THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

  Both exits had been closely watched ever since their arrival so, in addition to the evidence provided by the banner, he was confident that Domnall was still bottled up inside. He was still debating what to do when there was a development. Mael Duin asked for a private audience.

  Redwald, Catinus and Alweo all counselled against it.

  ‘Suppose he tries to kill you?’

  ‘Why does it need to be in private? What is he going to say that your nobles can’t hear?’

  ‘I smell something fishy here,’

  They had all tried to speak at once and Oswiu held up his hands for quiet. The three stopped speaking but the king sensed their agitation in the silence that followed.

  ‘I know you don’t trust him, but he’s the only alternative unless I try and make one of the other two sub-kings the King of Dalriada. As they dislike one another I hardly think that would work. However, they have both indicated that they would accept Mael’s rule.’

  ‘Very well,’ Redwald said at last. ‘But I’ll search him for weapons first.’

  ‘Tell him that I too will be unarmed.’

  The three filed out of the tent into the rain leaving Oswiu alone for a moment. Shortly afterwards Mael entered after giving up his sword and dagger to the sentries. He shook the water from his cloak onto the earth floor of the tent. It had been covered in straw but that had been trodden into the mire long since and so it didn’t make much difference to the amount of mud in the entrance way.

  ‘Why the need for privacy?’ Oswiu asked him without preamble.

  Mael licked his lips nervously before replying.

  ‘I have a proposition to put to you but I had rather my fellow Dalriadans didn’t get to know about it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  The sound of the rain hitting the taut leather surface of the tent got louder as Mael hesitated.

  ‘Provided that you recognise me as king and promise me that you’ll execute my brother, I’ll appeal to his men to surrender. As you’ve taken the wives and children of the garrison captive the threat of executing them will force them to surrender. Hopefully, if the married men capitulate, the single warriors will do the same.’

  ‘Hmmm, I can see why you didn’t want your suggestion that I kill your women and children broadcast. It would end any chance of you being accepted as king. But I don’t understand how you intend to keep this from the other two kings and your own people from Cowal. Surely they would be appalled by such a threat?’

  ‘Which is why you need to send someone into the fortress to take the warning to the married men without Domnall or anyone else knowing. Once they are convinced it’ll be up to them to get the single men to agree.’

  ‘But it’s bound to come out later.’

  ‘Yes, but I can claim it was just a ploy by you which I knew nothing about.’

  ‘It’s hardly likely to make me popular is it?

  ‘Provided you have my loyalty, does that matter?’

  Oswiu ignored that and changed tack.

  ‘And how does this messenger get into the fortress?’

  ‘The same way as Catinus got into Dùn Breatainn a couple of years ago. There is a garbage chute on the far side of the hill above a near vertical gully. There is a small hatch in the base of the palisade from where the rubbish is thrown out. It’s kept secure by a wooden bar but a seax inserted between the hatch and the palisade should be able to lift it out of the way.’

  ‘So all I have to do is to find someone who speaks the variety of Gaelic spoken by you Dalriadans and is also foolish enough to risk his life?’

  ‘Yes, and also someone who is small enough to fit through the hatch; preferably a boy.’

  ‘Who would listen to a boy?’

  ‘They don’t have to. I’ll send a written message to be given to someone inside who I believe is loyal to me.’

  ‘I see. So you have someone in mind?’

  ‘Yes, you can leave that part to me. All I need from you is your agreement and for you to put the threat in writing.’

  ‘Very well. It’s worth a try. Have you told this messenger? Is he willing to risk his life for you?’

  ‘Yes, he is. It’s Eógan, my eldest son.’

  Eógan crept towards the hill on which the fortress was built, waiting until the moon went behind a cloud before moving again. He was small for fourteen but he’d completed his training as a warrior and, in the manner of young warriors, he was fearless. He didn’t regard this mission as dangerous; it was exciting and he relished the trust his father had placed in him.

