BRETWALDA: Kings of Northumbria Book 3

by H A CULLEY

  The horse neighed in agony and reared up before coming down on all fours and shaking its head violently, trying to rid itself of the pain. Edmund had been a fraction slower in drawing his bow and, luckily, had paused when he saw the horse rear up. As soon as he had a clear shot at its rider, who was desperately trying to stay in the saddle, he released the bow string. He watched as the arrow sped towards the rider and, although the horse was twisting and turning out of control as its lifeblood poured down its chest, he was lucky. The arrow didn’t hit its intended target – his chest – but it hit his unprotected neck and the tip passed clean through it, only halting its passage when the point had emerged from the back of his neck by a good six inches.

  It had smashed his windpipe and cut his spinal cord in the process. If he lived he would have lost all control of his limbs and bodily functions. The man fell out of the saddle and his horse collapsed beside him, effectively blocking the trail.

  Well satisfied with their work, Raulf and Edmund quickly climbed down their respective trees and ran off to where the two brothers waited with their horses. A quarter of an hour later they re-joined the others and told Oswiu of their success. That night they camped in a clearing in the trees and Oswiu sent two scouts back to see if there was any sign of their pursuers. They went back for several miles along the trail but saw nothing.

  ‘Now all we’ve got to do is find out where the bloody hell we are and how we get from here to Maserfield,’ Ceadda grumbled to Oswiu as they ate a meal of cheese, dried meat and apples. The king was still thinking about Oswald’s rotting head and didn’t reply. The birds had pecked out the eyes and the flesh had started to decompose so some had fallen away from the skull. His hair was matted with blood his teeth had been smashed. Oswiu shuddered; it wasn’t the brother he’d known and it wasn’t the way he wanted to remember him. He thrust the head at Nerian.

  ‘Sew it into a leather bag with some herbs to counter the stench.’

  Tomorrow they’d go in search of the severed arm that supposedly performed miracles.

  ~~~

  Penda looked at the warrior standing before him with anger contorting his scarred face.

  ‘So you lost them? Or did you just give up through fear once Ingram was ambushed?’ he asked contemptuously.

  ‘We didn’t know what to do for the best, Cyning. It was a very narrow trail, probably one made by animals, and Ingram and his dead horse were blocking it. The undergrown was dense and by the time we’d cleared enough space to move the bodies off the trail, the fugitives had long gone.’

  ‘So why didn’t you pursue them as soon as you could?’

  ‘We didn’t like to leave Ingram lying in the forest for animals to devour, so we buried him. We set off in pursuit the next morning but the trail ended when it emerged onto the main roadway from Tamworth to Shrewsbury.’

  ‘Forgive me if I’m being dense, but tell me why you didn’t set off towards Shrewsbury where the men who stole Oswald’s head were presumably heading?’

  The sarcasm stung Irwin and he bit back an angry retort.

  ‘We didn’t know which way they had turned once they reached the road, Cyning.’

  ‘Oh, so you thought it likely that they would return to Tamworth did you?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘You suppose correctly. Right. I’m going to give you a chance to save your miserable life, and those of the men with you. Head back towards Shrewsbury and pick up their trail. Come back with their heads and that of Oswald or you’ll find out what it means to fail me. Now get out of here.’

  Irwin, who was Ingram’s cousin and who had taken over leadership of the Mercian patrol after his death, stomped out of the king’s hall in a furious temper. The king had treated him as if he was an imbecile. He was certain of one thing; he had no intention of returning to face Penda without the heads, but he knew that seeking men who he couldn’t identify was futile. He didn’t even know how many of them there were. From the tracks in the mud there could be anything from twenty to fifty of them. He had less than twenty.

  ‘The king wants us to find these men and the two little thieves who stole Oswald’s head. If we fail he’ll kill us,’ he told his men.

  As he’d expected there was an outcry at the news. They had been tired and lethargic when they’d returned empty-handed to Tamworth. Now they were more animated than he’d ever seen them.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ one asked. ‘Let’s get after them!’

  ‘After who?’ Irwin asked quietly.

  ‘The people who stole the head, of course.’

  ‘And how will you find them? Do you know what they look like? We know that there were two boys and two archers, but how many more are there? Their tracks indicate that there far more of them than there are of us.’

  The men looked at each other and grew silent.

  ‘Now let’s talk some sense. None of us knows what to do to apprehend a group of people when all we know is that they have a head – and they could have buried that already for all we know.’

  ‘What do we do Irwin?’ one asked eventually.

  ‘I don’t know about you but, faced with the choice of either succeeding at an impossible task or suffering a painful death, I know what I’m going to do.’

  The warriors looked at each other puzzled.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like much of a choice to me,’ said the man who’d been all for setting out blindly a few minutes ago.

  ‘It isn’t, which is why I’ve decided to take the third option.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Collect my wife and children and flee to Wessex.’

  An hour later the group of horsemen set out once more, this time accompanied by two carts filled with supplies, tents and, most importantly, the families of the four married warriors hidden under a tarpaulin.

