had been. Catinus’ ploy had evidently worked.
Garnait had looked up at the massed ranks of Northumbrians and their allies and decided that his only hope was to escape. Abandoning his men he and his gesith headed north on horseback, wending their way through the traps they had dug. Just when he thought he was clear, Alweo and Catinus appeared around a spur of Beinn á Choin where it came down to meet Loch Katrine. They and their men took up position facing Garnait and his bodyguard, who had halted in dismay.
Some tried to flee back the way they had come but, in their panic, they forgot about the concealed pits and fell into them, dying on the pointed stakes at the bottom. The others stood their ground and met the charge head on.
Catinus found his quarry and lined his spear up, aiming at Garnait. One man tried to get in his way but he took the man’s spear point on his shield before his heavier horse barged the pony that the Pict was riding out of the way. Garnait knew he’d met his nemesis and didn’t even try to defend himself as Catinus’ spear struck his chainmail covered chest. The point skidded across the surface, ripping the links apart before entering the king’s head under his jaw. The point carried on up through the back of his mouth and into his brain before emerging through the back of his skull, knocking his helmet flying.
Half an hour later, whilst the victorious Northumbrians were building a compound to confine the two hundred and fifty Picts who had surrendered, Catinus took the mangled head of the former high king and presented it to Oswiu.
‘I suppose you think that now I’ll forgive you?’
‘I was rather hoping you might, Cyning. If Drest isn’t the man you want to succeed his cousin, then perhaps I should go and kill him too, just to prevent myself from becoming forsworn.’
Oswiu’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he burst out laughing.
‘That won’t be necessary, Catinus. At least not yet. Let’s see if he can be more loyal than his late kinsman.’
CHAPTER TEN – THE SUBJUGATION OF DALRIADA
662 AD
With Garnait dead, Oswiu now advanced into Dalriada. He puzzled over Garnait’s motivation for some time but didn’t really understand why he’d allowed himself to be bribed to allow Domnall and his routed army to pass. He had discussed this with his chaplain, as he had spent a little time with the Picts when he was younger, but Conomultus was as mystified as his king was.
It wasn’t until he spoke to Catinus that he understood.
‘Garnait obviously assumed that the Dalriadans had inflicted significant losses on you when you defeated them, or perhaps that was what Domnall had told him. I suspect that he saw an opportunity to drive you out of Caledonia and took it. Had you and Elfin really been weakened by the battle at the old hill fort then he might well have been able to succeed. Presumably that’s why his cousin joined him, and then changed his mind when he saw how strong we were in reality.’
‘Helped, no doubt, by the promise you made for me.’
Oswiu frowned at the recollection. He obviously hadn’t completely forgiven Catinus for offering his support for Drest’s bid to become high king.
‘Is there no message from your son, saying when he plans to join us?’
‘No,’ Oswiu replied curtly, his frown deepening. ‘He’d better had a very good reason for disobeying me.’
‘Perhaps Mercia is causing him concern?’
‘No, I would have heard. Now stop chattering and leave me in peace.’
Catinus dropped back to ride beside Redwald, the hereræswa of the army.
‘The king doesn’t seem to be his usual self,’ he said quietly after glancing around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.
‘No, he’s worried that Alchfrith is turning into another Œthelwald. It’s eating away at him.’
The co-incidence that both Œthelwald and Alchfrith had been made Kings of Deira by him didn’t help. Œthelwald had been Oswiu’s nephew, King Oswald’s only son, who had betrayed him by siding with Penda of Mercia. Oswiu had given Catinus the unpleasant job of killing Œthelwald after the Battle of the Winwaed, where Oswiu had defeated and killed his nemesis, Penda. The fact that Catinus had killed Œthelwald in a fair fight didn’t do much to ease the former’s conscience.
‘Then why doesn’t he leave Dalriada for now; he’s done what he came to do: drive Domnall out of the territory he’d invaded.’
‘You don’t know the king very well, do you?’
‘I thought I did.’
‘He’s ambitious. He loved his brother Oswald but he hated it when he became King of Northumbria and he had to make do with Rheged. Then he was apoplectic with rage when Oswine became King of Deira instead of him. He schemed to re-unite Northumbria because that’s what Oswald had done and he killed Oswine to achieve that. Then he wanted to exceed his brother’s success and so he became Bretwalda of Caledonia. It was something Oswald hadn’t done and I suspect he felt great satisfaction in his accomplishment.
‘Now he’s determined to hang onto his position here in Caledonia, come what may. I’ve tried to convince him that he only needs allies up here to secure the northern border of Northumbria from attack, but he sees himself king of all of Britannia north of the Humber.’
‘You’re saying that he’d risk everything he has already just to rule over Caledonia as well as Northumbria?’