  The night was far from still. An owl swept overhead, its wing startling him, seeking its prey. Small nocturnal animals scuttled about and a wildcat hissed at him as he passed it before continuing to devour the meal it had just killed. The small noises he made went unnoticed amongst the rest. The air was dry but the ground was wet and he nearly slipped as he climbed up the hill beside the gulley full of detritus from the fortress.

  It stank, but that was a good thing. It meant that sentry patrolling along the walkway didn’t loiter when he reached that point. Eógan nearly lost his footing again on the wet grass beside the hatch but he managed to grab the base of a prickly bush just in time. His hand and arm were lacerated by thorns but it didn’t matter. He was there.

  He cautiously inserted the blade of his seax between the left hand side of the hatch and lifted it until he felt resistance. He pushed the blade up with all his might but at first it didn’t move. Then suddenly the bar lifted and the small door swung inwards.

  Seconds later the boy was inside the inner palisade. Carefully he shut the hatch and placed the bar back in position. Now all he had to do was find his contact. He knew that he would be in the hall occupied by the married warriors and, having been there once before when he was younger, he made his way through the darkness to where he thought it was.

  He had just reached the hall when he heard a movement behind him. Before he could react, a hand clamped itself over his mouth and a dagger pricked his neck, drawing a trickle of blood.

  ‘Now what are you doing sneaking around here, lad. You are hardly a married man so you have no business here. I’m going to remove my hand so you can talk but if you do anything else but whisper the answers to my questions I’ll slit your throat. Nod if you understand.

  ‘Good, now who are you and what are you doing here?’

  Eógan knew it was useless to give a false name. Many warriors in the fortress would recognise him as Mael Duin’s son.

  ‘I’m Eógan mac Mael and I have a message for one of the warriors in the hall.’

  ‘Eógan? The King of Cowall’s son? What message? Who is it for?’

  ‘That’s my business, not yours.’

  ‘Don’t get coy with me laddie. King’s son or not, you have my dagger at your throat.’

  ‘Do you have family down there?’

  He pointed towards the settlement outside the fortress.

  ‘Yes, my wife and three children. Why?’

  ‘If I fail in my mission they will all be killed by Oswiu tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What? He’d never dare! He’d be reviled throughout Dalriada and beyond.’

  ‘Then let’s hope I’m successful. Now let me go.’

  ‘Very well. Wait. You can’t go bumbling around in there in the dark. You don’t even know where the man you seek will be. Tell me his name and I’ll fetch him out to you.’

  Five minutes later Eógan handed the message over but there wasn’t enough light to see by. The two went inside the hall where a torch burned by the entrance to guide those who needed to go outside to piss during the night. Neither noticed that the man who had first discovered Eógan had disappeared. The man paled when he read the message.

  ‘Do you know what this says?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to persuade the garrison to surrender and then this won’t be necessary.’

  Just at that moment the first man returned but he wasn’t alone. King Domnall and four armed war
riors were with him.

  ‘What’s going on? Give me that letter.’

  The king snatched it away and quickly scanned the contents.

  ‘Well, it seems we have a couple of traitors here, one of them being my nephew,’ he said with a triumphant gleam in his eye. ‘Disarm them and bring them up to my hall.’

  ‘Wait! Aren’t you going to tell your warriors the dire warning the letter contains?’ Eógan’s contact asked.

  By now all of the warriors in the hall were awake and many were on their feet.

  ‘It doesn’t concern them,’ the king replied tersely. ‘Do as I say and disarm them, then gag them.’

  ‘Oh, but it does concern them if their wives and children are all about to be put to the sword.’

  At that even Domnall’s escort paused.

  ‘What’s he saying, Brenin?’ one of the men in the hall asked.

  There was a murmur from the rest and one or two picked up their weapons.

  ‘He’s trying to fool you,’ Domnall blustered.

  ‘I’ve known him all my life and I’ve never known a truer man. Tell us what’s in the letter or give it to me.’

