by H A CULLEY
The first Anna knew of the invasion was when a messenger arrived with the startling news that Peada and his Middle Anglians had invaded and burned the settlement at Thetford to the ground. They had crossed the River Little Ouse and were now heading for his capital at Dunwich. By striking between the lands of the Northfolk and the Southfolk he had effectively cut Anna off from the majority of his people in the south of the kingdom. He was unprepared and his fyrd were busy gathering in the harvest.
By the time that Peada reached Dunwich, Anna had fled with his family and his gesith by ship heading for the south coast and Wessex.
Oswiu wasn’t altogether surprised by the news, unwelcome though it was. Thanks to the chaos in Deira, East Anglia had been more or less isolated. Had there been more warning, Lindsey might have been able to help but now, with the subjugation of the East Angles, they were the obvious next target for Penda’s expansionist ambitions.
It made it all the more urgent to bring Deira under control but while Oswine lived he couldn’t insist that the Witan appoint a replacement, however much many of his people detested their king. He decided that it was time to stop chasing Oswine like a fugitive and lure him into a trap. But, before he could put his plan into operation, tragedy struck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – REGICIDE
651/2 AD
The unthinkable had happened. Aidan had been frail for some time but he had insisted on carrying on as if he was indestructible. True, he had been spending longer living in the beehive shaped hut on one of the Farne Islands as an anchorite than he had been wont to previously. Consequently he now left tramping the highways and byways of the North, preaching the gospel and checking that there was no apostasy, to others. Nevertheless his death, when it came, was a shock to everyone.
Brother Finan, the prior, and Brother Wigmund had rowed out with provisions for the week and found the bishop kneeling in prayer in the centre of the small domed hut. Although it was summer, it was chilly inside the hut made of stones piled in every decreasing circles until they met at the apex. Aidan had evidently died on his knees and slumped against one wall. Because rigor mortis had set in, probably days ago, Finan realised that they would have to break his bones to get him into a coffin. Thankfully, his body hadn’t yet started to decompose, probably because of the low temperature inside the hut. This later gave rise to the story that his body was incorruptible.
Finan took the opportunity to do what was necessary to put the body in a prone position whilst Wigmund rowed ashore to break the news and to fetch a simple wooden coffin. By the time he returned with several other monks Aidan was lying on the floor of the hut with his feet facing towards the door. Finan had left his hands in the position of prayer, however. The monks reverentially placed him in the coffin, nailed the lid in place and rowed it ashore.
‘Who will you chose to replace him, Cyning,’ Conomultus asked him as they rode towards Lindisfarne for the funeral. His wife rode on his other side with her own chaplain, a Jute from Cantwareburg, beside her.
‘I hope that whoever it is you choose will be a follower of the true faith and not an Irish heretic,’ the chaplain said with some passion.
‘Hold your tongue, you impertinent rogue,’ Oswiu retorted sharply. ‘In the unlikely event that I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.’
Eanflæd gave her husband a reproachful look. Religion was the one thing they argued about; she refused to abandon the teachings and practices of the Roman Church whilst the rest of the North followed the Celtic Church, which had originated with Saint Patrick in Ireland and later been spread to the people across the sea in Caledonia by Saint Columba. One of the main differences between the two was the lack of structure in the Celtic, or Insular, Church. There was no head, such as the Pope in Rome, and each bishop and abbot was free to run their diocese or monastery in accordance with general principles, but without firm direction from a spiritual leader. The closest they came to a head of their Church was the Abbot of Iona.
Oswiu knew that, whilst his opinion carried a lot of weight, the choice of abbot lay with the monks of Lindisfarne themselves. Inevitably the next abbot would also become the bishop and Aidan’s former acolyte, Bishop Ròidh, would consecrate whoever was chosen as he was attending the funeral.
In the event the prior, Finan, was the unanimous choice of the monks. Oswiu had hoped that either Ròidh or his brother, Offa, would accept the post of Abbot of Lindisfarne and Bishop of Northumbria but Ròidh was adamant that he wanted to return to his own people and Offa’s reaction was even more disappointing.
