The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith: Kings of Northumbria Book 5

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Have you had any further visions, Brother?’ Conomultus asked Cuthbert that night, but the Prior shook his head.

  In the absence of their ealdormen the leadership of each contingent of the fyrd had fallen to reeves, old men who had been warriors in their younger days and the sons of nobles who were training to be warriors. Conomultus and Cuthbert called a meeting of them that evening to discuss what they should do the next day. The discussion was going nowhere when there was a commotion outside the small church where the meeting was being held.

  When Catinus walked in, still dressed as a monk but with his sword strapped to his waist, Conomultus breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Good evening, Brother Prior, Conomultus,’ he paused to look around the church, nodding to those he recognised. ‘I have Abbot Eata’s permission to join you. I thought I might be of some use.’

  His brother strode forward and embraced him whilst Cuthbert smiled at him.

  ‘For those of you who don’t know Brother Catinus, he’s Bishop Conomultus’ brother and he used to be the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg before he became a monk.’

  Conomultus had asked Cuthbert to stop calling him bishop as he no longer had a diocese, but Cuthbert had replied that once consecrated as a bishop he would always be one.

  ‘We need to send out scouts to find out what is happening. How many horses do we have?’

  It turned out that there were only eight, in addition to that of Catinus, and their riders were the stable boys, grooms and two elderly warriors who had previously acted as messengers.

  ‘Very well, I’ll take the five best riders and we’ll ride down to the crossing over the River Aire to see what we find there. If necessary, we may need to press on into Mercia. I suggest that the fyrd advances to the crossing and you wait there until we return.’

  No one had any better ideas so the plan was agreed.

  When Catinus reached the low ridge above the ford he was startled to see the Mercian army drawn up on the near bank with the Northumbrians facing them over the other side of the river. Evidentially battle was about to commence but the ford was only wide enough to permit six men to cross at once. King Ecgfrith would lose a lot of men if he tried to force the crossing. One of the boys riding with him had brought the Wolf Banner of Bebbanburg with him and Catinus told him to wave it to and fro as hard as he could.

  Half a mile away Ecgfrith was sitting on his horse sunk in grief. Ethelred had sent Ælfwine’s mangled head to him in a basket at dawn. Normally messengers were inviolate but the king was so incensed by the grin on the Mercian’s face that he had it struck from his body and sent it back to the King of Mercia.

  The messenger entrusted with its delivery had no intention of risking his own life so he rode halfway across the ford and tossed it into the Mercians drawn up on the bank. The Mercians had archers but everyone was so stunned by the hurled head that the Northumbrian messenger was out of range before they had a chance to react.

  It was Octa who noticed the waving banner and guessed its import.

  ‘Cyning, I do believe that Catinus has ridden to our rescue.’

  Ecgfrith looked up but could see little through the tears in his eyes.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because, unless I’m very much mistaken that is him sitting on a horse on the ridge over there with someone beside him waving the banner of Bebbanburg.’

  Ecgfrith wiped away the tears and followed Octa’s pointing finger.

  ‘But there are only a few mounted men, and some are so small they must be boys.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m willing to wager that the fyrd are coming up behind them. I’m sure that Catinus is trying to tell us to wait.’

  ‘Well, although I’m itching to tear Ethelred’s head from his body, just as he did to my poor brother, I’m willing to wait a little while to see if you’re right.’

  He was just beginning to lose patience when the first of the fyrd appeared on the ridge beside Catinus. Then more and more appeared until the skyline was full of men. Now it was Ethelred’s turn to feel trapped.

  Catinus was too wily to lead a thousand members of the fyrd against the Mercian army, which was both stronger and contained several hundred trained warriors. Instead he sent hunters with their bows, the few men who had proper war bows and a crowd of boys with slingshots forward to pepper the rear ranks of Ethelred’s army.