  The man who spoke stood head and shoulders above the rest. He had sworn an oath of loyalty to Domnall, but the mention of a threat to his wife and two daughters gave him the courage to stand up to the king.

  Domnall realised that the mood in the hall was turning against him. Despite what the man had demanded he doubted if any of them was able to read. The only one who could was the former monk to whom the message had been sent.

  ‘Very well, can you read it? No, I thought not.’

  ‘No, but I can.’

  Domnall panicked, which was his undoing. He drew his seax and stabbed the ex-monk in the stomach. He collapsed on the floor, screaming in agony. The king’s action had been unexpected and no-one moved for a moment, then Eógan realised that his mission now faced failure. He was furious and, without thinking, he pulled out his own seax and slashed it across his uncle’s throat.

  The king gurgled and fell to his knees as the blood from his carotid artery spurted across the floor and all over Eógan. His escort went to kill the boy in retribution but the big warrior stepped in front of them holding his axe.

  ‘Leave him be. Domnall’s dead and the boy who slew him is the eldest son of the man who’s likely to be the next King of Dalriada. Kill him and the first thing he’ll do is hang you.’

  It wasn’t the outcome that Oswiu had expected, but when Redwald fetched him from his tent the next morning, he went outside just as the gates of the fortress were opened to allow the garrison to troop out through the incessant light rain and swear allegiance to King Mael.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – THE SYNOD OF WHITBY

  663 to 664 AD

  ‘Why didn’t you do as I ordered?’

  Oswiu and his son glared at each other. They were standing in the king’s hall at Loidis, a comparatively mean building compared to those at Eoforwīc and Bebbanburg. The small dimensions crowded in on the two kings and their respective gesiths. The place reeked of old wood smoke, which had stained the timbers black with soot over the years, and it smelt damp. Oswiu noted with annoyance that the rain was leaking through the thatch at several points. At least Alchfrith might have had the sense to keep his home in good repair.

  ‘Because I’d have been stupid to have left Deira wide open to attacks from the Mercians.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to bring the fyrd. They would have been enough to deter Wulfhere from doing anything stupid, especially as he’s at odds with Wessex again. No, you deliberately disobeyed me.’

  Abbot Wilfrid, who’s been talking to Alchfrith when Oswiu had stormed into the hall with his men, coughed discretely.

  ‘Do you think we should take this conversation into the king’s chamber where there is more privacy?’

  Oswiu looked around him, as if realising that there were others present for the first time, then nodded and followed his son through the door into his sleeping chamber. When Wilfrid went to follow him Owsiu held up his hand to stop him.

  ‘Private I think you said, abbot. I don’t need you.’

  ‘Well? Don’t you think I’d considered the situation with Mercia before I summoned you?’ he asked his son as soon as they were alone.

  ‘I think you were obsessed with regaining Dalriada to the exclusion of everything else,’ his son retorted with some heat.

  Oswiu took a deep breath to retain control of his own temper.

  ‘If I can’t depend on you as my vassal then you’re no use to me.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Depose me?’

  ‘Yes, if you continue with that attitude.’

  ‘Let’s face it, father, you’ve never had any time for me and now you seek to replace me with that pampered fool Ecgfrith, as soon as he’s old enough’

  Oswiu was taken by surprise. He had indeed been considering doing just that.

  ‘Your brother is neither spoilt not stupid, and he is loyal to me. I’m beginning to doubt that you are.’

  Alchfrith realised that he’d miscalculated, and badly so. He’d expected his father to deny that he’d ever thought of taking away his throne. Now it seemed that he was considering doing exactly that. His first reaction was resentment but then his instinct for survival kicked in and he realised that he needed to extricate himself from the situation, not dig himself in deeper.

  ‘Father, I’m sorry. I realise now that I should have trusted your judgment and come to your aid when you needed me.’

