BRETWALDA: Kings of Northumbria Book 3

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Thank you all for coming. I’m sorry to drag you from your beds but it has come to my attention that a few of you have been in contact with Cadafael. I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I haven’t forgiven him for seizing the throne after my father was killed. He’s not of my family and he had no right to rule. I had thought that all of you supported my claim, but tonight several have sought to treat with him secretly, no doubt with the intent of betraying me on the morrow.’

  He stopped as many of the fifteen chieftains started to bombard him with questions. Others talked quietly amongst themselves and more than one hand edged towards the hilt of their swords. Cadwaladr held up his hands for quiet and when most of the hubbub had died down, he continued.

  ‘Your men can remain here and submit to Cadafael. The rest of us will depart tonight, but just to make sure we can slip away quietly, you will be coming with us.’

  He nodded to Oswain and several of his own men and those from Oswain’s tribe quickly moved to disarm and secure those chieftains about which Cadwaladr had his doubts. A few minutes later six hundred of his supporters accompanied by the unarmed chieftains made their way quietly down the side of the hill opposite Cadafael’s camp. Each of the traitors had a dagger pressed into their sides to ensure they didn’t give the alarm.

  Unsurprisingly the sentries challenged the large body of men but Cadwaladr merely replied that he was going to make a surprise attack on his enemy’s camp. Most of the men left behind didn’t know what their chieftains had been up to or, if they did, they were leaderless and uncertain what to do.

