THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

  Morleo looked at Ruaidhrí, a puzzled frown on his face, but the other man looked as perplexed as he did.

  ‘Boy, run to the fishing village and ask the headman to come here; I need to speak to him. Don’t think of doing anything foolish, remember I’ve got your father here.’

  The boy nodded, swallowing hard, and ran off. When he returned he was followed by thirty fishermen, all carrying a weapon of some kind, from wicked looking gaffs to homemade spears.

  ‘You all know me,’ Ruaidhrí called out. ‘I swear in the name of God the Almighty that we mean you no harm.’

  ‘What do you want with us, lord?’ the headman called out from a safe distance. ‘Why have you brought so many armed warriors with you? Is aught amiss?’

  ‘We need the loan of your boats and men to crew them for one night. We will pay you, of course.’

  ‘Why? Where do you wish to go?’

  ‘We’ll tell you once we are out at sea, but you will be back before dawn.’

  ‘How much are you willing to pay for this journey to nowhere, lord?’

  ‘Four ounces of silver.’

  ‘Make it ten.’

  ‘No, that’s too much, six?’

  ‘Eight and we won’t ask any more questions.’

  ‘Very well. How many fishing boats do you have and how many extra men can they carry?’

  ‘Each will need two men or a men and a boy to sail them. They vary in size but, to be safe, we can probably carry an extra twenty men in total.’

  ‘It’s just enough to crew a small birlinn or a knarr,’ Ruaidhrí said quietly to Morleo, who nodded.

  ‘You’ll be carrying eighteen men and four boys,’ he called back.

  ‘Very well. When do you want to depart?’

  ‘We’ll come to the beach where your boats are just after sunset.’

  The fishermen walked away, talking animatedly amongst themselves just as one of the men who had been left to watch the two roads into the settlement came running up.

  ‘Someone managed to escape on a horse, Brenin,’ he told Morleo. ‘He headed along the coast road.’

  ‘How long will it take him to get to the mouth of the Ness?’ he asked Ruaidhrí.

  ‘Probably about three hours, but hopefully he’ll make for the crannoch on Loch Ness.’

  ‘That’ll take another hour or so. It’ll be after dark before he gets there. By then we’ll have left here.’

  ‘Half of us will. What about the other half?’

  ‘I’m no sailor. You lead the group to get the ship; I’ll lead the rest to the beach ten miles to the west of here. We’ll meet you there as soon after dawn as possible.’

  ‘What happens if Bruide sends warriors there to reinforce whoever he’s left with his fleet?’

  ‘I doubt he will. He’ll head here as fast as he can to try and trap us,’ Morleo replied. ‘I’ll set out for the beach as soon as you leave to make sure we don’t encounter him on the way. The beach is two miles from the road so we should be safe there.’