  ‘Yes, you should. As it was I managed without you, thanks to Drest’s abandonment of his cousin and Mael’s eagerness to sit on his brother’s throne.’

  ‘Can you forgive me?’

  Oswiu sighed. When he was younger he’d have deposed Alchfrith or even have had him killed, but he had mellowed with time and he found himself pardoning him instead.

  ‘Disobey me again or show any sign of disloyalty and I will take Deira away from you; you understand? And get your damned roof fixed,’ he added as a cold drop of water hit the back of his neck.

  ~~~

  ‘I’m glad that you managed to find it in your heart to forgive Alchfrith.’

  ‘Are you? You do realise that Ecgfrith would have replaced him?’

  Oswiu was sitting in Eanflæd’s chamber in the women’s hall at Eoforwīc where she’d been living whilst her husband was away.

  ‘Yes, but that would only have sown dissention amongst your nobles. You’ve told me that you want Ecgfrith to succeed you as King of Northumbria in due course, when Christ calls you to his side. That’s enough for me.’

  ‘You’re forgetting about Ælfwine.’

  ‘But he’s only two; he’s still a baby.’

  ‘Babies grow up to be men all too quickly. I need to do something for him when he’s older.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time for that. Let him be a child first. You know that Ecgfrith’s wife had retreated to her monastery again?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘That marriage was a mistake; you’ll never have a grandson at this rate.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ he asked, annoyed at the change in direction that the conversation had taken.

  In truth, he felt some guilt about arranging his son’s marriage to a devout woman who seemed determined to retain her virginity at all costs.

  ‘Get Wilfrid to annul the marriage so our son can marry again.’

  ‘Wilfrid’s not a bishop, it would have to be Colman.’

  ‘You know full well that he wouldn’t do it. For him ‘til death do us part means exactly that. Besides he never leaves Lindisfarne these days. Why don’t you make Wilfrid Bishop of Eoforwīc? Then he can look after this part of Northumbria.’

  ‘Bishop of… Did Wilfrid put you up to this?’

  ‘No, it was Alchfrith’s idea if you must know, but I do think it’s a sensible one.’

  ‘Well I don’t agree. Wilfrid’s a Roman Catholic for a start, and Northumbria follows the Ce
ltic Church.’

  ‘But I don’t, and neither does Alchfrith. The rest of England recognises the Pope as their spiritual leader; it’s only Northumbria that doesn’t.’

  ‘I’m not the king of the rest of England.’

  ‘Even you must admit that celebrating Easter on two different dates is ridiculous. I and half the court are still observing Lent whilst you’re feasting and celebrating the festival.’

  ‘I agree that’s awkward but I don’t understand what you expect me to do about it.’

  ‘You know that it’s the universal practice of all Christians from the Holy Land to Mercia to observe the same date for Easter; only the Ionian community lays down a different date.’

  ‘Even if I agreed with you, I can’t see how I could change it.’

  ‘Call a convocation and invite Bishop Colman and representatives of the Roman Church to explain their arguments to you, then make a decision.’

  Oswiu thought for a long time about his wife’s suggestion before finally nodding his head in agreement.

  ~~~

  Much as he wanted to be reunited with his wife and children again, Catinus had headed directly from Dùn Add to Penntir to take over as the new eorl until Bruide was old enough to rule. He was still smarting from an argument he’d had with his brother before he’d departed. Conomultus hadn’t been privy to the threat to kill the women and children and, when he’d heard about it he had been horrified.

  He was all for going to tell Oswiu exactly what he thought of him for agreeing to such a plan but Catinus had thankfully been able to stop him. They had argued and eventually Conomultus calmed down. However, when he found out that his brother was aware of the ploy he made no effort to hide his disgust.

  ‘It was only a ruse to get the fortress to surrender, Oswiu had no intention of carrying it out.’

  ‘And since when have you ever know him to back down once he’d made a threat to do something? What would he have done if the garrison hadn’t capitulated?’