by H A CULLEY
However, that didn’t mean that he was blind to his faults. Ælfwine had always been a risk-taker from the days when, as a young boy, he had climbed up into the rafters of a hall to the way that he rode his horse recklessly to win a race with his friends. One of the latter had died of a broken neck when his horse failed to make a jump over a fallen tree, but that didn’t seem to deter the young King of Deira.
Of course, there were some who had reminded him of the betrayal of Oswiu by his nephew and then his son Alchfrith when they were sub-kings, but Ecgfrith was certain that there was no risk of that as far as Ælfwine was concerned.
‘How are we going to relieve Lindocolina?’
Ecgfrith frowned. It was a question he had been asking himself. He didn’t have the ships to land enough men at Lindsey’s port of Grim’s Bay, even if they were ferried there in batches. To march overland would mean crossing the River Aire a few miles south of Selby and entering Mercia before he could turn east towards the River Trent, beyond which lay Lindsey.
‘I’m not happy about it, but we’ll have to cross into Mercia seven miles south of Selby and then head down the west bank of the Trent until we can cross it due east of Lindocolina. It means that we will be in Mercia for several days and, if Ethelred has enough men in Mercia, we could be ambushed with our backs to the Trent.’
‘Why don’t you send me in advance with all the horsemen we can muster and we’ll scout out the land for several miles west of the Trent?’
‘Perhaps, I’ll certainly put the idea to the Witan.’
Ælfwine looked a little put out but suddenly had another idea.
‘We could also send a few scouts over the Trent to reconnoitre the siege of Lindocolina. We need to know how many we’re dealing with and, indeed, whether the place had yet fallen to Elthelred.’
‘It might be easier to do that from the east. That way our scouts won’t be travelling through hostile territory.’
‘Oh, yes. Good idea. Who will you send?’
‘Perhaps Ruaidhrí, if you can spare him. I was going to send him with you as your senior commander but he’s a good scout as well. I’ll send Beornheth with you instead.’
‘I’m not twelve. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand!’
‘Don’t yell at me. Your petulance just proves that you need a wiser and older head to support you,’ Ecgfrith told him quietly. ‘After all, I need Octa to support me so it isn’t just a reflection on your age or inexperience.’
His brother lowered his head and kicked the straw on the floor around for a minute, reminding Ecgfrith of a young boy who’s just been told off.
‘Very well. I suppose you’re right.’
The Witan served little purpose as far as formulating plans were concerned; they merely endorsed Ecgfrith’s proposals. However, at least the king knew that his nobles supported him. The only man to speak against the plan was Cuthbert. All three bishops and seven abbots were members of the Witan and Cuthbert was representing Abbot Eata, who was ill.
‘Ethelred is merely reinstating the status quo, Cyning. Lindsey is south of the Humber and is physically cut off from the rest of Northumbria by the river and by part of Mercia. Would it not be better to cede Lindsey to him in return for a substantial payment?’
Ecgfrith had the feeling that Cuthbert was talking a lot of sense but he was howled down by the nobles who were after plunder as well as glory. All kings and nobles needed a steady supply of both to keep their war bands intact. Leaders who failed keep their warriors well rewarded risked losing them to others who could offer more.
‘No, Mercia is the aggressor here. They have broken the truce that King Ethelred agreed with me, albeit in Wulhere’s name, and they must answer for that.’
Two days later Ruaidhrí set off with six of his best scouts and Osfrid. The boy had pleaded to go with him and, as they were only going to reconnoitre the situation, not fight, he thought the experience might be good for him. Everything was loaded onto three packhorses led by Ruaidhrí’s body servant, a ferocious looking former warrior with only one eye, and a boy to look after the rest of the party. Osfrid couldn’t help wishing that Drefan was coming too but he soon put the thought from his mind. He was just grateful to be included.
They arrived at Eoforwīc and boarded a knarr specially adapted to carry horses. They cast off the following morning and, blown along by a gentle westerly wind, they sailed down the Ouse to its mouth. As they entered the sea the wind backed around to the south west and the waves became increasingly choppy.
As they were making little progress tacking to and fro and Ruaidhrí was increasingly concerned for the horses, despite the tight stalls in which they were penned, they returned to the mouth of the Ouse for the night.
The next day was calmer, though the sea was still a little choppy. Thankfully the wind had veered during the night and was now coming from the north east. Their voyage down the coast was uneventful, if somewhat uncomfortable. Osfrid, in particular, found that the movement of the waves made him seasick.
He was therefore vastly relieved when they turned and ran into the harbour at Grim’s Bay near the mouth of the River Humber. Grim was said to be an alternative name used by the old Anglo-Saxon deity Woden. By the time the horses were unloaded using a wooden crane and padded sling it was evening and the group camped just outside the port.
Ruaidhrí was well aware that tidings of their arrival might well be on their way to Ethelred if there was a Mercian agent in the port, so before dawn the next morning they set off along a narrow dirt track heading south west towards Lindocolina. Ruaidhrí sent out two scouts ahead but they encountered no-one except two monks on foot and several farmers going to a nearby market with carts full of produce. None of them had seen any Mercians, nor had they heard of any invasion. All of which struck Ruaidhrí as very strange. Normally such news would spread like wildfire.