  ‘Very well. Good luck. If all goes well, I’ll see you early tomorrow.’

  ~~~

  Theodore bowed as he entered the king’s hall at Eoforwīc. He was ten years older than Oswiu but he looked younger. The king looked pale and his face was haggard. He hadn’t left Eoforwīc for some time now, leaving the running of the kingdom to Ecgfrith, who he’d made King of Deira a few years ago.

  The latter was reported to be away in Goddodin trying to discover the truth about the situation in Ardewr. The rumour was that Bruide had invaded his neighbour but no-one seemed to know whether he’d killed Morleo or whether his takeover was still being disputed. Drest hadn’t intervened and it seemed that none of the other kings were keen to get involved either.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Domine.’

  Theodore spoke in Latin as his English was poor and he knew that Oswiu was proficient in the language, if not exactly fluent.

  ‘Archbishop, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?’

  Theodore paused and let his eyes run swiftly over those on the raised dais around the king. His wife sat on a smaller chair beside him studying Theodore intently and in front of the couple a boy sat on the steps. He appeared to be about seven or eight so he assumed that he was Ælfwine, the king’s youngest son. The child was quite striking in appearance. His elfin shaped face was framed by long hair so fair that it was almost white and he had piercing ice blue eyes that appeared to look into his very soul.

  He shuddered slightly before tearing his gaze away to look at the two men standing behind the throne. One was dressed in a long black robe like a priest with a large bronze cross suspended from a cord around his neck. He assumed that he was Bishop Chad. The other was clearly a warrior. He later found out that he was Redwald, the Hereræswa.

  ‘I have come to make the acquaintance of the Bretwalda of the North. Is it so strange that I should want to meet the most powerful ruler in my new ecclesiastical province?’

  ‘I have accepted Roman doctrine instead of that of the Celtic Church in which I was raised, but that doesn’t mean that I accept your authority or that of Pope Vitalianus.’

  Theodore nodded and appeared to think for a moment.

  ‘Lord king, may I be permitted to rest my old bones before we continue with our discussion?’

  ‘Of course. Forgive me. Bring a stool for the archbishop, and refreshments.’

  ‘Thank you, a little water would be welcome.’

  When he had sat down Theodore replied to Oswiu’s bald statement.

  ‘You are familiar with Saint Peter, of course?’

  ‘The disciple of Christ who was executed by the Emperor Nero? Yes, of course.’

  ‘Do you recall what Jesus said to him before he was crucified?’

  ‘About him denying him three times before the cock crowed?’

  Ælfwine, who was watching the archbishop intently, had to stifle a giggle at the flash of annoyance on the old man’s face. Theodore, who found the boy’s intense stare disconcerting, had to take a moment to recover his composure.

  Oswiu gave his son an affectionate glance. He was closer to his youngest than he was to any of the others, even Ecgfrith. For a moment he thought of the other two and regretted not making time for them when they were young. It was said that Alchfrith now led a band of mercenaries in Austrasia and his eldest, Aldfrith, was back on Iona the last he had heard.

  ‘No, not that.’ Theodore replied a trifle brusquely. ‘I was referring to Jesus’ statement about Saint Peter being His rock on which He would found His Church. He also said that He would give him the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. This means that souls of the dead are admitted through the Heavenly Gates at his discretion.’

  He paused to let Oswiu digest the import of what he was saying. It was similar to the argument that Wilfrid had advanced at Whitby. When he saw the king growing thoughtful he recommenced his verbal attack.

  ‘Saint Peter was, of course, the first Pope and there has been a continuous chain linking all subsequent popes back to him. They are his descendants and the authority that he wielded they wield.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that Vitalianus now controls entry to Heaven?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  For a king who was meant to be devout and who had been taught by the monks of Iona and by Saint Aidan, Oswiu seemed to be ignorant of important aspects of the Church’s teaching.

  ‘I am saying that the authority in spiritual matters that Christ bequeathed to Saint Peter has been passed down over the centuries to subsequent popes.’

  ‘Not according to the Celtic Church.’

  ‘They are mistaken. Their Church was founded by Saint Patrick who was converted to Christianity by a vision. His religious education was patchy and derived from ignorant priests and monks who were taught by descendants of those who lived in Britain at the time of the Romans. Much important doctrine was lost over time. Although pious and a great missionary, Patrick was not what I would call
an educated man. Their philosophy is thus littered with misconceptions and assumptions.’

  ‘So you say, but there is much more in common between the two Churches than there are differences, apart from your insistence on the rule of the Pope. The authority of the Celtic Church derives from the scriptures, not a mortal man.’

  Theodore changed his opinion about Oswiu. He was more learned that he had initially thought. He certainly hadn’t expected such an exacting debate. He decided to appeal to the concern that most men felt about death, something which had to be on Oswiu’s mind, given the state of his health.

  ‘Are you willing to gamble your place in Heaven on your assertion that the Pope does not derive his authority direct from God and Jesus Christ? Would it not be better to take the safe route and accept the Pope’s decree than to find out when you die that you were in error?’

  Oswiu rubbed his chin whilst he pondered what Theodore had said.

  ‘What do you say Chad? You’ve been unnaturally quiet during our discussion.’

  ‘Cyning, I cannot deny that Saint Peter holds the keys to the Gates of Heaven, though I doubt that Our Lord intended to hand spiritual power over all Christendom to one man, however holy. Of course, the Pope is not all powerful in any case. It’s not only the Celtic Church that refuses to accept his imperium; the Eastern Churches do as well. They have their own patriarchs.’

  ‘Thank you. Archbishop, you have given me much to think about. I suggest that we meet again in a few days and continue our discussion.’

  ‘Of course, lord king. Until then may the blessing of God Almighty be with you.’

  ‘It’s no good asking you what you think, Eanflæd, you were brought up by Roman priests.’ He said to his wife after Theodore has left. ‘I wish Conomultus was still here for me to discuss what I should do with him. My present chaplain will say only what he thinks I wish to hear.’

  ‘Father, you haven’t asked me my opinion, but I think that he’s dangling the keys to Paradise in front of your nose. No doubt he believes that is the deciding factor.’

  ‘When did you get to be so cynical, Ælfwine, and so clever?’

  ‘I just asked myself what my brother would say if he was here.’

  ‘Ecgfrith would say anything to keep Wilfrid away. He can’t abide the man. To be honest, if the Pope wanted to impose anyone else on me as bishop, I’d probably agree.’

  Chad coughed politely. ‘Where does that leave me, Cyning?’

  ‘That is something else I need to take into account.’