‘I don’t enjoy being Abbot of Melrose, Oswiu. I’d far rather be an ordinary monk and I dream of becoming an anchorite again. However, I accept that God had other plans for me and I’ve got used to leading my brother monks, but I have no talent as a missionary, nor as the spiritual leader of your people.’
‘I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed, Offa, but you always were the most unworldly of all of my brothers. Very well, I’ll accept Finan as bishop as well as abbot. I don’t know him that well but, if he was Aidan’s choice as prior, he should be equal to the task.’
‘He’s a good man, Oswiu. He’s virtuous and well educated. Like Aidan, he’s an Irishman who served his noviciate on Iona and he’s an eloquent orator. The only drawback as far as I can see is that he’s quite elderly.’
‘How old is he?’
‘I’m not sure but nearly as old as Aidan I would guess, but he seems to be in good health. Of course, he’s not suffered the privations that Aidan had.’
Oswiu nodded and determined to get to know his new bishop better.
Two days later Ròidh consecrated Finan as bishop before returning to Ardewr.
~~~
‘Why is Oswine proving so difficult to catch?’ Oswiu was not in the best of moods.
For nine months now the King of Deira had evaded capture and Oswiu’s patience was running out. Deira was more or less under his control but he couldn’t achieve his ambition to incorporate it into Northumbria again whilst the Deiran Witan were adamant that Oswine was still the elected king.
Eanflæd sighed. Her husband was becoming obsessive about the hunt for his cousin; so much so that he was neglecting other matters.
‘Have you been to see Finan since his consecration?’
‘No, why?’
‘Because Conomultus has and he says that Finan is worried about you committing regicide.’
Oswiu glared at his wife but she stared back at him, refusing to back down.
‘That’s what you plan to do isn’t it, when you catch him I mean?’
‘He refuses to meet me in open battle, instead he skulks around in the moorland wilderness hiding from me. There’s only one way to end this and that’s by his death.’
‘Finan says that, if you do that, your immortal soul will be in peril.’
‘Finan says, Finan says,’ he mocked. ‘Why hasn’t Conomultus told me this face to face? Better still, why hasn’t the bishop had the courage to come and face me himself?’
‘Finan has gone to consecrate the new Bishop of Rheged, as you well know. Conomultus told me instead of you because he hoped that I’d be able to talk some sense into you. You’d just shout at him.’
A timid cough interrupted him and he turned to tear a strip off whoever had had the temerity to interrupt. He bit back the profane oath he was about to utter when he saw it was his body servant, Ansgar.
‘What do you want, boy?’
‘There’s a messenger to see you, Cyning. He says he’s from Eorl Humbold.’
Oswiu narrowed his eyes. The only Eorl Humbold he could think of was the noble who ruled Ryedale in Deira.
‘Humbold? I wonder what he wants,’ he muttered. ‘You’d better show him in.’
‘Cyning, my lord sends you his felicitations and greets you in the name of Christ.’
‘Yes, yes, you can skip the flowery stuff. What does Humbold want?’
‘He is holding King Oswine captive at his fortress in Ryedale. He
thought you might be interested in taking him off his hands. If so, a small reward would be appreciated.’
‘Does he now? I presume that you are trying to say, once all the coded ambiguity is stripped away, is that he’s captured Oswine and he now wants to sell him to me.’
‘That’s about the size of it, Cyning, though I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.’
‘Very well. How much is this small reward likely to be?’
‘The eorl thought that a medium sized chest of silver would be appropriate, Cyning.’
Coins had been used by the Romans but as yet the Anglo-Saxons didn’t have the skills to mint new ones, so their usual way of bartering was to use scraps of silver and, more rarely, gold. A medium size chest would hold around half a ton.
‘Are you empowered to negotiate?’
‘Wait! Husband, what are you going to do?’
‘Kill him in single combat, as you and Finan are squeamish about just executing him.’
‘What happens if he kills you instead?’
