BRETWALDA: Kings of Northumbria Book 3

by H A CULLEY

  He looked around for his next adversary but it was all over. His men were busy pitching the dead Jutes over the side as well as those who were badly wounded. The rest would be sold into slavery. Once the minor damage to the birlinns was repaired and the Mercian wounded dealt with, he set sail once more for Austrasia.

  ‘How many men did you lose?’ Wulfhere asked the other captain once they had docked and sent their captives to be locked in the slave pens.

  ‘Eight dead and seven too badly wounded to be able to fight again.’

  ‘Therefore to date our mission to recruit mercenaries has netted us five men of dubious quality at the cost of fifteen good Mercian warriors.’

  ‘It’s not all bad news, three of the dead and one of the wounded were our new recruits.’

  ‘So one miserable recruit in exchange for eleven of your crew is good news, is it?’

  The man shrugged. ‘We captured two galleys as well.’

  ‘God’s teeth man, we can barely man our two birlinns with the men we have left, let alone the galleys.’

  ‘No, but we can sell them here which, with the money for the slaves, will give us a lot more gold and silver to hire mercenaries with.’

  Wulfhere grinned at the birlinn’s captain.

  ‘Perhaps you have got a brain under that mop of greasy hair after all.’

  A week later the four ships arrived at the port of Hammaburg on the River Albia in Saxony. It was a good place to hire warriors as young men from Saxony and Frisia, as well as Slavs from the other side of the Albia, tended to congregate there looking for someone who could offer them riches in return for their skills as fighters. The alternative was to stay and endure subsistence living on a farm. Wulfhere managed to recruit eighty men, though most had several years to go before they’d reach twenty and none had experienced a battle. At least a few of them were the sons of fishermen and could therefore row and handle sails. However, none had armour and most were equipped with a crudely made shield and either an axe, a spear or a cheaply made seax. Wulfhere had to spend some of his gold and silver buying each of them a sword and a helmet.

  The knarrs in which the majority now travelled were broad beamed but had a shallow draft. They therefore tended to roll quite a lot and the experienced sailors amongst them found the sight of their fellow recruits heaving their guts out over the side hilarious.

  Two days later the small fleet landed at Esbjerg in the north of Angeln, the Mercians original homeland. Life was even harder there than it was in Saxony and he managed to sign on another forty five men varying from sixteen to thirty in age. At least some of them had fought an enemy before, usually the Jutes who lived to the north.

  That made his next port of call – Hanstholm – problematical. The Angles couldn’t be trusted ashore.

  ‘Why not? They deserve a drink or two and a rut with a tavern wench before the long sail home,’ his captain suggested.

  ‘Why not?’ He couldn’t believe that the man could be so naïve. ‘I’ll tell you why not. Because our Angles are itching to rampage through the place and rape all the women. They don’t like the Jutes and the Jutes don’t like them. We’re even going to have to keep the Angles on one knarr and the Jutes on another so they don’t kill each other before we get them back to Mercia, that’s why not.’

  He solved the problem by anchoring the knarr with the Angle recruits on board offshore. Although there were enough Jutes here who were looking to escape to the life of a warrior, they were chary about serving with Angles and Saxons, especially if that meant that they’d be under the command of an Anglian prince. In the end it took him a week to enrol just thirty Jutes.