By late afternoon they had reached a ruined Roman villa near which farmers had built four huts and cultivated an area of cleared forest. The inhabitants started to flee at the approach of the horsemen until Ruaidhrí called out that they were friends.
It turned out that four related families lived in the huts and farmed the land. The oldest man acted as spokesman and told them that they knew nothing of any Mercians. He’d been to the weekly market outside Lindocolina three days ago with two of the other men and they all confirmed that there was no siege.
It looked as if the message sent to Ecgfrith, supposedly from the Eorl of Lindsey, had been a forgery. The Northumbrians had been misled, but to what purpose Ruaidhrí couldn’t think. It was Osfrid who solved the riddle.
‘It could have only been for one purpose, to trick us into invading Mercia. That would give Ethelred the pretext to claim that we had broken the treaty so he could declare war as the wronged party.’
Ruaidhrí nodded in agreement then considered what to do next.
‘We need to get back and stop Ecgfrith from attacking. The knarr won’t have stayed at Grim’s Bay but that doesn’t matter. Osfrid, you and one of my men will retrace your steps as quickly as you can and hire a ship to take you back to Eoforwīc. If the king has left, hire horses and ride to Selby. Pray God that you are in time.’
He handed the boy a pouch of silver and turned to ride away.
‘What will you do?’
‘Ride to Lindocolina to check that what we’ve been told is correct, then head for the crossing place over the Trent near Dunham. From there we’ll head north to intercept Ecgfrith if he’s already crossed into Mercia. If not, we’ll carry on to Selby.’
Osfrid nodded and dug his heels into his horse. He and his companion were lucky; they managed to hire a small pontos to take them north but Ecgfrith had left Eoforwīc two days previously. It took them a little while to find two horses to hire as most of those available had been taken by the army for the baggage train. The ones they hired were old and incapable of more than a sedate trot. They reached Selby just after dawn the next day to find that, yet again they were too
late. The army had set out the afternoon before.
Meanwhile Ruaidhrí had ridden to Lindocolina to discover that the farmers had indeed told the truth. He briefed the eorl, then he and his men rode on west to the ferry over the Trent at Denham, arriving there at nightfall. The ferry was on the far side and the ferrymen refused to cross over at night, whatever promises and threats Ruaidhrí made.
He was left in something of a quandary. There was a road on the far side of the river, but not on the east bank. To reach the nearest crossing place, a ford usable when the water was low, as now, they would have to find their way through woods, shrubbery and boggy ground for some nine miles. It wasn’t something that he’d consider attempting at night. He and his men settled down to see what the morning would bring.
~~~
Ecgfrith watched his brother lead his three hundred horsemen south towards the ford over the River Aire. It was the largest mounted force he, or any other Anglo-Saxon, had seen and it made a magnificent spectacle as the last of the servants with the packhorses disappeared into the cloud of dust kicked up by the hundreds of hooves in front of them.
The plan was for him to follow Ælfwine that afternoon. The horsemen would move faster than the slow moving warriors on foot and the baggage train, even moving at a walking pace and carefully scouting out the land ahead and five miles inland. That way he would have plenty of warning if there was an ambush awaiting him.
It took time for all two thousand men to ford the river and the baggage train took even longer. Ecgfrith was impatient to set out after his screen of mounted warriors but he knew better than to allow his army to become spread out over a long distance.
He had just started out again when he heard an unbroken boy’s voice calling out his name. He turned in surprise to see Osfrid and a man he didn’t know galloping along the column of marching men to catch him up.
‘Osfrid? What are you doing here? I thought you were with Ealdorman Ruaidhrí.’
‘He sent me to find you, Cyning,’ the boy said breathlessly. ‘It’s a trap. Ethelred isn’t besieging Lindocolina. He isn’t even in Lindsey. You’ve been deceived.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
Osfrid gave his king a pained look.
‘Yes, of course you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Octa!’
‘Yes Cyning,’ the hereræswa said as he turned his horse round and rode back to where Ecgfrith was still talking to Osfrid.
He gave the boy a puzzled look, which turned to one of alarm as the king told him the news that Osfrid had brought.
‘We must turn round and get out of Mercia before it’s too late, Cyning.’
‘What about Ælfwine? I can’t desert him.’
‘Send a rider after him now and pray that he finds him in time.’
‘Yes, very well. Give Osfrid your horse, Octa, it’s fresher than his.’ He turned back to Osfrid. ‘Ride as fast as you can and warn my brother. Take two of my gesith with you.’
The boy didn’t need telling twice. Before the two warriors detailed to escort him were ready he changed horses with Octa and he disappeared in a cloud of dust.
‘I hope he doesn’t kill my horse, it cost me a fortune,’ Octa said grumpily.
‘If he finds my brother in time I’ll buy you a stable of the damned things.’
It took the best part of an hour to get the army turned around and heading back for the nearest crossing over the Aire and it was midday before the ford came in sight. However, it had taken too long. The road to the ford was blocked by over two thousand Mercians.