Oswiu laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s very likely but, if he does, you better take the children and sail for Kent.’
Three weeks later Œthelwald, who Oswiu had sent to Ryedale with Caedda and a small warband, arrived at Tynemouth, where the king was at the time, leading a horse on which sat a despondent Oswine.
The weather the next morning was dismal. Sea fog hung over the settlement and fine droplets of water penetrated everything. The grassy area where the hand to hand combat was to take place was slippery and, because it was on a slight slope, the two combatants knew that they would have difficulty in staying on their feet.
Oswiu wore a mail byrnie that came down to his knees, leather boots with steel strips sewn into the front to protect his shins and his battle helmet; made from a single piece of steel beaten into shape and to which a piece of steel with eyeholes had been riveted so as to protect his eyes and nose. His shield was red with a yellow cross painted on it. His sword and seax hung from a leather belt around his waist.
In contrast Oswine wore a shorter byrnie that only covered half his thighs and an open faced helmet. His shield was plain black and he had chosen an axe and seax as his weapons. His gesith had been killed in their beds by Humbold’s men, as had his servants. However, Oswiu had sent one of his own slaves to help Oswine dress and arm himself.
Conomultus celebrated mass with the two kings and prayed that God gave power to the more righteous man. Of course, Oswiu assumed that this meant him. After the chaplain had blessed them both the two men turned to face each other. The ring in which they were to fight was delineated by the throng of Bernician warriors who had come to watch; the boundaries were therefore somewhat fluid. This didn’t bother Oswiu because he knew his men wouldn’t dare crowd him, but it did somewhat intimidate Oswine, who wasn’t the bravest of men at the best of times.
The two kings circled each other warily. Oswiu was supremely confident of victory and had only staged the contest to avoid condemnation for murdering Oswine, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew that many a brave warrior had lost his life needlessly because he was arrogant. Suddenly Oswine made a move. Oswiu wasn’t expecting it and had to hurriedly move his shield to block his opponent’s blow.
The man had moved too quickly and his feet slipped on the wet grass. Consequently the axe head glanced off the shield but it still had force behind it when it connected with Oswiu’s right boot. Luckily the reinforced boots stopped the blow but it had badly bruised his shin and he felt a trickle of blood beginning to fill the inside of the boot. He tried not to hobble as he moved back to plan his next move, but he knew from the gleam of triumph in the other man’s eyes that he was well aware that he’d wounded his opponent.
He closed with Oswine and thrust the point of his sword towards his face. As anticipated, Oswine raised his shield and Oswiu brought the bronze clad rim of his own shield down hard on his opponent’s leather shoes. He heard the bones break; Oswine was almost incapacitated, both by his broken toes and by the pain which threatened to unman him.
He shuffled backwards slowly to try and gain enough room to swing his axe but Oswiu stayed close to him, making alternating thrusts and cuts to keep him moving on his crippled feet. Throwing away his axe, Oswine drew his seax and, ignoring the pain, he stepped closer to Oswiu and banged his shield against the other one. Once again, Oswiu had been surprised. Now his shield was of no use, neither was his sword. One had been knocked out of the way and Oswine was too close to him for him to use the other.
Oswine thrust his seax towards his cousin’s belly. Had he been able to follow the thrust through with his weight behind it the point would have probably parted the links of Oswiu’s chain mail and gone on to penetrate his leather jerkin and his flesh. As it was, Oswiu did the only thing he could do. He head butted Oswine hard in the face with his helmet, breaking both his nose and his right cheek bone.
He howled in pain and instinctively recoiled. The force went out of his thrust and, although a few of the chain mail links had parted, the point of his seax hadn’t even penetrated as far as the tunic under Oswald’s leather jerkin.
As Oswine stepped back Oswiu drew back his right arm and thrust his sword at his adversary’s blood covered face. It went into his cousin’s gaping mouth and emerged from the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord on the way. The King of Deira fell to the ground and Oswiu finished him off. Dropping sword and shield and, picking up the man’s own axe, he brought it down to sever his head from his body to the resounding cheers of his men as the head rolled away down the slight slope.