‘That’s about the size of it. I just hope that Wulfhere isn’t temped to invade whilst Oswiu is weeks away from his southern lands. I have to say that I support Alchfrith’s decision to stay and guard the south, though I’ve more sense that to tell Oswiu that to his face.’
‘Why are you telling me all this? I might betray you to Oswiu.’
‘I suspect he already knows what I feel; besides, I need your help me to persuade Oswiu to get this over with as quickly as possible and return to Eoforwīc.’
‘Why, if Wulfhere is behaving himself at the moment and Alchfrith has the nobles, their warbands and the fyrd at his disposal? What’s the rush? Is it that you don’t trust his son?’
Redwald sighed and was lost deep in thought for a moment.
‘Can I trust you, Catinus?’
‘I
don’t know if you can trust me, but Oswiu certainly can. I owe him everything. I’d still be a Mercian shepherd if it weren’t for him. He rescued me and Conomultus from that life and made me a warrior, a member of his gesith, and then an ealdorman. That allowed me to marry a nobly born Angle girl and sire fine children. I am entirely loyal to him.’
‘Yes, I appreciate all that. But what I’m about to tell you is secret. It will give you power over me and I’m not sure that I’m ready to do that. I’d prefer it if I knew something about you that would balance what I’m about to say.’
‘Very well. I’ll tell you something that only one man, other than Oswiu, knows about me. It’s something that troubles me to this day but I acted with as much honour as possible in the circumstances.’
‘Go on. I swear your secret, if that’s what it is, is safe with me.’
‘Oswiu charged me with killing Œthelwald quietly so that he disappeared. I did so, but I couldn’t do it in cold blood. I killed him in fair fight and buried him in the woods where no-one would ever find his grave. Slaying him bothers me, but not so much as the fact that he was buried in unhallowed ground with no priest to shrive him and send him on his way. The men with me that day are all dead now, only my brother knows what I’ve just told you.’
‘Thank you. I did wonder what had happened to him. Very well; it’s not Alchfrith that Oswiu needs to worry about. Oh, he might well betray his father, but he is being manipulated by another, as is the queen.’
‘Who? Oh, Abbot Wilfrid?’
‘Yes. The man is as sly as a snake and as charming as a courtesan. He is a fanatical Roman and despises the Celtic Church. But his aim isn’t just to drive them out of Northumbria. He wants to be bishop with his seat at Eoforwīc. He’d be only too happy if Lindisfarne slid into obscurity; it really infuriates him that it’s the centre of Christianity in Northern Britain.
‘But it isn’t just spiritual power he craves. He regards the banishment of his father, the former Eorl of Hexham, as totally unjust. I suspect that he harbours a deep hatred for Oswiu as the man he holds responsible. But he seeks power, temporal power, as well as a life of luxury so he keeps his hatred in check, for now. He’s a complex individual which makes it so difficult to guess what he’ll do next. ’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Because you don’t stay as the right hand man of the most powerful king in Britain without making sure that you know what’s going on. I have agents in the right places and I keep my ears open and my mouth shut. No-one else knows what I’ve just confided to you.’
‘Not even Oswiu?’
‘Least of all him. If I tried to turn him against Wilfrid I’d lose his favour. His wife dotes on the man and Oswiu really suffered when they were estranged. He’ll not risk that again.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We watch, we listen and we tell each other everything we learn. I’m fairly sure that Wilfrid plots to depose or kill Oswiu and put his puppet, Alchfrith, on the throne. We must prevent that at all costs.’
‘Yes, I agree. However, Oswiu is no longer young. Many men are dead by his age. Who knows how much longer he’ll survive; what then?’
‘Ecgfrith will soon be seventeen. In a year or so he’ll be old enough to rule.’
~~~
Wilfrid was feeling pleased. He’d managed to persuade Alchfrith that to abandon the border with Mercia and scuttle off to the far north would be suicidal. Not only that, Eanflæd was now convinced that Alchfrith was correct not to desert Deira at this time. If that didn’t drive a wedge between the two of them and Oswiu nothing would. He would be angry with his son when he returned and, when his wife backed Alchfrith up, he could just imagine the king’s reaction. He just hoped that this time the rift would be irreparable.
Not only that, Alchfrith saw the sense in moving the seat of the bishop to Eoforwīc. He was fairly certain that Colman would refuse to move from Lindisfarne. He was that much closer to achieving his aim of becoming a bishop. Now he would concentrate on getting the Roman Church accepted as the true Christian faith.
It was all going so well and then disaster struck. The plague returned and this time the centre of the outbreak was Eoforwīc. Wilfrid was many things but one thing he wasn’t was a coward. Besides, he was confident that God would protect him. He organised a makeshift infirmary for those who succumbed to the disease and got the garrison to organise the burning of the bedding and clothes of the victims. Unlike most who thought that the disease was transmitted through the air, he believed that it travelled through contact.