  The rear ranks started to take casualties and the Mercian king now faced a dilemma. If he turned to face the fyrd on the ridge his poorest quality men would be in the front rank and his best warriors wearing chainmail byrnies would be at the rear. Furthermore it would expose those same warriors to attack by Ecgfrith’s men across the ford.

  In the end he sent a thousand of the men in his rear ranks to attack the Northumbrians on the ridge and continued to face the main Northumbrian army across the ford. Catinus sat and watched the Mercians advance, puffing as they started up the slope. Then, when they were within range, his archers and slingers pelted them again. The unarmoured Mercians in the first rank, many without even a shield, were struck down and those behind tripped over them.

  The advance began to falter until those at the rear began to push at their backs and urge them onwards. When they got close the archers and slingers withdrew and the shields of those in the Northumbrian front two ranks banged together to form a solid wall. The Mercians never had much of chance of breaking the shield wall and, when more and more of them fell, the fight went out of them and they fled, some back down the hill to the main body of Mercians but more off to the west, presumably seeking the next ford over the river and the way back into Mercia.

  Even then Catinus didn’t advance.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ one of the reeves asked him.

  ‘For the king to start his attack.’

  However, a new development changed the situation again. Hundreds of Mercians, survivors of the battle in which Ælfwine and his men had been slaughtered, appeared on the ridge south of the river and behind Ecgfrith’s army. Now both main bodies were caught between their foes on the opposite bank of the river and a smaller force, but one which held the high ground.

  ‘Time to negotiate I think,’ Cuthbert said to Catinus and Conomultus.

  The three churchmen rode down towards the Mercians on their side of the river and, as they waited a hundred yards away, eventually there was movement amongst the opposing ranks and King Ethelred appeared with two of his gesith and a man dressed in a finely woven black woollen robe with a large gold pectoral cross around his neck. The other three churchmen assumed, correctly, that this was the Mercian Bishop of Lichfield.

  ‘Brother Cuthbert, you are a long way from Lindisfarne,’ Ethelred said with a frown. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘This is Northumbrian soil, Cyning. Why shouldn’t I be here?’

  ‘Who is the monk beside you who wears a sword?’

  ‘Brother Catinus. You may be more familiar with him as the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg. My other companion is Bishop Conomultus, Catinus’ brother.’

  ‘Well, you presumably want to negotiate. What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Both sides seem to find themselves in something of a quandary. We are both surrounded and, although we have the greater numbers, you probably have more experienced warriors,’ Catinus said.

  ‘You are stating the obvious,’

  Catinus merely pursed his lips, letting the testy remark pass, before continuing.

  ‘I suggest that both sides withdraw. You can travel to the west to the next crossing point back into Mercia and allow King Ecgfrith to lead his men back into Northumbria.’

  ‘And Lindsey?’

  ‘I will recommend to King Ecgfrith that he asks the archbishop to mediate between you. There is also the question of weregeld for the ambush and death of King Ælfwine.’

  ‘Never! He was the aggressor. He died in fair fight.’

  ‘Nearly a thousand men against three hundred from what I heard? And he and Ecgfrith were deliberately de
ceived into going to the aid of Lindsey. That was underhand and devious of you to put it mildly.’

  Ethelred was about to explode with rage when Cuthbert stepped in.

  ‘That is not a matter for us to debate, brother. Our concern today is to resolve the situation we find ourselves in. There can be no winners here. Leave the discussion of a treaty to the two kings in due course.’

  Ethelred took a deep breath and nodded his head.

  ‘Very well, but Ecgfrith must agree to withdraw his men if I do the same.’

  ‘If you allow us safe passage across the ford we will inform him of our discussions.’

  Ethelred gave the order for his army to part to allow the three churchmen to ride through their ranks and across the ford where they were met by a puzzled Ecgfrith.

  ‘I’m very glad to see you; your arrival was most opportune. I’ve no idea how you knew to be here but you can tell me about that later. I saw you in discussion with that murdering cur, Ethelred. What does he want?’

  ‘We were very sorry to learn of the death of your brother, Cyning. I know how dear he was to you.’