  His instructions had been to recruit two hundred experienced warriors. Instead he was returning with a hundred and sixty youths and men, many of whom would need training before they’d be of any use in battle – and he’d lost a dozen men in doing so. He didn’t imagine that his father would be exactly ecstatic.

  ~~~

  Cenwalh had fondly anticipated that Penda wouldn’t be able to invade Wessex to avenge his sister’s dishonour, not after the losses the Mercians had suffered trying to invade Bernicia the previous year. In any case, he was confident that Wessex could now field more warriors than Mercia could, should he try. Penda’s invasion of Hwicce therefore came as something of a shock.

  ‘How many men has Penda brought with him?’ he asked the Eorl of Hwicce, who had fled from Gleawecastre before the Mercians could trap him there.

  ‘Our scouts estimated there to be about six hundred, Cyning,’

  ‘And you say that they are all warriors?’

  ‘They are all wearing helmets and either chainmail or a leather jerkin so they don’t appear to be members of the fyrd.’

  ‘That’s nearly two hundred more in his warband than we thought he had. Is there any information about Peada and his Middle Anglians?’ he asked his hereræswa.

  ‘No Cyning. He hasn’t moved towards us, as far as we can tell.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll call a meeting of the Witan and you had better start to mobilise our forces.’

  ‘What about Oswiu?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Mercia has invaded our territory so Bernicia is honour bound to support you. At the very least he could keep Middle Anglia from being involved.’

  ‘He might if he were King of Deira as well but, as it is, he would have to travel all the way through Deira in order to engage Peada’s Middle Anglians. No, we’ll manage without his help.’

  At first the army from Wessex met little opposition as they entered Hwicce but, the nearer they got to Gleawecastre, the more nervous Cenwalh became. When his scouts came back to report that the Mercians were drawn up ready for battle before Gleawecastre he became suspicious.

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘We estimate that there are between three and four hundred, Cyning, and they all appear to be warriors, that is not members of the fyrd,’ the chief scout replied.

  The King of Wessex smiled broadly. He had brought seven hundred men with him, three hundred warriors and four hundred members of the fyrd which he’d collected on his way north. His warband appeared to equal Penda’s in number but he had the fyrd in addition. He planned to use them to outflank the Mercians.

  He advanced until he was three hundred yards from Penda’s front rank and then deployed his men with a hundred and fifty of the fyrd on each flank and a hundred in reserve. Neither side had many archers but what few they had ran to the front and, advancing to within sixty yards of each other, they sent volley after volley into the air. None injured the waiting warriors but both sides lost quite a few archers.

  Penda evidently tired of this war of attrition and recalled his men first. The bowmen from Wessex were only too glad to do likewise. Both sides then advanced towards each other. The Mercians were led by Penda in the centre, easily identified by the banner flying over his head. Had Cenwalh stopped to think, he might have wondered where Wulfhere was. He was about to find out.

  Once Cenwalh’s men were fully committed, his flanks started to engulf the Mercians. Unlike Penda, he was watching from a small hill a quarter of a mile from the battle, surrounded by twenty of his gesith. To his horror he saw nearly a thousand men erupt from the woods behind his reserve and attack them. He recognised the banner of Wulfhere in the front rank of the Mercian fyrd. He’d been tricked.

  They tore into the small Wessex reserve and either killed them or put them to flight in what seemed like a few minutes. Then they advanced towards the rear of the main Wessex army. Although Cenwalh’s rear ranks were made up of trained warriors, they were the least experienced and most of them were scarcely more than boys. Nevertheless they turned to defend themselves and did considerable damage to the Mercian fyrd before Wulfhere’s men managed to completely surround them. The surviving four hundred or so men of Wessex were now hemmed in and outnumbered by over three to one. There could only be one outcome and Cenwalh’s hereræswa took the sensible decision to surrender.


  Cenwalh took one last look at the fiasco before turning his horse and heading east. He therefore missed the one execution that Penda had ordered. His faithful hereræswa was forced to kneel and moments later the King of Mercia took his head from his shoulders.

  ‘Are we going back to Wintan-ceastre, Cyning?’ the captain of his gesith panted as they galloped away.

  ‘No, my warband is finished and there is no time to assemble the rest of the fyrd now. I must seek sanctuary somewhere whilst I seek allies to help me take back my kingdom.’

  ‘Where will we go, then? Bernicia?’

  The king shook his head.

  ‘That would mean crossing Deira and I don’t trust Oswine. He’s just as likely to hand me over to appease Penda as he is to allow me safe passage. No, we’ll head for East Anglia. At least King Anna is no friend of Penda.’

