Oswiu, King of Kings

by Edoardo Albert

  “See you the banner?” asked Eanflæd. “It is ours, the flag of this throne, but that is not the king, nor his son, so who flies it?”

  “There is another who may, by right, fly the flag of the Idings,” said Aidan.

  Eanflæd turned back to the riders. They were at the gate now, telling their business to the gate warden.

  “Œthelwald.”

  *

  The riders pulled up their horses in front of the great hall and almost as one man dismounted. The leader of them, who wore a thin circle of gold around his head, stepped forward and stopped before where the queen stood at the top of the short stairs up to the hall. He looked up at her and made the courtesy.

  “Well met, at long, long last, Aunt Eanflæd,” he said. “Since you greet me alone, I take it my uncle is not here?”

  “Ætheling Œthelwald. Brother son, I give you greeting, and make you welcome in the king’s hall and in the king’s name.”

  “And I give you greeting too, queen and aunt and cousin. We would needs marry to be more closely related.” Œthelwald came up the steps and stood before Eanflæd. “I would have met you before.”

  “Before?” asked the queen.

  “Before you married my uncle!” The ætheling smiled and his smile was broad and white. “But I have a gift for my uncle – one that since he is not here I must give to you. For since he will not ride with his nephew, so that I may earn the glory and gold due to me, I have ridden with Talorcan, king of the Picts – and cousin to me also – ridden on the marches with Strathclyde and Dal Riada and Rheged. And there I met and killed a band of thieves and bandits who had been raiding and despoiling all the farms and villages for miles around. I killed all save one, their leader. For he had a strange tale to tell; a tale that I thought the king should hear. But I bring this bandit here, ready to sing, and the king is not present to listen. What say you I should do?”

  Eanflæd looked at the man standing before her. He was, she realized, younger than she had first thought – and, of course, he must be, for he was younger than Ahlfrith and Ahlflæd, her husband’s children with Rhieienmelth. But he had, it seemed, the vigour of his youth, and its confidence.

  “If this man has tale to tell, then let him tell it to me. If it be something the king should hear, then I shall tell the king.”

  “Indeed? The king must trust you indeed if he would leave to you the charge of his great hall. But then I have heard that men call you Eanflæd the Wise, and come to you for judgement as they do to my uncle.” Œthelwald smiled. “No wonder my uncle put aside Rhieienmelth for you: they say no man ever went to her for judgement in dispute, although I have ever found her patient and kind. Still, I hear that you have outmatched Rhieienmelth in other areas too – the king greatly loves his new, young son.” The ætheling stopped and looked round. “Is he here? I would see my cousin Ecgfrith.”

  Before the queen could say anything, a little body squirmed between the guards and came to stand next to her. “I’m Ecgfrith and I’m going to be king. Who are you?”

  Œthelwald crouched so he could look Ecgfrith in the face. “My name is Œthelwald,” he said. He leaned closer to the boy. “And I’m going to be king too.”

  “Mummy.” Ecgfrith grabbed his mother’s hand. “He says he’s going to be king. He can’t be, can he?”

  Œthelwald held up his hands, laughing. “Little prince, little prince, fear not. There are other thrones and other realms and many kings. You can be king and I can be king, and then we can play the game of kings together. What do you say to that?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ecgfrith, clapping his hands. “I’d like that. Wouldn’t you, Mummy?” He looked up at the queen.

  “Yes, I’d like that,” said Eanflæd.

  “Really?” Œthelwald stood straight again. “I am glad. It is a great game and I have been amusing myself in preparing for the playing. Such is how I came by this prize that it seems I must give you.” The ætheling gestured, and his men thrust a captive forward. He fell on his knees before the queen. The man was bound, and there were the signs of hard usage on him, but from his face and manner, Eanflæd could see that he had been used no harder than he had used others.

  “I spared you that you might sing to the king.” Œthelwald gave a sign to his men and one of them pulled the captive to his feet. “Since the king is not here, you will sing to the queen. And you had better sing as tunefully to her as you sang to me, or you shall not live to see the sun set.”

