by H A CULLEY
At that moment the clouds parted and the scene was illuminated by the silvery moon. By its pale light Ruaidhrí saw the other man clutching at his bloody side. Evidentially his sword had struck his ribs and had been deflected downwards to cut deeply into the side of his abdomen. The man had pulled the sword out but now he was bleeding copiously.
Ruaidhrí kicked out with his foot at the hand holding the sword and the man let go of it; it went spinning away just as another black cloud covered the moon. Ruaidhrí thrust his seax at where he thought the man was but it met no resistance. Now plunged into the inky darkness again, Ruaidhrí was worse off than before the moon had put in its brief appearance. He had lost his night vision.
He stood and listened for the other’s breathing but he heard nothing. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his calf. The man had obviously collapsed but had the strength to stab him from the ground, though what with he didn’t know as the man had lost his sword.
He put his weight onto his other leg and stabbed down with his seax. This time he felt it enter flesh and he kept stabbing until he was certain that the man was dead. He sat down heavily and cursed. The rush of adrenaline had left him cold and weary and his leg was beginning to really hurt. With a wound in his calf he would slow Morleo and his men down and they would need to move fast from now on. It was obvious that that the warriors that Bruide had given him were not far away.
He ripped a length of material from the dead man’s tunic and bound his wound with it as best he could. He waited for the moon to put in another appearance and then looked for his sword. With a grimace at the irony of it, he found it clutched in his attacker’s hand. The scout had evidently found it on the ground and used it to stab its owner.
He hobbled painfully back through the stream to the camp. He didn’t call out in case there were other enemy close by but whispered to the sentry to go and wake Morleo. Five minutes later he was being carried by two of the strongest men as the group quietly left the clearing and made their way through the trees.
When dawn lit the hills to the east they stopped and one of the men who claimed to have a little knowledge of healing bathed the wound and sewed the edges together with catgut before bandaging it again. The stronger men took it in turns to carry Ruaidhrí on their backs; luckily at seventeen he was still quite slim and didn’t weigh as much as many his age. By the time that they stopped for a five minute rest and a quick breakfast of rye bread and water they were a good ten miles from the campsite. Morleo hoped that their pursuers had waited for the scouts to report back before moving on; in which case they’d probably waited until dawn before setting out. That meant that they had a start of several hours on them; they would need it with Ruaidhrí slowing them down.
This time Morleo sent out his own scouts - two ahead of them and two more to the rear - to give them warning if they saw their enemies behind them. It wasn’t until the day was drawing to a close that the ones in the rear came running up the trail to say that they had seen a group of about thirty men come over a ridge behind them.
‘How far behind us?’
‘No more than two miles, Brenin.’
Morleo might have been deposed by Bruide but his men still accorded him the title of king.
‘We need to slow them down. I want those of you with bows to take out those in the lead. Don’t tarry though. As soon as the rest of them have taken cover, run and catch us up. If we keep doing that we should slow them down as well as cutting down their numbers.’
The five men with bows and Morleo hid as soon as they reached the next area of trees. He’d decided to remain with them to bolster their resolve, though he was as nervous as any. They waited apprehensively for the enemy to appear, which seemed to take an age; then, just when Morleo was wondering if they’d gone another way, the first half a dozen appeared.
He thanked God that they hadn’t sent out scouts. Now they’d be able to do some damage.
‘Now.’
Five arrows sped across the sixty yards that separated them and three men fell, one with two arrows in him. From the screaming at least some were only wounded. Morleo smiled. Hopefully, they would slow the rest down. The enemy stood there stunned for a second. It was enough to get a second arrow off but this time only two were hit.
‘Run,’
It took them half an hour to catch the rest up and by then they were exhausted. Morleo sent two men to watch their back trail whilst they got their breath back. By the time that night fell there was still no sign of their pursuers.
~~~
Wulfhere sighed when he heard that Wilfrid had requested another audience. He was beginning to regret having given the man sanctuary and, even more, to have appointed him as abbot of the new monastery at Medeshamstede on the River Nene.
Wilfrid strode into the king’s hall as if he owned the place and made straight for the raised dais on which the King of Mercia sat with his new queen, Ermenilda, and a man in his early twenties that he didn’t immediately recognise. Then he realised with a start that it was Wulfhere’s younger brother, Ethelred. The last he had heard he was still a guest at Oswiu’s court. Later he found out that Oswiu had released him a few months previously on the occasion of Wulfhere’s wedding, which he’d attended.
‘What can I do for your now, Abbot Wilfrid,’ Wulfhere asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
‘I fear that the masons you have sent me are just not up to the job, Cyning. Oh, they can cut a block of stone and lay it in place well enough, but they can’t carve anything I’d be prepared to allow to be seen.’
‘Carve? Why do they need to carve stone?’
‘Because all the new abbey churches in Frankia have round columns, not square ones. Even Ripon, Whitby and Hexham have round columns. And the window frames need to be carved.’
‘You have already had twice as much money for your new abbey than I had expected; I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with what you have.’
‘You should know by now that my brother isn’t to be cozened out of silver as easily as that fool Alchfrith.’