The bodies were buried in lime pits as soon as possible after they died and Wilfrid worked tirelessly until the worst was over. His popularity increased and some of the local people were now calling him a saint, something that he relished in private but which he modestly declined to agree to in public. That just made him even more respected.
It was what he needed. His agents spread the idea that he should be made a bishop so that he was able to care for the souls of the people of Eoforwīc as well as their bodies. He thought that the idea would please the queen, but he hadn’t appreciated that, whilst she might support his ambition, she didn’t agree with the means he was using.
‘Wilfrid, I’m told that the people are calling for you to be made their bishop,’ Eanflæd said brusquely when he came to make one of his regular reports about the plague. ‘Don’t they know that they already have one in Colman of Lindisfarne?’
Wilfrid wasn’t certain whether the queen was genuinely puzzled or subtlety rebuking him for not discouraging such talk.
‘Síþwíf, Northumbria is now a vast diocese. Colman can’t be expected to be everywhere,’ he replied cautiously.
Everyone knew that, unlike his predecessors, Colman rarely strayed far from Lindisfarne. Really, Wilfrid thought, he’s playing right into my hands.
‘That’s as maybe, but it’s not for the common people to decide who should or should not be their bishop. It’s a disturbing development and I’ll have to talk to the king about it when he returns.’
She sniffed disdainfully to indicate what she thought of popular demands before turning to the purpose of his visit.
‘Has the epidemic died out now?’
‘There were only three new cases yesterday, Síþwíf, all in the same family. A couple and their six year old daughter. We must pray for their recovery and that the outbreak is now all but over.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
She shuddered. The king’s hall had been put into quarantine as soon as the plague appeared in the town. Only Wilfrid was allowed to come and go. Provisions were left at the gate for the servants to bring in once the suppliers had left. Eanflæd wasn’t about to risk two-year old Ælfwine catching it. She was only thankful that his elder brother, Ecgfrith, was away looking after his estates elsewhere in Deira. He’d wanted to take his warband and join his father, but Alchfrith had forbidden any of his nobles to leave, for which she was grateful.
~~~
The fortress of Dùn Add was surrounded. Oswiu was surprised that the settlement around it seemed to be smaller than it was when he was last here. Even some of the huts that still stood had been abandoned. It was obvious that the population had dwindled since he and Oswald had lived here with their mother. No doubt the various wars and the plague had taken its toll.
When he awoke on the first morning after arriving the place was eerily quiet. It wasn’t until he looked outside the tent and saw the mist which enveloped everywhere that he understood. The moisture laden air absorbed sound like a sponge. He worried that Domnall might have taken advantage of the poor visibility to flee but, when the sun later burnt off the mist, he saw that his banner was still flying above the dun. He shivered in the chill air and went back into his tent to allow his servants to dress him.
Two weeks later the situation hadn’t altered much, except the weather had changed to alternating days of warm sunshine and heavy rain. Now the noise from the camp reflected the increase in the number o
f besiegers. He had taken a gamble and had summoned the Sub-kings of Islay, Lorne and Mael Duin of Cowal, Domnall’s brother, to meet him there with their warbands. To his intense relief all three had come and had formally acknowledged him as their overlord.
That left Domnall isolated but Oswiu didn’t have the time to continue a siege of Dùn Add until starvation forced it to surrender. He was due at the Council of the Pictish Kings in three weeks to elect the new high king.
‘What will you do?’ Redwald asked him. ‘You’ve been away from Northumbria for too long as it is.’
‘Don’t start that again. I know you’re right but reminding me all the time isn’t helping.’
Oswiu paced up and down inside his tent, lost in thought. He had two alternatives: a direct assault, but that could be costly in terms of casualties, or leave Redwald and Elfin here to conduct the siege whilst he, Catinus and the Eorl of Prydenn, accompanied by their respective gesiths, rode to Stirling to attend the council. However, he was loathe to do that in case the miscellany of men that made up the besiegers melted away in his absence. The only common loyalty they had was to him as their bretwalda.
He looked up at the palisaded fortress sitting on top of its mound and wondered again how he might best attack it. The mound on which it stood looked like an enormous burial barrow with a circular mound raised above it about two-thirds the way along. There were two palisades: a circular one twelve feet high around the king’s hall on top of the upper knoll and an outer one that was constructed as an ellipse near the top of the lower hill. Inside the outer defences stood the warrior’s hall, another hall for the married men on duty in the fortress and other huts which were storerooms and the like.
He considered using fire arrows but the intermittent heavy rain had made that impractical. The thatch on the roofs would be still be sodden. There was a steep path up to the main gates in the outer palisade furthest away from the king’s hall and a small postern gate at the other end of the mound. This had a narrow path which zig-zagged up to the gate from the level ground below where the rest of the settlement stood.