  ~~~

  Ruaidhrí knew that that there would be trouble as soon as he told the fishermen where they were headed. They may have been paid half the silver in advance with the promise of the rest when they reached their destination, but they were terrified what Bruide would do to them and their families once he found out that they had taken his enemies to where his ships were beached.

  It was only by threatening to cut the throats of the younger man or boy crewing each boat, usually the son or nephew of the older man, that they were persuaded to continue. With a sinking heart Ruaidhrí realised that he’d have to kill them anyway once they had played their part; otherwise they’d betray them before they had a chance to steal a ship and make good their escape. He racked his brains trying to think of another way to keep them quiet but at that moment he couldn’t.

  The fishermen took them in towards a beach some six miles from the mouth of the River Ness. The sand looked silver in the bright moonlight and Ruaidhrí could clearly see across the water to the far side. There were no ships anchored anywhere as far as he could see. The coast on the other side of the inlet didn’t look as if it was suitable for beaching ships either, so where were they?

  ‘Is there anywhere else for ships to anchor or be beached?’ he asked the man at the tiller who merely shrugged.

  However the twelve year old boy with him spoke without thinking.

  ‘There’s a large inlet to the west of the river mou…’

  His father cuffed him around the ear to shut him up, but it was too late.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that? You wanted to strand us here, miles away from where we need to be.’

  Ruaidhrí supposed that he couldn’t blame the headman. He was obviously scared of what Bruide would do to his people; this way he could claim that he’d tricked his king’s enemies and hoped that would suffice to get him out of trouble.

  ‘Take us to this other inlet and we’ll take two ships so that we can take you and your families south with us. That’ll put you out of the reach of Bruide’s vengeance.’

  The man thought for a moment and then nodded. He rowed across to each of the other boats in turn and told the other fishermen what he had agreed. Some were dubious, but there was little other option.

  The flotilla of small boats were too visible on the open water so they sailed back to the narrow entrance into the first inlet and crossed to the western shore. Lost against the blackness of the land, they rowed back down to the entrance to the other inlet. Once they had passed through the narrows Ruaidhrí saw three ships: two birlinns and a knarr, anchored close to the southern shore. The seashore appeared to be rocky with the odd stretch of shingle; there were no silvery stretches of sand here.

  Two fires burned on land near where the ships were moored and it was obvious that most of the crews were camped ashore. The small flotilla clustered around Ruaidhrí’s boat and he explained what he intended. A third of the boats then set out towards each of the ships. Ruaidhrí heart was in his mouth. He expected someone on watch to spot them any second but the eerie silence continued, broken only by the murmuring burble of oars entering and leaving the water and of night birds hunting their prey.