  ~~~

  Like his brother before him three months previously, Oswiu skirted Shrewsbury to the north and headed for Maserfield. They camped that night by a small river, a tributary of the Severn that ran around Shrewsbury. The next day they headed north into an area of bog to confuse any Mercians who might still be following them, then crossed it where the water was only two feet deep. An hour later they joined a muddy track that led north eastwards. Occasionally they passed the remains of Northumbrian men who had been killed during the rout after the battle and the odd broken weapon that wasn’t worth looting.

  The mood amongst the men grew even more subdued as they neared the hill fort at Maserfield where the battle had been fought, but Oswiu sensed that he wasn’t the only one feeling a growing sense of anger at the betrayal that had led to the death of King Oswald and their countrymen. Even Catinus and Conomultus attracted the odd angry look as they were Mercians, albeit Britons rather than Angles.

  The gesith scoured the area but there was no sign of the supposedly miraculous arm.

  ‘We’re going to have to ask the locals about it,’ Oswiu told his men. ‘Catinus, I want you and your brother to go into Maserfield and see if there is a tavern. If there is come back and let us know; if not I’ll have to think of something else.’

  No-one paid the two boys any attention as they entered the settlement. It was a poor place of scruffy hovels and a decrepit hall for its lord that looked as if it would blow down in a strong wind. There was no palisade for defence, or even to keep animals out. Pigs and chickens searched through the stinking mud for anything worth eating. There was, however, a small tavern. It looked in better repair than the rest of the place and had a stables at the rear. Presumably its relative prosperity resulted from its location on the track that led into the interior of Powys.

  ‘What do you boys want?’ a voice suddenly interrupted their examination of the tavern.

  The man had spoken in a language that wasn’t the same as the Brythonic that they spoke but it wasn’t so different as to be unintelligible. They realised that the man must be Welsh.

  ‘We heard of a miraculous arm up a tree. My brother has never spoken sin
ce he was born, yet no-one can find anything wrong with him. We thought that perhaps it could cure him,’ Catinus replied using the cover story that Oswiu had suggested.

  ‘Aye, it might. It cured my daughter and she was paralysed from the waist down after being kicked in the back by a horse. She never walked again until we laid her under the tree and left her there overnight. The next morning she managed to stand unaided. Her leg muscles were wasted and it’s taken time for her to fully recover, but she can now walk as well as ever she could, and run too.’

  ‘What made you lie her under the tree with the arm?’ asked Catinus.

  ‘I had a dream. I wasn’t a Christian but I’m sure it was an angel who came to me in the night and told me what to do. When a monk came to the village a month ago he baptised all of us, for my neighbours were as amazed at my daughter’s cure as I was.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s the story we’d heard, though the man who told it to us said the girl had been carried there by Jesus Christ himself.’