  ‘Thank you Catinus.’

  ‘The Mercians have agreed to withdraw and cross the Aire back into Mercia upriver if you allow them to do so. In return they will allow you to cross back in Northumbria unmolested. The matters in contention between you can then be discussed at a later date and a solution found.’

  ‘What solution? Can he bring Ælfwine back? No. He must pay for his trickery and the blood he has shed. You, too, have lost someone dear to you due to his treachery.’

  It was a moment before Catinus realised the import of what the king had just said.

  ‘Ruaidhrí dead?’

  ‘You didn’t know? No, how could you? I was told by his servant that he died trying to save my brother. I am in his debt.’

  ‘Now is not the time, Cyning, but we will need to discuss Alnwic. His wife is pregnant with Ruaidhrí’s child. It’s no time for her to be cast out of her home, nor for her to enter a monastery.’

  ‘Yes but, as you say, there are more important things at the moment. Go back and tell that arseling, Ethelred, that I agree. We will wait for him to withdraw along the river and then I’ll cross back over to Northumbria.’

  ~~~

  ‘At least Ethelred had the decency to return your brother’s corpse so that it could be buried with his head, Cyning,’ Theodore of Tarsus pointed out. ‘He even sent the rest of the bodies back in carts so that they could be given a Christian burial instead of leaving them for the carrion crows and the buzzards.’

  They were sitting in the king’s hall at Loidis. Ecgfrith had refused to meet Ælfwine’s killer face to face and so the archbishop was having to travel to and fro between the two kings to conduct the negotiations. At least Ecgfrith had moved to Loidis which was on the north bank of the River Aire. From there Theodore could travel downstream by boat to Tanshelf, the most northern of the Mercian settlements, which was located just south of the River Aire some fourteen miles from Loidis. Helpfully, Ethelred was tiring of living in the local thegn’s hall and the thegn was equally keen to see him gone. Hospitality for the king and his gesith was threatening to bankrupt him.

  Ecgfrith sighed. He needed to conclude the negotiations so that he could return to Eoforwīc. Living in his late brother’s hall was depressing him. The pain of his loss was fading but he would never forgive Ethelred. Both kings were therefore anxious for the treaty to be signed.

  His other concern was for the future. He was coming to accept that he and Eormenburg would never have children and he had expected Ælfwine, or his son, to succeed him. Now that would never happen.

  King Æthelfrith had had seven sons and four grandsons. Now the only descendants of his left alive were Ecgfrith and Oswiu’s illegitimate son, Aldfrith. He couldn’t see the latter ever agreeing to leave Iona and his life as a scholar to be king. In any case he was forty seven now and had never married.

  Ecgfrith had even tried to have children with women other than his wife but none had become pregnant. It seemed to him that God didn’t want his line to survive. He wasn’t aware of the old crone’s curse on his family when his grandfather had killed Ethelric of Deira and made himself King of Northumbria. If he had been he wouldn’t have given it credence, but it certainly seemed as if the curse might be coming true.

  In the end Ecgfrith gave up his claim to Lindsey and, in return, Ethelred paid him two chests of silver as weregeld for killing Ælfwine.

  Once back at Eoforwīc he turned his attention to the many other matters that awaited him. Foremost amongst these was the appointment of a new Master of Horse and the training of new mounted warriors to replace the horsemen he’d lost. His surprising choice was Osfrid, who was now fifteen. He’d been impressed by the boy’s common sense and maturity when he’d come to inform him what was happening, or rather wasn’t happening, at Lindocolina, and he was an excellent horseman. He also decided to confirm him as the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg.

  Eydth, Ruaidhrí’s widow, had given birth to a boy, named Eochaid after his grandfather, and Ecgfrith had agreed that, in due course, he should become the Ealdorman of Alnwic. In the meantime Conomultus had moved there to help her to manage the shire. He was now fifty and he was content to end his days there. He prayed to God that he would be spared for long enough to see the boy become the ealdorman.