Oswiu was in an excellent mood until he limped back to his chamber and Ansgar couldn’t get the boot off his right foot. When he tried Oswiu had to bite back a cry of agony and he cuffed the boy around the ear quite hard.
‘That hurts like the devil, you fool.’
Not in the least put out by the blow, the boy grinned up at his master.
‘Then I’ll have to cut the boot off so I can see what the problem is.’
‘No, they were very expensive. There must be some other way.’
At that moment Œthelwald, Ceadda and Redwald came to congratulate the king. Although they had never been close – far from it at times – Oswiu had started to rely on his nephew a little more recently and their antagonism had developed into a grudging acceptance of one another.
‘What’s the problem?’ he now asked as he watched Ansgar gingerly trying to inch the boot down the king’s leg.
‘My bloody leg’s swollen up where Oswine struck it and now this useless wretch can’t get it off,’ Oswiu complained through gritted teeth.
It was obvious that he was in agony but he clamped his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. Eanflæd pushed her way past the three men standing by the door and went to her husband.
‘I couldn’t watch but I’m told you won. However, I’m not going to congratulate you for being a fool,’ she told him with some asperity. ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ she asked, her anger turning to concern.
‘The boy can’t get the wretched boot off,’ he replied, wincing.
‘Ceada, cut it off, carefully mind.’
‘No! These boots cost a fortune!’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Oswiu. Your leg is more important than any stupid boot!’
Ceada knelt down and pushed Ansgar out of the way. He carefully cut the stitching at the back of the boot until he could pull it off.
‘There, now you can get it stitched up and it’ll be as good as new.’
The grin disappeared when he saw the condition of Oswiu’s leg. The metal strips might have saved the king’s leg from being severed by his opponent’s blade but one bar had been bent so badly that it had removed the skin covering his shin and broken the bone. It was a clean break and the two ends of the bone showed through the flesh. It was a wonder that Oswiu had managed to hobble back to his chamber, it can only have been possible because the tight boot acted as a splint; even so, it must have required indomitab
le willpower. Now, however, the pain was too much for him and he fainted.
The next day he woke with an excruciating pain in his leg to find that it had been tightly bandaged and splinted. Ansgar came running when Oswiu roared for him, closely followed by Eanflæd.
‘Get this blooding bandage off me,’ he told them.
‘It needs to stay there to staunch the bleeding and hold the bones together so they can mend,’ his wife told him.
‘Fine, but it’s too tight. It’s cut off the blood supply to my lower leg and foot; look it’s gone blue.’
Ansgar immediately removed the splint and the bandage and blood started to flow down his leg again.
‘Now put the splint back and bandage the gash, but not too tight.’
He grimaced and bit his lip sufficiently to draw blood as Ansgar did as he was told.
‘Which fool did this?’ he asked after the boy had finished.
‘The wise woman who attended me for the birth of our stillborn child,’ she replied, looking worried. ‘I’ll send to Finan and ask for the infirmarian from Lindisfarne to come and attend to you.’
‘I don’t suppose that he’s well-disposed towards me. After all, he warned me against killing Oswine.’
‘He’s a Christian, Oswiu. He’s not going to leave you here to suffer and perhaps end up as a cripple, is he?’
‘I don’t know, he might think it’s God’s way of punishing me.’
‘I’m sure he’ll impose a hefty penance on you, but you are his king. If he refuses I’ll send your gesith to bring the infirmarian here.’
Oswiu had never seen his wife so determined.
‘I didn’t realise that I’d married such a feisty girl,’ he said with a grin, which quickly changed to a grimace when he was ill-advised enough to try and move.
Finan sent his infirmarian and his assistant straight away when he heard but Eanflæd was correct. His penance was to build a new monastery and endow it with enough land to support those who would live there. He chose Whitby as the site and agreed with Finan that it should be a foundation for both men and women. They would live in small huts, as was the Celtic tradition, with separate compounds for the two communities, but they would worship together in the church.