  ‘Well, that’s bards for you, they do like to embellish the truth.’

  ‘Where can we find this tree?’

  ‘Go back the way you came and turn south off the road when you come to a small copse. It stands alone half a mile further on.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Conomultus said, forgetting that he was meant to be mute.

  The man looked at them suspiciously and wondered what they were playing at. He was about to sound the alarm so that the headman could question them when they took off giggling and ran out of the settlement on the road back towards Shrewsbury. He shrugged, thinking they were both soft in the head, and went back into the tavern.

  Oswiu sat on his horse and looked at the withered arm hanging from a branch of the apple tree. It was a solitary tree, not part of an orchard, and had presumably grown there from a seed blown by the wind or dropped by a bird. That in itself was unusual. Strangely the arm, although the flesh had shrivelled, hadn’t been attacked by birds. Below it, where some blood had presumably dripped down, there was a hollow where people had taken away earth because of its reputed healing properties.

  Conomultus climbed up the tree until he was above the arm, then he lifted it up carefully and handed it down to Oswiu. He put it in another leather bag and handed it to Nerian for him to sew it up later. Oswiu debated whether to take some of the earth from the base of the tree, but he decided to leave it. He had what he’d come for.

  The journey from there north was uneventful until they reached the River Mersey, which formed the border between Rheged in the north and Mercia in the south. Oswiu turned right and followed the river towards the old Roman ruins of Mamucium, a military fort and civilian settlement on the road between the two major Roman centres at what was now called Caerlleon and Eoforwīc.

  From Mamucium they crossed several small rivers and then started to climb into the hilly country that divided Rheged from Elmet. Oswiu and his gesith had started to relax as they were now well north of Mercia and, although the border was far from clearly defined, they felt that they were in friendly territory. It was a mistake.

  They had just dropped down into a valley and were climbing up the far side when they became aware that the crest of the hill in front of them was lined with armed men. About a dozen of them were mounted and they were all well-armed and wore helmets and some sort of body protection. Those on foot were clearly from the fyrd; all wore their everyday clothing and few had helmets. Swords seemed few and far between and most were armed with a spear and a dagger. About half had a shield of some kind.

  Oswiu rode forward accompanied by Ceadda and two of his gesith. One of the horsemen facing them did likewise, also accompanied by three mounted warriors.

  ‘That’s far enough. Who are you and what is an armed warband doing here in Elmet without my permission,’ the man in the front of the four horsemen demanded.

  ‘If I recognise you, Rand, you must surely recognise me,’ Oswiu said cooly.

  Rand was the Eorl of Elmet and had been present at the Witan in Eoforwīc when Oswine was chosen as king in preference to Oswiu.

  ‘You have no business here, Oswiu. You are a long way from Bernicia and King Oswine believes that you are up to no good. You are to be disarmed and will accompany me to Eoforwīc.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere at the behest of that simpering fool, Oswine, and you’ll do me the courtesy of addressing me as Cyning.’

  ‘You will do as I say – Oswiu – or my men will cut you down.’

  ‘What, that load of farmers and tradesmen? Half of them have pissed themselves at the very thought of being attacked by my battle-hardened warriors. Now, get out of my way before I kill you for your impudence.’

  ‘You will soon find out that three hundred of Elmet’s fyrd are more than a match for two dozen Bernician oafs and a few boys.’

  Oswiu gave him a cold look. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  He turned and rode as fast as he could for a nearby hilltop and his men did likewise. It was a good defensive position and they hastily dismounted and formed a shield wall facing the Elmet army about a hundred yards away. The ridge on which they stood was the same height as the circular hill which Oswiu’s gesith had occupied, but there was a deep defile between the two positions.

  Rand was still riding about on his horse, clearly undecided what to do. Oswine’s instructions had been clear. As soon as Oswiu’s presence near the border had been reported to him, he saw a chance to strengthen his position. He was scared of Oswiu and he thought that, if he could capture him, he could demand Oswiu’s children as hostages in return for his release. That way he would have a hold over the King of Bernicia and he would feel safer on his throne. He clearly didn’t know Oswiu though. He would never have submitted to Oswine, a man he despised.