  The man shifted on his feet, his eyes flicking to the ætheling and the men around him. He tried to speak, but his voice failed.

  Œthelwald glanced at the queen, then looked to the captive again. “Sing. Tell the queen what you told me. Tell her now.”

  The man tried again, but his voice cracked and no words emerged.

  “I find,” said Eanflæd, “that gentleness may bring forth what harshness hides.” She looked to one of the household slaves. “Bring this man something to drink.” The queen turned to the ætheling. “Can you not see his lips are so dry that he cannot speak?”

  “He had to drink yesterday,” said Œthelwald.

  “And you have ridden hard and long since then, and in this heat too. It is a wonder he can stand.”

  The slave returned before Œthelwald had chance to give answer. Looking to the queen, the slave received her permission and held the cup to the captive’s lips. The man, his eyes turned to Eanflæd in gratitude, drank swiftly but in the small, quick sips that told he had before been long without water and knew it best not to drink, as the body demanded, in one long draught, but to take a little water at a time.

  The cup drained, the slave looked to the queen with a question in his eyes.

  “Yes, give him to drink more,” said the queen. She stopped the slave as he went to refill the cup. “Ale will smooth his throat and leave him able to speak – or sing, as the ætheling says. So bring ale, and a cup of mead.” The queen looked to Œthelwald’s men, hot, dusty and no doubt thirsty after their ride. “Mayhap your men might like to drink too? There is beer, and ale, and mead, and wine within. Go in, leaving only ill will outside, and drink your fill.” She looked to Œthelwald, whose face had soured at the invitation, but who could not gainsay it. “My guards will watch this man while yours take their rest.”

  Œthelwald made an exaggerated courtesy to the queen. “I thank you for your great kindness. Men through all the northlands speak of the wisdom and kindness of Eanflæd, calling you Deep Minded and Summer Kind; now I see they speak truly. But, for myself, I will spurn drink to ease the great dryness of my throat that I may hear my bird sing.”

  “For my part,” said Eanflæd, “I am glad that you are able to struggle through that great dryness – are you sure you would not wish my servants to bring you ale or wine to drink, that you might speak more freely?” The queen smiled sweetly at the ætheling with no glimpse of the iron hidden behind the honey, although Œthelwald knew it was there.

  Acknowledging his besting in this particular field of battle, Œthelwald stepped back to allow his men into the hall, waiting while they left swords and spears outside the door – as was custom – before going in. For her part, Eanflæd by small gesture and quiet word ordered that enough of her own guard remain ready and armed, but out of sight on the far side of the hall, to deal with any trouble that might come from this unknown band of warriors.

  “Œthelwald.”

  The voice was weak, but it carried between the creak of wood and the sound of conversation to the ætheling’s ear. Œthelwald turned and saw a man in a monk’s rough habit, sitting with his back against one of the pillars of the hall, with another squatting beside him wrapped, despite the heat, in a raven-feather cloak.

  “Aidan.” The ætheling smiled to see him and there was no guile in this smile. “And Coifi.” Œthelwald went to them, but as he neared Aidan, the smile left his face. “You are not well?” He crouched down next to the monk and took his hand. “So hot.”

  Aidan lifted his ot
her hand and touched Œthelwald’s cheek. “There is so much of your father in you,” he said. “Do not fight it.”

  The ætheling shook his head. “Mayhap you see it, but it seems others do not. Else why would my uncle keep me from this kingdom and send me, always, among the north men, far away?”

  “The king sees it,” said Aidan. “He sees it too well.”

  Œthelwald looked away. “Does he fear me so much?” A smile touched his lips. “Good.”

  But now it was Aidan who shook his head. “It is not fear, but longing. He still misses Oswald.”

  “As do I.” Œthelwald stood up. “It was good to see you, Aidan, and you, Coifi.”

  The old priest rocked back on his heels and looked up at the ætheling. In the end, Œthelwald looked away, back to where the queen waited for him, now that all his men were safely in the hall. “I have a bird to make sing.”