Wilfrid glowered at Ethelred. The two had disliked each other when they were both at Eoforwīc. Now that he had returned to Mercia Wilfrid realised that the prince was going to make his life as difficult as possible.
He had thought that Wulfhere wanted to dispose of his younger brother but, perhaps because he’d failed to sire children so far, the two had become reconciled. He realised that he wasn’t likely to get what he wanted with Ethelred dripping poison in the king’s ear. Perhaps the time had come to find somewhere that appreciated his talents more. He bowed stiffly to Wulfhere and left.
‘Have you heard, brother, that pain in the posterior, Wilfrid, has left Medeshamstede; apparently for good,’ Ethelred asked him a few days later.
Wulfhere stared at his brother in surprise.
‘Left? And gone where? Not back to Northumbria surely?’
‘The rumour is that he’s travelling down to Cantwareburg to see the new archbishop, Theodore of Tarsus.’
‘Why would he do that? Not to complain about funding for the new monastery surely?’
‘No,’ his brother laughed, ‘a fat lot of good that would do him. No, I suspect that he still has ambitions to be Bishop of Northumbria. Perhaps he wants to enlist Theodore’s support.’
‘Would that help him? The man at Cantwareburg might call himself archbishop but he’s not universally acknowledged as having authority over the other bishops in England.’
‘From what I hear about him, he is a formidable man and I’m sure he wants to change that.’
‘Well, if he manages to knock Oswiu off his lofty perch I for one will enjoy that.’
~~~
Lutrin was worried. So far he’d lost five men dead, including his two best scouts, and had three wounded, one seriously. One was the man who had betrayed Morleo and he felt no sympathy for him, but the other two were men he’d known for years. He hardened his heart; he could do nothing for them.
He had taken over when Ruaidhrí had deserted them but he had no real authority and now men were beginning to challenge his leadership. They had been badly shaken by the sudden ambush and no-one was willing to put themselves in danger at the head of the group. He sighed. He’d obviously have to lead by example and, taking his younger brother forcibly by the arm, he faced his men.
‘Very well, if you lily-livered weaklings are too scared to scout ahead my brother and I will do it. But be sure that King Bruide will hear of your cowardice. Follow on fifty yards behind us, and make sure you come running if we encounter Morleo’s men.’
‘What about the wounded?’
‘Leave them. They’ll only slow us down and we need to move fast. We’ll come back for them once we’ve caught Morleo.’
Of course, none of them believed him. He was leaving them to die. Much as they all hated doing it, they all acknowledged to themselves that it was the only sensible thing to do.
An hour later they found where Morleo had camped the previous night beside a small loch known as Indorb. Lutrin was puzzled. The track they were following was heading north-east into an area known as Moray, which was part of Penntir. Why would Morleo be sticking his head into the wolf’s den? Surely he didn’t plan on attacking Elgin whilst Bruide was away? It was only defended by old men and boys, but there were enough of them to deal with Morleo’s small band.
He puzzled over the conundrum as he headed after them. Then it struck him. They weren’t headed for Elgin; they were making for Kinneddar. Once they’d stolen a ship they could head south for the coast of Northumbria. Now he knew where his quarry was headed Lutrin decided he had a chance of getting there first. Morleo would have to give Elgin a wide birth, whereas he’d save time by cutting straight through it.
He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t been concentrating on the path ahead. His brother grabbed his arm and was about to yell a warning when two arrows hit him, one in the leg and the other in the throat. Lutrin watched aghast as his brother fell at his feet. He was so shaken that he didn’t think of his own danger. By the time that he did, it was too late. The three arrows all struck him at the same time. His eyes glazed over and he collapsed on top of his brother’s corpse.
When the rest of the group reached him he was still alive, but barely so. However, he did manage to whisper ‘Kinneddar’ before his lost consciousness and, shortly afterwards, died.
The twenty survivors withdrew a safe distance, just in case Morleo’s men were still about, and went into a huddle to decide what to do. No one was in favour of continuing the quest.
‘But if we go back to Bruide having failed you know what he’ll do to us; Lutrin told us. He’ll kill us.’
The group was silent for a little while before someone spoke again.
‘Perhaps our best bet is to join Morleo.’
‘Are you mad? He’d kill us too.’
‘No, he won’t. He’s short of followers, isn’t he? Whatever he plans to do he’ll need warriors.’
At first most were against the proposal but, the more they debated it, the more it seemed like a good idea. A few minutes later they ran off to the north-east leaving the corpses of Lutrin and his brother as a feast for the crows.
~~~
Morleo breathed a sigh of relief as Kinneddar came into sight. They’d made it. Now all they had to do was to steal a birlinn. Just as he was congratulating himself three warriors stepped into the middle of the road a hundred yards ahead of them. They were followed by over a dozen more and he realised that they must be the group who had been pursuing them, something that Ruaidhrí confirmed when he limped over to his side a second or two later.
He took a tight grip on his spear and Ruaidhrí drew his sword and seax as the archers strung their bows, preparing to kill as many as possible of their enemy before they covered the distance between them.
Then one of the enemy held up his hand before dropping his spear and shield into the dust. He slowly walked towards Morleo, swallowing nervously.