  Ruaidhrí’s boat, together with three others, glided softly against the hull of the knarr and two boys stood precariously on the shoulders of men as their craft rocked beneath them, threatening to spill their occupants into the dark waters of the firth. The boys grabbed the gunwale and dragged themselves up and over the side, dropping onto the deck. They threw down a rope and the men climbed up to join them.

  The ship was quiet except for the sound of snoring coming from the aft section of the deck. The men left on watch thought they were safe and had drunk themselves into a stupor. They didn’t even return to consciousness as their throats were slit. Ruaidhrí looked across at the two birlinns and saw someone waving a white piece of cloth on both vessels – the agreed signal for success. He told someone to do likewise and then they threw the four bodies over the side whilst the fishermen and those amongst his men who had sailed before hauled up the mainsail, then he cut the anchor rope.

  All three ships were near the entrance to the inlet before the dozy sentries on land realised that something was wrong. By then it was far too late and an hour after dawn they beached the three craft on the beach where Morleo awaited them. Once they had collected the fishermen’s families they had a total of eighty men and boys old enough to be useful as well as forty women, girls and young children on board. They would need all three ships to transport them south.

  They spent the rest of the day back at Kinneddar loading provisions and those possessions the fisher folk didn’t want to leave behind. All of the latter, together with the women and children, would travel on the knarr. There were thirty seven men who knew how to row and several who were capable of manning the helm, although only Ruaidhrí had handled a birlinn before. The rest would have to learn how to man an oar and no doubt would have worn the skin off their hands before they were proficient; it couldn’t be helped.

  All went well, despite the occasional minor mishap, and only one man had been lost overboard by the time that they reached the entrance to the Firth of Tay on the fifth day. They had stayed a couple of miles offshore but had kept the coast in sight up until then. As they left the firth behind the sky grew darker and the wind picked up. Off to the east what looked like a grey curtain was approaching rapidly across the sea.

  ‘Squall,’ Ruaidhrí yelled. Get the s
ail in and get ready to row like you’ve never rowed before. We’ll have to keep her head to wind. Those of you who aren’t rowing, tie yourselves to something secure.’

  The other birlinn and the knarr had also seen the danger and made haste to do likewise. The knarr was least well equipped to deal with it; it was broader in the beam and only had five oars a side, unlike the birlinns that were smaller and had a dozen oars on each side.

  They had all stowed their sails and turned into the wind from the east when the squall hit them.

  ~~~

  Chad had been quietly moved to the diocese of Lichfield in Mercia to make way for Wilfrid. The latter gave the briefest of bows when he entered the king’s hall to greet his scowling king for the first time since he had taken up his new office. He walked up to the dais on which Oswiu sat on his throne beside a smiling Queen Eanflæd and, mounting the first step, bent forward and offered his ring for the king to kiss.

  ‘If you think my father would ever kiss your ring, you must be a fool,’ the boy sitting at his father’s feet told him.

  From his tone of voice the boy might well have been talking about the man’s fat posterior instead of the ostentatiously large bejewelled gold ecclesiastical ring on his plump finger.

  ‘The boy is right. I only agreed to accept you as bishop because Theodore persuaded me, against my better judgement. Don’t push your luck Wilfrid.’

  Eanflæd gave her husband a sharp glance and smiled at the bishop.

  ‘Well I, for one, am glad to welcome you back, Wilfrid.’

  Nevertheless she refrained from taking his hand and kissing his ornate ring. To do so in front of her husband would only enrage him needlessly.

  ‘Cyning, I’m pleased that my monastery at Ripon is to be returned to me but another is claiming to be Abbot of Hexham. I was elected to be its abbot and I have not relinquished my right to it.’

  ‘You’ve got what you wanted, now be content with what you have.’

  ‘King Alchfrith gave me title to the land, as Queen Eanflæd can attest. I spent my own money in building the church and the abbot’s lodgings and I want what is mine.’