  But before he could go, Aidan called to him again. “Wait.” The monk beckoned Œthelwald back and held his hand up so that the ætheling had to squat down beside him.

  “I will pray for you always, in this life and the next.” Aidan traced a finger down the side of Œthelwald’s face. “So like your father.”

  The ætheling stood once more, but as he turned to go back to the queen, Aidan spoke again. “In the end, Œthelwald, you will hold true.”

  The ætheling stopped. He did not turn round. Then he saw that Eanflæd was speaking with the captive.

  “Wait,” he called. “Wait for me.”

  Hurrying over, Œthelwald looked to queen and captive. “What did he say?”

  “That his name is Garmund.”

  “Has he said anything else?”

  “Other than to thank me for that which he had to drink, no.”

  “Good.” Œthelwald turned to the captive. “Tell the queen what you told me.”

  Garmund made the courtesy to Eanflæd. “You would not think it now, but I was not always like this, an outlaw and a brigand. I was a thegn once. But by the jealousy of another, I was traduced before the king, and he outlawed me, who had only ever been loyal to him. I had my vengeance on the man who betrayed me – his screams as I made him watch his children die still ring sweetly in my ear – but such killing meant that I could never return to my land and my home. So I became what you see before you. But since men knew I had once been more, some took to coming to me to do that which they could not. I avenged insults, removed rivals, smoothed the way for those seeking favour with the king. And while the kings changed, I remained, offering my services to those who sought me.

  “Then one found me with a commission most strange. I was to follow a small party, not more than four, and as they made their way through Mercia, I was to attack them, but in such a way that only my own men be killed, though I might wound some of those I attacked. Then, when I had lost two or three men, I was to withdraw. It was no hard task to find men to lose, and the trail was easy to follow, for the man who gave me gold laid marks, cut in trees and by the path, to know which way they had gone.

  “So I did as he had said, although when I found him, there were more than four of them, for they had joined with others. However, I had men, and more than enough, to lose. I did what he had bid me, and withdrew when enough blood had flowed. Returning the next day, I found the rest of what he had promised me, buried beneath the ashes of the fire.”

  Garmund looked at the queen. “The king who outlawed me was Oswald. This was my land. And I knew the man who came to find me in the wild lands, and who paid for the lives of my men, although he sought to conceal his face from me. Would you like to know who it was?”

  “Yes,” said Eanflæd. “Yes, I would.”

  “Æthelwin. The king’s warmaster.”

  “Æthelwin. You are sure?”

  “Yes. I am sure.”

  The queen stared at the outlaw. “Know this, and know it well. Your testimony will not win your lands back. It will not win favour with the king, or with me. You will be judged and sentenced as an outlaw, as one who set his sword against the king – and that is a crime that shall be met by death. Do you still hold to what you have told me?”

  Garmund shrugged. “I am going to die anyway. Why tell me that which I know? But you did not know what I have told you. I was a faithful thegn and true. By telling you this I may die as one.”

  “Very well.” The queen gestured for her guards to take Garmund away. “Give him to eat and drink, but be sure he does not escape.” Then, with Garmund gone, she turned to Œthelwald. “That is what he told you?”

  “Yes. When I ran his gang down, I was going to hang them all, there and then, but he told me he had news that the king must hear. When I made to hang him anyway, he told me the story. Does he speak truly?”

  “Very few people in our kingdom know of the attack upon the king when he travelled into Mercia. That Garmund does know suggests he speaks the truth. But why should Æthelwin hire men to attack them?”

  “Oh, that is not so hard to understand, Eanflæd the Wise. To win favour for himself. To cast suspicion on another. No, it is really not so hard to understand.”

  But still Eanflæd shook her head. “Yet I have sat at table with him; I have given him the cup to drink after battle. Æthelwin seeks ever the king’s greatness.”

  “And so his own.” Œthelwald spat. “How else could such a man, with the blood of farmers and peasants, rise so high but by the king’s favour? But so tight is he in the king’s counsel, I would wager he might try to climb even higher – even to claiming a throne.”