‘We’ve had enough Morleo. We want to follow Ruaidhrí’s example and join you.’
As he spoke he nodded a greeting towards his former commander.
‘Why should I believe you? How do I know that this isn’t some sort of trick?’
‘Because Lutrin, the man who led us after you, er … departed, is dead. But he’d already warned us that Bruide would execute us if we returned without your head. We have no option now but to throw in our lot with yours.’
Morleo thought for a moment. He was tempted to ask Ruaidhrí what he thought but that would make him appear weak in front of both groups. For his part Ruaidhrí stayed impassively quiet. He too was wondering how far he trusted his former warriors.
‘Very well, I agree.’
At that point Ruaidhrí whispered something to him and he nodded.
‘Would you be prepared to swear an oath of loyalty to Prince Ruaidhrí? If so you would become his gesith.’
The tension in the stance of the spokesman for the other group vanished and he relaxed. The men behind him seemed pleased as well.
Two scouts walked ahead of the combined warband as they entered Kinneddar, checking each narrow alley as they past. The place had become surprisingly run down, almost derelict, in the year since Morleo had attended Bruide’s wedding. Even Ruaidhrí was surprised at how neglected it had become over the nine months since Bruide had moved his capital back to Elgin. Rats scurried about in the shadows and filth and excrement, both animal and human, lay in piles, adding to the stench of the place. The settlement appeared deserted but the odd pair of eyes peered out of the huts, watching their progress. Morleo was unable to shake off a sense of foreboding as they approached the jetty.
Ruaidhrí had insisted on walking on his own, leaning heavily on a spear, when they entered the place and, as he limped painfully alongside his friend, he noticed with disquiet that there were no masts visible above the huts in front of them. As they emerged onto the space by the jetty his fears were confirmed: not a single ship was tied up alongside. Without them they were trapped.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – THE RETURN OF WILFRID
667 – 668 AD
Archbishop Theodore was no fool. He saw Wilfrid for what he was but he knew he could be useful to him.
‘What do you expect me to do, Wilfrid?’
‘Well, I had hoped that you would explain to King Oswiu that I have been ordained Bishop of Northumbria by the Pope himself and he has no right to prevent me taking up my appointment.’
‘And Bishop Chad? What do you expect me to do about him?’
‘There are other vacant dioceses, my lord archbishop.’
‘That is true, but Chad might not wish to exchange the vast province of Northumbria for any of them. Let me think on it.’
Theodore of Tarsus was a Byzantine Greek born in Tarsus who was 12 years old when he’d fled from the Persians after they captured the city. He’d studied at Antioch in Syria and at the Byzantine capital of Constantinople before travelling west to Rome where he joined the monastery of St. Anastasius. There his knowledge of medicine, astronomy and theology and an outstanding intellect had brought him to the attention of the Pope. He was sixty six by the time he arrived at Cantwareburg, but he still had the vigour of a man much younger.
The Synod of Whitby had brought the practices of the Church in Northumbria in line with that of Rome but there were many priests, abbots and monks who still clung to the Celtic Church. Abbess Hild of Whitby, the king’s cousin, was one such, Bishop Chad – for all his professed acceptance of Roman doctrine – was another.
‘What will you do?’ Abbot Hadrian asked him after Wilfrid had left.
Hadrian had been a fellow monk in Rome and had travelled with Theodore to take up the vacant post of abbot of the monastery at Cantwareburg.
‘Move Chad to somewhere far less important and install Wilfrid in his place. It’s not a question of what so much as how,’
‘I don’t have to tell you that Wilfrid only want
s to be bishop because of the prestige, power and wealth that it will bring him.’
‘No, you don’t. He’s also an intellectual snob. He thinks he’s a scholar who knows more theology and religious doctrine than anyone else. Well, he’s wrong. It would be arrogant of me to claim that I know more than he does, but you certainly do. However, he will advance the cause of Rome and show obedience to the Pope, which will bring the whole of the North into line with the rest of England. That’s my priority for now.’
‘But you don’t know how to persuade Oswiu to accept him?’
‘Not yet, but I’ve an idea or two which I need to develop.’
~~~
Morleo knew he had to act quickly or his men would lose faith in him as a leader.
‘Go and find someone who can tell us about the movement of shipping,’
‘Perhaps a tavern keeper,’ Ruaidhrí suggested.
Morleo nodded.
‘Go and see what you can find.’
Whilst he waited Morleo started to bite his finger nails, then stopped when he realised what he was doing. It was a sure sign of the tension building up within him. Ten minutes later Ruaidhrí returned with two men and a boy of about ten being dragged along by six members of his new gesith. Morleo wondered why they’d brought the lad along, he’d hardly know where the ships were and when they were expected back.
‘Have you questioned them?’
Ruaidhrí shook him head. ‘No, but one’s a tavern keeper and the other man is his brother. He’s in charge of the port so he should be able to tell us what we want to know. The boy is his son. I brought him along in case he needs encouragement to talk.’
‘Well, where are all the ships?’
‘Lord, King Bruide sent for them. They were to go to the mouth of the River Ness; that’s all I know.’