~~~
Ruaidhrí and his men had to change their plans when they awoke at dawn. A party of twenty Mercians stood on the far bank deep in conversation with the ferrymen. A few minutes later half of them boarded the ferry to cross over to their side.
With no track to follow they had attempted to stay close to the east bank of the Trent but time and time again their progress was blocked by dense shrubbery or by patches of marshy ground which they had to find a way around. Ruaidhrí assumed that the Mercians would follow him, but it would take two trips to get them all over the river and, even given the difficult terrain, travel on horseback was swifter than walking on foot.
Finally they came to the ford and a road leading south east towards Lindocolina. If only they’d followed it in the first place they could have found the Northumbrian army by now. Five minutes later they were all on the west bank. Now they had a hard packed earthen road under their hooves and they made dramatically better time.
They heard the clash of weapons and saw the dust swirling upwards in the still air before they saw the battlefield. Carrion birds were circling in the air above even now, waiting impatiently for the feast that would shortly await them.
As Ruaidhrí and his few men came around the bend he saw that he was too late to do anything. About six hundred Mercians had surrounded what was left of Ælfwine’s men. They stood in a pitifully small circle with their shields locked, clearly determined to sell their lives dearly. The banner of the King of Deira still flew proudly from the middle of the circle so presumably Ælfwine was still alive.
Ruaidhrí knew that six warriors, even mounted ones, could make little difference but one look at his men told him that they were of the same mind as he was. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they didn’t try and do something.
He sent his servant off to the west to find Ecgfrith and tell him what they’d seen. As soon as the man had ridden off, the warriors hefted their spears and rode slowly towards the back of the yelling crowd of Mercians.
When they were sixty paces away they dismounted and sent arrow after arrow into the backs of their foes. At first none of them seemed to realise that they were being attacked from the south but, after the tenth man had fallen, screaming in agony with an arrow in his shoulder, they turned and immediately realised their danger.
About fifty of them started to run towards Ruaidhrí’s men. They got another two arrows away and half a dozen men fell before they mounted and rode away, to the fury of their pursuers. However, a hundred yards further on the scouts dismounted once more and sent fifteen more arrows towards the Mercians. Now there were less than thirty left of the group that had broken away to attack them.
The Northumbrians mounted once more and this time instead of fleeing they charged at their foes. Being at the rear, the Mercians weren’t experienced warriors but members of the fyrd. None of them had faced a charge by men on horseback before and they turned and ran back the way they’d come.
It was like aiming at targets in practice. The Northumbrians speared man after man in the back as they fled, most of them throwing away their weapons and shields as they went. Only fifteen made it back to the main body.
The unexpected arrival of Ruaidhrí and his scouts had given the beleaguered remnant of Ælfwine’s men fresh heart and they actually began to push their attackers back, killing them as they went. But it couldn’t last. Ælfwine was ever rash and he was already wounded in several places. Now he got ahead of the members of his gesith on either side of him in his eagerness to kill Mercians. A man with an axe saw his opportunity and, swinging it in a circle, he took the young king’s head clean off his body. It bounced away to be trampled underfoot.
A groan went up from the ranks of Northumbrians and they surged forward, determined to avenge Ælfwine’s death. For a few moments they gained the upper hand but then the Mercians greater numbers began to tell and within half an hour the last warrior fell.
Ruaidhrí heard the groan and knew what it meant. He and his men charged forward, throwing their spears as they went, then drew their swords to hack down and kill as many as they could before they were pulled from their horses and stabbed to death. Ruaidhrí was the last to die and, as he felt his life ebbing away from him, his vison clouded over and everything went black. His last thought was about Lethlobar far away in Ulster. Now he would never know whether his half-brother would ever regain the throne of the Ulaidh.
~~~
‘I need you to muster the fyrd and that of Alnwic, Jarrow, and the rest of Bernicia.’
Seeing that Conomultus was about to refuse without the proper authority to do so, Cuthbert held up his hand.
‘I have had a vision sent to me by our Lord Jesus Christ. He came to me last night and warned me that King Ecgfrith is walking into a trap. It is already too late for his brother; his fate is sealed; but we can still save Ecgfrith.’
‘What is this trap?’
‘The Mercian invasion of Lindsey is a trick. Ethelred of Mercia intends to lure Ecgfrith and Ælfwine across the River Aire into Mercia and ambush them there. You need to muster the fyrd of Bernicia and march for Selby now. I just pray that you will be in time.’
‘Why should those left in charge of the other shires do as I say?’
Conomultus no longer doubted the veracity of what Cuthbert was saying. His fame as a seer and as a holy man was too great for that.
‘Because I will add my name and that of Bishop Eata to the message.’
An hour later several stable boys, grooms and others who could ride set out on the last few horses left at Bebbanburg and Conomultus sent out his own orders to the reeves of the vills in the shire for them to muster immediately.
Such was the respect in which Cuthbert was held that only a few refused to obey the summons, saying that it had not be sanctioned by the king or the Witan. By the next day over a thousand of the freemen of Bernicia were on their way to Selby. The men of Bebbanburg had the furthest to travel but they made the one hundred and forty miles in five days of hard marching. When they reached Selby they discovered that King Ecgfrith had only left two days previously.