  ~~~

  Eadstan had remained at Bebbanburg, as had Uurad, but many of Catinus’ former gesith had sought employment elsewhere over the past two years. Osfrid’s body servant, Drefan, was now fourteen and he had let him join the boys training to be warriors so he’d also need to find a new servant.

  In addition to the problem of recruiting warriors to join his gesith, he now had the task of building up another mounted warband and training more men to be horsemen for the king. Furthermore he didn’t have anywhere near enough horses and so he would need to buy some and establish a stud to breed his own. He sometimes wished that his uncle had stayed to help him.

  Then to add to his problems, Eadstan had come to see him to say that he was too old to continue as the commander of his warband and leader of his gesith.

  ‘You’re not that old, Eadstan,’ Osfrid told him, though in truth he looked ancient to the young man. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Just over fifty, lord.’

  ‘Oh! I see. What do you want to do?’

  ‘Well, I know that you need to establish a stud and build up a new mounted warband. I thought I could make myself useful in doing that.’

  Osfrid smiled in relief.

  ‘That would be a great help, Eadstan. Thank you. Do you have any recommendation as to who should take your place?’

  ‘There isn’t a lot of choice at the moment as most of our warriors died with Ælfwine. Of those who are left I would suggest Uurad. He’s dependable, loyal and a good fighter. No-one remembers that he used to be a Pict when he was a boy. The men respect him and he’s clever.’

  ‘Thank you. Send him to see me will you?’

  After Osfrid had explained that he wanted him to take over from Eadstan, Uurad thanked him but had a suggestion of his own to make.

  ‘I need to concentrate on recruiting and training your new warband, lord. I will have Eadstan’s help, of course, but I suspect that he will find himself quite busy seeking out new bloodstock and instituting the breeding programme if we are to build up our stock of suitable horses as quickly as we need to.

  ‘I’m not sure that it’s a good idea for me to lead your gesith as well. If you are to get to know your shire you will be need to be out and about quite a lot and that will interfere with what I need to be doing.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. Who then should command my gesith?’

  ‘I would recommend Sigmund. He’s nearly thirty now and the right age to be given more responsibility.’

  ‘So it seems that I’m to have a Pict as the commander of my warband and a Saxon as the leader of my gesith,’ Osfrid chuckled.

>   ‘Yes, lord. But it’s no stranger than having an ealdorman whose blood is a mixture of Mercian Briton and Anglian.’

  For a moment Uurad wondered if he’d overstepped the mark by reminding his ealdorman of his own ancestry, but then Osfrid grinned.

  ‘A pack of mongrels to serve a mongrel; it’s apt.’

  Chapter Ten – Wilfrid

  680 to 682 AD

  Just when Ecgfrith thought that he could enjoy a period of peace and tranquillity for a change, Wilfrid returned.

  He walked into the king’s hall at Eoforwīc full of confidence; how could he not be? He had the Pope’s personal endorsement for his re-instatement as Bishop of Eoforwīc, his unassailable title to be abbot of both Hexham and Ripon and the right to dethrone the false bishops, Eata and Bosa.

  He was therefore surprised by Ecgfrith’s welcome, or lack of it.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing back here Wilfrid? I had hoped that I’d seen the last of your miserable, bloated body.’

  It didn’t help that Eormenburg sat on one side of her husband, smirking at him, and Bosa stood on the other glowering at him.

  ‘I have here the Pope’s edict declaring me to be the rightful …’

  He got no further.

  ‘I didn’t ask you what you were carrying. I asked you why you had returned when I’d banished you.’

  ‘Banished me, Cyning? I left of my own accord to lay my grievances before the Pope, our Holy Father in God.’

  ‘You obviously didn’t listen to me closely enough. I told you not to return until you had my permission to do so. Do you have that permission? No. Therefore you have ignored my express instruction. You will be tried for disobedience.’

  ‘Tried? You can’t haul me before your courts. I’m the rightful Bishop of…’