  “You do not think he would kill the king?” asked Eanflæd, still seeking to understand that which she had heard.

  “No. But my uncle may soon have a throne in his gift to give. And who better to give it to than his most faithful and loyal servant?” Œthelwald grimaced. “Certainly my uncle would rather give it to a servant than someone of his own blood – for the throne of Deira taken by an Iding he sees as a threat to him. But a warmaster, raised by his favour, will seem no such threat to my uncle. So Æthelwin will be a king while I continue to ride the marches, playing hide and seek with bands of outlaws. Such is the way with kings.”

  “But not with queens.” Eanflæd held her hand out to the young ætheling. “I will remember what you have done.”

  Œthelwald looked at the hand held to him, but he did not take it.

  “Rhieienmelth was as a mother to me. I will not take the hand of the woman who took her place. But know this, Eanflæd whom men call the Wise: now I have met you, I will put aside the despite I have long nurtured for you in my heart, for I can see that men speak truly when they speak of you. Wise, and subtle indeed, knowing well how to sow confusion in the hearts of those who would oppose you. For me, it were best that I go, lest this honey grow too sweet. But you are beautiful indeed, queen to my uncle. Do not forget me.” And suddenly Œthelwald took the queen’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

  Before Eanflæd could say anything, Œthelwald let go her hand and, leaping to the door to the hall, called his men to follow.

  They were well trained. Only a little grumbling attended such a call, and within a few minutes they were all out of the hall again and astride their horses. At their head sat the ætheling. He made an elaborate courtesy to the queen.

  “I give you Garmund as a present for my uncle – may he learn from him whom he may trust, and whom he may not. I go to ride the marches until I am called.” Œthelwald signalled his men forward, and then turned and waved.

  “Farewell,” he called.

  Under the purple and gold banner of the Idings, the ætheling, son of King Oswald, rode away.

  Eanflæd the Wise remained standing without the hall watching, until he and his men disappeared into the shifting haze of the summer’s heat.

  “Mummy, Mummy, can I go down to the river to swim?” asked Ecgfrith, tugging her arm. “It’s too hot.”

  But the queen, still looking to where she had last seen Œthelwald and his men, slowly shook her head.


  “No,” she said. “No, you had better not.” The queen turned to her guard. “Bring me a messenger. I must send word to the king.”

  “Hold.”

  Eanflæd heard the call, weak but insistent. From where he sat outside the hall, Aidan gestured to her and she went to him, with Ecgfrith trailing behind.

  “You heard what this Garmund had to say?” the queen asked Aidan. “The king must know of this.”

  “Yes, he must,” said Aidan. “But such a message would best be given in person.”

  Eanflæd looked past the monk and out of the valley. She looked down at Aidan. “You are right. I will go to the king when I receive word of where to find him. But… Æthelwin. Why should he do such a thing?”

  Aidan shook his head. “The tempter is subtle and twists men to their ruin by dangling the good in front of them.” His eyes narrowed. “And he has laid his snares for one greater than Æthelwin. It is our task, O queen, to free him from those snares.”

  Chapter 13

  “It is too hot to sleep.” Oswine the Godfriend sat up, only to see Tondhere, his guard and companion, already awake. He looked at him in the dim light of the few torches that still burned. “I will go outside. It will be cooler there, at least until the sun rises.”

  Tondhere stood up as the king rose, but Oswine held up his hand. “You do not have to come with me. We are safe here, in Hunwald’s hall.”

  “I would come with you, lord, if I may. For the heat has kept me from sleep also, and I would take some air with you.”

  Oswine nodded, not wishing to wake any of the slaves and servants who lay about the hall, wherever they might best find some shred of breeze to cool their sleeping. Picking their way through the dark shapes, it seemed only the dogs stirred at their passing, raising heavy heads and staring up at the two men, then letting weary muzzles fall back onto outstretched paws.

  The door warden, sitting at his post, head nodding as he battled sleep, roused at their approach.