  By the time that Cadafael found out that the bird had flown Cadwaladr and his men had crossed the Ribble via another ford to the west and were heading south as fast as they could go. He paused when he was certain he wasn’t being pursued for just long enough to hang the treacherous chieftains as a warning to others, and then pressed on heading for the mountain fastness that surrounded Yr Wyddfa.

  ~~~

  The day of Peada’s wedding to Alchflaed dawned blustery but fine. The stone walls of the church on Lindisfarne had been finished and the rafters were in place but the thatched roof was less than a quarter completed, so it as just as well it wasn’t raining.

  When Peada entered the church accompanied by his supporters they behaved in a raucous and unseemly manner until Oswiu grabbed the man his daughter was to marry and pulled him to one side.

  ‘Have you already forgotten the teachings of Abbot Finan? Does your baptism yesterday mean nothing to you, boy? This is the House of God and you will behave respectfully within it or you will have me to answer to.’

  For a moment he thought that Peada was going the challenge him and he tensed but the young man saw sense and apologised. He went back to his nobles and, after some hushed whispering decorum once more prevailed.

  Oswiu returned to stand beside Eanflæd as their daughter entered. She was small, even for eleven, and was dwarfed by her female attendants. Her mother looked at her and then at the boastful, strutting braggart who she was to marry and she shuddered. She understood why her husband had chosen to marry her off to Penda’s son – it was the fate of nobly born women to serve their family’s political interests – but she had an uneasy feeling that Peada would ignore Oswiu’s strictures about waiting until Alchflaed menstruated before bedding her as his wife.

  She looked over at Penda who was standing on the other side of the betrothed couple next to his other sons, Wulfhere and Æthelred. Both the men had satisfied grins on their faces, though Æthelred looked at his eldest brother with contempt. Evidently the time that the boy had spent with her had born fruit. He had readily accepted Christianity and had become more devout than her own children. The attitude of the other two worried her and deep down she knew that the peace that Oswiu had worked so tirelessly for wouldn’t last. What then would become of her daughter?

  The fact that the Mercian King’s daughter was to wed Elhfrith, Oswiu’s son by his first wife, the following year might mean that the truce might last a little while , especially as the girl, Cyneburgh, had already been sent into her safekeeping and was therefore something of hostage, just as her brother Æthelred had been and as Alchflaed would be. Perhaps, she thought, she was worrying unnecessarily but, when she glanced at Penda again and saw that Wulfhere was again sniggering at something his father had said, her unease returned.

  That night Peada left his new bride alone; not that he would have been capable of much after the copious amounts of ale he’d consumed. The bridal bed remained unoccupied until they returned to Peada’s capital of Towcester. Once there, where he felt safe, he decided once he was drunk enough that it was time to do what he’d been lusting after ever since he first saw the girl and that was to make Alchflaed his wife in fact as well as in name. That night he raped her, not once but four times.

  In the morning he rose feeling well pleased with himself and he ordered the slaves to display the blood soaked furs from his bed on the outside walls of his hall as evidence of his virility. It didn’t take long for the tale to reach Oswiu’s ears. He was furious but he ignored his wife’s demands that he invade and kill Peada. He needed peace with Mercia more than ever now as Anna of East Anglia had died and his successor, Æthelhere, had made peace with Penda and acknowledged him as his overlord in return for being allowed to regain the kingdom. The death of Hengist of Lindsey and the peaceful absorption of the former petty kingdom into Penda’s domain removed yet another of Oswiu’s allies south of the Humber.

  Even Oswiu admitted that the war clouds were gathering once more but was determined to do nothing to provoke Penda if he could avoid it. He even forbore to mention the broken seals on the chests of silver which had been returned and the fact that the contents had evidently been pilfered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – PRELUDE TO CONFLICT

  654 – 655 AD

  Catinus watched the young man ride into the fortress at Bebbanburg. He was on sentry duty outside the entrance to the king’s hall and he was bored. He admired the stranger’s horse and his clothing. It was drab, not like the bright colours nobles wore, but he could tell even at this distance, that they were made from the finest wool and the boots on his feet were made from good quality leather. He led a packhorse laden with a chainmail bynie, helmet, shield and spear, together with a small chest and a sack which presumably contained his spare clothes. Everything looked new.

  As the young man dismounted he noted that his shoulder length fair hair was quite short above his forehead, as he was growing out a tonsure. The new arrival was something of an enigma and Catinus was intrigued.

  ‘Where can I find Ceadda?’ the man asked a passing boy, who pointed towards the hall which Catinus was guarding.

  ‘Thank you. Is there someone who can look after my horses?’

  The boy nodded and took the leading reins from him.

  ‘I’ll put them in the stables, unload your gear and give them a rub down if you like.’

  The boy looked at him expectantly.

  ‘You’re not a stable boy, are you?’

  ‘No, but I’m willing to go and get them off their lazy arses for a small reward,’ the boy said with a grin.

  ‘Here, catch.’

  He flipped a small silver coin at the lad, which he caught and tucked away in a small pouch at his waist. He was delighted; coins, especially silver ones, were rare and consequently valuable.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Catinus asked as the new arrival walked up to the hall.

  ‘I was told by my father, the Eorl of Dùn Barra, to ask for Ceadda the Hereræswa.’

  Catinus now knew who the young man was. He was Cuthbert, the son of Kenric, one of the eorls of the Goddodin and a close friend of the king’s. The last he’d heard of Cuthbert he had completed his noviciate at Melrose and had taken his vows as a monk.

  ‘Ceadda’s not here, I’m afraid. He’s at Eoforwīc advising King Œthelwald on improving the Deiran warband and fyrd.’

  His tone indicated that he didn’t think mu
ch of the Deiran army’s capability.

  ‘Oh, who should I see then? I’m to join the king’s warband as a warrior.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying so, but most start their training as boys once their voices have broken and are warriors by the time they are sixteen or so. I take it that you haven’t been trained?’

  ‘Yes, you are quite right. I’m twenty and have been a monk for the past six years. However, I’ve decided that I need to experience warfare to complete my education. As to being trained to fight, my father had me trained as a warrior as a young boy.’

  ‘I think you had better report to Redwald, the captain of the gesith in that case.’

  Just at that moment Oswiu came out of his hall with Redwald and two other men who were busy congratulating him on the birth of his third child by Eanflæd – a daughter who they had called Ælfflaed.

  ‘Ah, Cuthbert. I’m glad to see that you’ve arrived safely. Your father wrote to me to explain. Welcome to my gesith. I hope you find what you are looking for with us. This is my captain, Redwald, he’ll tell you what to do. You must excuse me, I need to celebrate the birth of my new daughter.’

  Redwald nodded at Cuthbert by way of greeting after the king had left them.

  ‘New daughter?’

  ‘Yes, Queen Eanflæd has given birth to a baby girl, Ælfflæd; not that it’s any of your business. Where’s your baggage?’

  ‘A boy took it to the stables.’

  ‘Go and get it and find yourself somewhere to bed down. Catinus here can tell you what you need to know.’

  The two young men nodded at one another a little warily, little knowing what good friends they would turn out to be.