  As it was there was something of a stand-off. Rand didn’t fancy attacking an experienced shield wall at the top of a steep slope with his untried, poorly armed and ill-disciplined rabble and Oswiu wasn’t about to flee and allow Rand to claim this petty skirmish as a Deiran victory over Bernicia.

  ‘Edmund, Raulf. Come here. Do you think you could hit that preening fool on a white horse over there?’

  He nodded his head towards Rand.

  ‘It’s a bit of a tall order, Cyning. It must be at least a hundred yards away and there’s a bit of a breeze blowing. I might be able to hit his horse though,’ Edmund replied cautiously.

  ‘What about you Raulf?’

  ‘I agree with Edmund, Cyning.’

  ‘Well, I’m not standing here all day. Give it a try, but release together, understand?’

  The two men went and fetched their bows and prepared them out of sight behind the shield wall.

  ‘Now,’ Edmund shouted and the centre of the shield wall parted to allow them to step through it. Both men took aim and let fly together. They had both aimed two yards in front of Rand’s horse to allow for the wind and had aimed up to allow for the fall of the arrow over that distance. Both had judged it perfectly, though there was a modicum of luck too.

  One arrow struck the horse in its rump causing it to rear up just as the first arrow struck Rand’s byrnie. At that range the arrow pierced the chainmail but it lodged in the leather shirt the eorl was wearing underneath. It didn’t matter though as Rand toppled over the rear of his saddle and fell to the ground head first. His neck broke as he landed and his wounded horse bolted, scattering the fyrd out of its way as it went.

  The men from Elmet were stunned by the death of their eorl and, when Oswiu sent his other archers forward to threaten them, they broke and ran. They had a few archers of their own who aimed a few arrows their way before leaving, but none carried as far as Oswiu’s men. The dozen men of the eorl’s gesith stood there uncertainly until one fell to another of Edmund’s arrows, then they hastily put the two bodies across their horses and rode off over the crest of the ridge. Oswiu watched them go.

  ‘I’m grateful to both of you,’ he
said as he handed them both a gold arm ring and went to mount his horse.

  It wasn’t unusual for him to reward his gesith, and other members of his war band, with a silver arm band, but a gold one was exceptional.

  ~~~

  Oswine was visiting the east of Deira when he heard of Rand’s death. Not only had Oswiu escaped but he had done so by killing one of his chief supporters; and he’d done so without alienating the people in the process. He felt far from secure on his throne and the death of his father at the hands of Cadwallon still haunted him. Now Oswiu’s popularity would have increased because he had escaped the trap without harming a single Deiran - except for Rand and one of his men, of course - and he’d been made to look a fool. He knew that Oswiu wouldn’t rest until he’d re-united Northumbria and he wasn’t sure that he was the man to stop him.

  Oswiu returned to Bebbanburg in triumph.

  ‘What will you do with your brother’s body,’ Aidan asked.

  ‘I’d like to bury his torso and his head on Lindisfarne but place the miraculous arm in a silver casket to be kept at Bebbanburg.’

  ‘You believe in the stories about the miracle cures then?’

  ‘Yes, I have no reason to doubt them, especially as we’ve heard directly from the tavern keeper whose daughter was cured.’

  ‘You’ve only the word of Catinus and Conomultus for that.’

  ‘Why would they lie? And the tavern keeper gave them directions to the tree. I certainly believe them.’

  ‘What will you do with them? They’re Mercians after all.’

  ‘I don’t think that the concept of being Mercian or Northumbrian has much relevance for them. They’re Britons who happen to have been born inside Mercia. I am certain as I can be that their loyalty is now to me. As to what happens to them, I haven’t made up my mind. They’ve served me well so I’ve decided to take a personal interest in their future.’