  ~~~

  ‘You’ve heard what’s happened in Wessex I take it?’ Oswiu asked.

  Aidan nodded his head sombrely. The two men were sitting outside the bishop’s hut at Lindisfarne watching the sun’s reflection on the sea as it sunk over the hills to the west.

  ‘You always said that Cenwalh was a fool, now it seems that he has proved it.’

  ‘Yes, the only surprise is that Anna has risked the wrath of Penda by offering Cenwalh sanctuary.’

  ‘I assume that he’s taking the long view; Penda will find that conquering Wessex is much easier than holding it.’

  Aidan was referring to the fact that Penda had set about subduing Wessex with a view to adding it to his domain.

  ‘Yes, disinheriting the eorls and banishing all the thegns has merely given Cenwalh the support he needs to re-conquer his kingdom.’

  Penda had set about subduing his new subjects by replacing their Saxons lords with Mercian ones.

  ‘Have you heard of the term ealdorman?’ Oswiu went on to ask.

  ‘No, I gather that it’s one that the Angles and Jutes use in their homeland to signify the overlord of an area. Why?’

  ‘Apparently he has made Wulhere Eorl of Wessex and the captain of his gesith Eorl of Hwicce, indicating that he intends to incorporate both into Greater Mercia. The previous eorls have been replaced by ealdormen who rank between the new eorls and the thegns.’

  ‘I just hope that Cenwalh times his return sensibly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he needs to leave it long enough so that resentment against the new alien lords has time to fester amongst the people, but not so long that they get used to them and accept the new regime.’

  ‘I see. Presumably you would be prepared to help Cenwalh when the time comes?’

  ‘Provided he has a sensible plan, yes. It would be easier if I ruled Deira as well. As it is, Penda is too strong. He can now call himself Bretwalda of England; only Bernicia, Lindsey, East Anglia and Kent stand against him.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Build my alliances in the north so that I don’t have to worry about invasion from that quarter and intensify the training of my young men. The fyrd are a useful source of manpower in time of war but their value is limited because they lack both experience of warfare and aren’t very proficient with the few weapons that they do have. I plan to start training them on one day per week, increase the number of archers, train the boys who are too young to fight to be slingers and set my blacksmiths to work making swords, arrow and spear heads and helmets. I also want to breed more horses to give my warband better mobility.’

  ‘For that you’ll need money and a source of iron.’

  ‘The Romans mined iron ore in Rheged but the deposits near the surface are worked out; however, there is plenty more if we dig for it. For that I’ll need slaves.’

  ‘Where will you get them from?’

  ‘I can’t go north if I’m trying to keep the Picts and the Strathclyde Britons as allies, and the nearest place to the south of Rheged is Wales.’

  ‘Gwynedd or Powys?’

  ‘It’s tempting to raid Powys as they were partly responsible for my brother’s death, but Gwynedd is nearer, especially Ynys Môn.’

  ‘Ynys Môn? To me slavery is abhorrent, but at least the inhabitants of that island are pagans, or so I’m told.’

  ‘So that makes it alright?’ Oswiu was amused.

  ‘No, but it is better than raiding good Christian folk. Will you go yourself?’

  ‘No, tempting though it is. I need to stay here in case Penda decides to attack again. I thought of putting Dunstan in charge. It’ll be good experience for him and, although he’s my horse marshal, he’s commanded a birlinn before.’

  ‘You’ll need more than one birlinn if you want enough slaves to work a mine.’

  Oswiu laughed. ‘You worry about our souls and I’ll worry about organising a raid.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I suppose I was getting a little carried away.’

  ‘It’s fine. After all I was consulting you, as I do so often these days.’ He paused. ‘How is Conomultus getting on as head novice?’ Oswiu asked, to change the subject more than anything.

  ‘Having a testing time, I fear. Wilfrid seems intent on upsetting everyone. I would have expelled him before this but he is devout and, as he’s the son of the Eorl of Hexham, I didn’t think it sensible to upset him.’