  ~~~

  Alchflaed cowered in her bed when she heard the door to her room open. She knew that it would be Peada on one of his brief but frequent visits. Her slaves and attendants scuttled out of the room as soon as he entered. Ignoring them, he strode over to the bed and leered down at her.

  ‘Looking forward to making love to me again are you, my lovely wife?’

  ‘Please, not tonight. I’m not feeling well.’

  It was the truth she was bruised and sore from his attentions over the past month and she was so unhappy that she had given up eating and was now seriously ill. He had torn her inside and, because it never got a chance to heal, his ministrations now caused her intense pain. However, her pitiful pleading only seemed to make him even more randy.

  When he left, having beaten her as well as raped her, she was in the deepest despair and wondered how she could commit suicide. She wasn’t allowed a knife, except to eat with and that was removed as soon as she’d finished, and she wasn’t strong enough to smother or strangle him, even when he was drunk.

  She was jealous of Peada’s sister who was about to marry her half-brother, Elhfrith. He was now fifteen and was far from being a virgin, but he was nothing like Peada. He was quiet and unassuming but that didn’t mean he had a weak character. He preferred to gain his ends by tact and diplomacy but, if he was let down or betrayed he could act quickly and decisively. For the nine years until Elhfrith had gone away to Lindisfarne to be educated with the novice monks they had been playmates and had grown very close. She knew that he would be a caring and loving husband, so unlike her own.

  Then one day her chance came. She had developed a fever and Peada was scared about the reaction of both his father and of Oswiu if he allowed her to die, especially if his brutal treatment of her came to light, so he sent for an old woman who was said to be a good healer.

  She lived up to her reputation, feeding the girl an infusion of herbs three times a day which brought her temperature down and a broth which restored her strength. She tut tutted over the bruises all over Alchflaed’s body and applied a salve to help them heal. She also used a bone needle and catgut to repair the tears that the repeated rapes had caused.

  Thankfully Penda had called his son to his side for the wedding of his daughter to Elhfrith so her battered body had time to heal. Once again the ceremony took place in the monastery church on Lindisfarne. It was a repeat performance with Bishop Finan baptising Cyneburgh the day before the wedding; the only differences being the now completed roof and the weather. Unlike the sunny day when Peada had married Alchflaed, the day was miserable. Black clouds scudded across the sky driven by high winds and squally showers beat against the canvas covered windows of the church.

  As Alchflaed had predicted, Elhfrith made gentle love to his wife that night and the two found each other attractive; something that would turn to love in time. Peada’s lip curled in distain when he saw the happy couple laughing and making eyes at one another at the wedding feast and his thoughts turned to his own wife waiting at Tamworth. He licked his lips when he thought of her. She should have recovered sufficiently by the time that he returned; enough for him to satiate his lust at any rate.

  Of course Oswiu had been surprised that his daughter hadn’t accompanied her husband but accepted that she hadn’t been able to travel because of a slight fever. He offered to arrange for a healer to tend to her, which had alarmed the King of the Middle Angles more than somewhat, but he seemed satisfied when Peada explained that he had a healer of his own. He added that he was certain that Alchflaed would have made a full recovery by the time he returned.

  That much was true but the healer had done one last act of kindness for Peada’s twelve year old queen before she left.

  ~~~

  Catinus and Cuthbert were amongst the six members of the gesith who accompanied King Oswiu on a boar hunt. The two were armed with boar spears which had a large cross bar below the spear point. Enraged boars had been known to work their way towards their attacker even though the spear point was lodged deep within their guts. A few even managed to kill the spearman before it too died of its wounds. The cross bar was to prevent that happening. The disadvantage was that, if you misjudged your thrust, it was impossible to work the spear deeper in search of its heart or other vital organs.

  The other four members of the king’s escort were armed with hunting bows. These were short and designed to be used on horseback; however they lacked power and range. Oswiu was a skilful user of the boar spear and to date none of his gesith had had to intervene to save his life.

  What Oswiu didn’t know was that, on this occasion, he was the prey, not the hunter.

  The scent of the boar that the hounds were following had been laid by a group of mercenaries hired to kill the King of Northumbria. The royal party followed the huntsmen and the dogs into a clearing and there the trail seemed to grow cold. Whilst the dogs hunted for the scent Oswiu, his friends and the six members of his gesith milled about, confused by the apparent disappearance of the boar.

  Oswiu was in the midst of the hunting party when the attack came. None of them wore any armour so when the shower of arrows hit them from both sides of the clearing six of the riders and four of their horses were hit; one of the former was Redwald. The gesith captain gurgled as an arrow went straight through his neck and emerged the other side. He fell from his horse and, if the arrow wound hadn’t meant his eventual demise, the blow to the head by the hoof of his panicked horse certainly did so. Gamanulf and Baugulf placed an arrow in their bows but they could see no target and seconds later they too lay dead.

  Ansgar placed his pony between Oswiu and his attackers. He may have saved his master but he was hit instead. Oswiu wept when he saw his body servant struck down and he went to dismount. Had it not been for Catinus’ quick thinking he too would have been killed. He grabbed the reins of Oswiu’s horse and, telling him to lie down along its neck, he led him at a canter back the way they’d come. Only the king, Catinus, Cuthbert and two others made it out of the clearing safely.

  ‘Catinus, I’m grateful to you for your quick thinking. Now ride as fast as you can back to Yeavering and fetch the rest of the gesith. Bring them back here; we’ll follow these murdering scum when they leave the ambush site and we’ll make sure you can follow our trail by leaving scraps of
cloth along the way. Go!’

  Two hours later he returned with the remaining twenty four members of Oswiu’s gesith. When they rode into the clearing where the ambush had taken place there was a hiss of anger as the men saw their slaughtered compatriots, including their captain. Then Catinus noticed something - Ansgar had moved slightly. Telling the others to search for the marker left to indicate the start of the route taken by the ambushers, he leaped from his horse and knelt by the boy.

  The arrow that had knocked him from his pony had glanced off his ribs and, although he had bled quite a lot, the injury itself was no more than a bad flesh wound. However, he had struck his head on a rock when he fell and that was what had knocked him out so that he appeared to be dead. Catinus reckoned that it had saved the boy’s life as the attackers had looted the bodies and cut the throats of those who were only wounded.

  He called two of the gesith over and told them to bind Ansgar’s wound and make a litter so that he could be carried between their two horses back to Yeavering. No one seemed to question his authority. He was not the oldest by quite some way and he was a Briton who had been born a Mercian; nevertheless he had been sent to fetch them by the king and they respected both his skill as a warrior and his sound common sense. For now he was their leader.

  Once Ansgar was safely on his way, the rest followed Catinus along the trail marked out by Oswiu. He had no idea how far ahead of them the king and his small party were but he assumed that the ambushers, whoever they were, would want to put as much distance between the killing ground and themselves as possible before nightfall. He expected them to be on foot but, even so, they could probably cover five miles or so in each hour. Even if they had spent as much as a quarter of an hour checking and looting the dead, they would still be at least ten miles ahead of them. At a canter they could move three times as quickly as a man on foot so in an hour they should have caught them and their trackers up.