  Oswiu grunted. ‘He’s like his father then. I’ve thought of replacing him as eorl before now, but I need the support of his family. They’re influential in Deira as well as in Bernicia.’

  ‘You do know that Oswine had expelled the priests I sent him and replaced them with men recommended by James the Deacon?’

  ‘Yes, I had heard. I gather he’s acknowledged the supremacy of the Pope in Rome in preference to the Celtic Church.’

  ‘Yes, which reminds me. Sister Heiu and your cousin Hild have approached me about establishing a new monastery near Hartlepool.’

  ‘For nuns only?’

  ‘Yes. We seem to have more women wanting to be nuns than we do men seeking to become monks these days.’

  ‘The way that some men treat their wives, that doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Talking of which I understand that you are to be congratulated. I hear Queen Eanflæd is expecting another child.’

  ‘You are well informed; she only told me a week ago. It’s early days yet but she is certain she’s pregnant again.’

  ‘Are you hoping for another son?’

  ‘No, I’d rather like a daughter this time. Sons can be a problem I’ve found. Oswald never got on with his and Aldfrith and I seem to quarrel a lot.’

  ‘He’s what? Thirteen now?’

  ‘In two months, yes. I suppose I should have sent him here to be educated but he seems to respect Utta and he’s making a good job of teaching him to read, write and about the life of Christ.’

  ‘I’m not surprised he does what Utta tells him. One smile from him with those sharpened teeth would make any child behave.’

  Both men laughed.

  ‘What about Elhfrith?’

  ‘He’ll be seven in the summer but I don’t see as much of him as I’d like. I don’t want to keep reminding Eanflæd that she wasn’t my first wife so I keep him away from my hall.’

  Aidan thought that Oswiu was making a mistake which could alienate his second son as well as the first, but he said nothing.

  ‘Will you stay the night?’

  ‘No thank you, I suppose I’d better be getting back to Bebbanburg before the light goes. At least it will soon be spring when the days start getting longer.’

  The king collected Ceadda and Raoul, who had escorted him there, and they rode across the sands at a canter just as the tide was starting to rush in and cut the island off from the mainland.

  ~~~

  Dunstan steered his birlinn towards the sandy beach on the north-west coast of Ynys Môn. It was five miles north of a large sandy bay and a sizeable settlement of fishermen and their families. He prayed that the inhabitants didn’t keep a lookout at the north-east point of the islan
d as they beached their three ships for the night before settling down to catch a few hours’ sleep. He wanted to launch his attack on the settlement at dawn tomorrow whilst the Welsh were hopefully still asleep.

  Three hours before dawn Dunstan led the warriors from his birlinn along the coast towards the settlement. He left the ship’s boys, including Catinus and Aldfrith, to guard his ship whilst Lorcan prepared the other birlinn to sail southwards accompanied by a knarr.

  Dunstan had been surprised how well Catinus and Aldfrith had got on, given their very different backgrounds and the two year difference in the ages. Catinus had started his warrior training and was the senior ship’s boy whilst Aldfrith, at twelve, was the next oldest. Two other twelve-year olds made up the complement of boys. They, together with the steersmen and a few sailors looked after the ship, its sail and the rigging. The warriors provided the rowers.

  Aldfrith watched them go with a wistful expression on his face.

  ‘I wish I was going with them,’ he said to Catinus.

  ‘So do I. After all, I’m meant to be training as a warrior and I don’t suppose there will be much risk in rounding up a few Welshmen.’

  ‘I can’t wait to start my own training.’

  ‘Hey, you two. Stop gossiping like a couple of old women and get up onto those rocks and keep your eyes peeled,’ the steersman yelled at them.

  ‘Shall we take our weapons?’

  ‘If you think you can do so without chopping off something important. Yes, of course take your weapons. You should know the drill by now, especially you Catinus.’

  The two boys climbed up the rocks that surrounded the beach and took over from two warriors from the other birlinn who muttered ‘about time’ before re-joining their crew.