Oswiu, King of Kings

by Edoardo Albert

  “And who does he intend to put on the throne?”

  Acca paused. This was news indeed, and it seemed wrong to waste it, but the queen stepped forward in her eagerness to hear, and even Coifi had given over looking after the shifting of sunbeams and the play of wind to wait upon his answer.

  “The warmaster. Æthelwin.”

  Acca had thought the news would bring surprise – the son of a slave made into a king was, after all, worthy of surprise – but he had not expected to see horror. However, that was what he saw on the face of the queen, and on that of the monk, while Coifi spat in the dust, and the watching and listening guards and slaves looked to each other and whispered, with much shaking of heads.

  Aidan signed to the queen and she bent down to him.

  “You must go to him,” said Aidan. “Take Garmund. Take guards too. If Æthelwin has had word of what we know, it may be that he will try to stop you reaching the king.”

  Eanflæd took the monk’s hand. It burned within hers.

  “It will be difficult to convince him, for he has trusted Æthelwin through many years and many campaigns. If you could speak too, it would help.”

  But Aidan shook his head. “There is only one journey I will make from here, and it is to stand before a different, greater king. But remember this: Æthelwin is the lesser part. We fight, together, for the king’s soul, that the stain of this murder not dye it black.”

  Eanflæd nodded. “Yes. We will fight for him.”

  Aidan smiled. “If not us, his wife and his oldest friend, who else? Now, my child, you must go in all haste. I will wait for you here…”

  Even as the queen rose and took her leave, she knew the monk’s final words to be a kind leaving. She would not see him more in this middle-earth.

  The preparations were all but made, for the queen had known that she must seek her husband to give him the news of his warmaster’s treachery. Eanflæd left before afternoon had drifted down to evening. Before her leaving, she had gone to bid farewell to Aidan but, finding him sleeping, she spoke not. Kneeling beside him, she pressed her lips to his hand and then went, without word, to the waiting horses. On such an urgent errand, the queen was determined to ride rather than take the slow-moving ox wagons that usually carried her from one royal estate to another.

  Aidan woke after her leaving. The evening was drawing in. The sun had settled behind the long ridges of the Cheviots, and the hills cast their shadows over the land. He watched the night draw down over the land. He watched the stars come out. He watched, finally, the Milky Way lay its cloak of light over the sky.

  He would not see day again.

  Aidan knew this. He knew it as he had known that Acca rode to them.

  The tempter had caught the king in his snare.

  Here, lying against the wall of the king’s hall, unable to move and barely able to speak, he must strive to set him free.

  The soft breath beside him told that the monk watching him slept. That was as well.

  There had been a story, his mother had told him, of how the Milky Way was the river by which men’s prayers ascended to heaven. She said that if you looked, you could see them leaping upwards, as salmon leapt a waterfall, sometimes falling back but always trying again. As a boy, he had looked but not seen.

  Now, as a man, he looked and finally saw.

  He had a prayer to send up the river of prayers to the high heaven.

  He prayed it now, his lips moving, but no ears of man might have heard what he said.

  “Lord, I ask that you take my life as blood payment for the king’s crime. Lay it not against him, but let him live.”

  Aidan looked up, searching for sight of his prayer ascending the river of stars. But his sight was fading and the stars were growing dim.

  “Please, let him live,” the monk said.

  And then the stars went out.

  Chapter 15

  The witan had assembled. For the first time since the death of Oswald, the witan of Deira had come together with an Iding present.

  They were crammed into the hall of the thegn of Ripon; he was a thegn of little fame, and his hall was the match to his name: narrow and mean. The thegns were squeezed upon the benches within, and though the doors were propped open and slaves had been set to waving sheaves of bulrushes to create a breeze, yet heat hung over the tightly packed thegns, and the smell of their sweat filled the hall.

  Oswiu stood. All eyes in the hall turned towards him. All except those of the man sat beside him. Æthelwin looked at the assembled thegns as a king, assessing them, measuring them, weighing their worth in his mind.

  Oswiu looked around the hall. Some faces he had known as they arrived, memory of them dredged from when Oswald ruled in Deira and he had ridden alongside some of these thegns in battle and on patrol. Those, reminded of the time they had marched alongside Oswiu, had thawed a little, and gifts of gold had melted them further, along with hints, to be spread among their peers, that Oswiu had no wish to claim the throne of Deira for himself, but would bring before the witan a man acceptable to them.

  But others had turned their faces from him when he greeted them, and had spoken against him to their fellows. For many now knew of the manner of Oswine’s dying and those who did not were soon told. Some had muttered against Oswiu, but none had turned their hand against him. They were waiting for the relatives of the Godfriend to come – but they had not come. Oswiu had sent further messengers to summon to the witan the branch of the Yffings to which Oswine Godfriend had belonged, but the messengers had returned unanswered: either the halls they had sought were empty, or the men they had delivered their summons to would not give answer to the call.

  Oswiu nodded to Acca.

  “Hwæt!” The scop, his voice trained in calling to attention a hall full of drinking, talking, boasting men, had no difficulty in summoning those watching to silence.

  “Men of Deira.” Oswiu spoke, and they looked upon him, but most of the eyes looking to him were hooded and more of the faces veiled.

  “Men of Deira, you have heard tell that I killed your king by treachery. You have heard that he was murdered, when he sent you home to live. Men of Deira, you have heard that God’s friend was killed by the devil’s deed.

  “Men of Deira, you have heard true.”

  Every eye turned to Oswiu, and where they were hooded before, and the faces blank, now they were filled with surprise. Whispers filled the hall, flittering between the benches and spreading to the men standing without. And, sitting beside him, Oswiu felt another gaze turn upon him in surprise.

  “One of your own gave your king into my hands – Hunwald, the king’s warmaster. One of your own betrayed him.”

  The whispers grew, but more men nodded, for rumour of Hunwald’s part in Oswine’s death had already spread far and wide.

  “But one of my own betrayed my wish that Oswine be taken captive, and killed him.”

  Beside him, Oswiu sensed the warmaster staring up at him, but he did not take his eyes from the witan.

  “One of my own is traitor to me as Hunwald was traitor to Oswine.”

  They were with him now, as they had never been before.

  “I have nurtured a viper in my house and he has bitten you and he has bitten me. Men of Deira, I ask your forgiveness and I bid you take vengeance, for you and for me. For a traitor to his lord does not deserve to live.”

  Oswiu let the knife hiding under his sleeve slip down into his hand. With a single, smooth movement, he brought the point against his warmaster’s neck.

  The men of Deira rose to their feet as one. Shouts and cries and calls rang through the hall. Blood vengeance, a vengeance they had thought denied them, woke in red mist.

  And Æthelwin stared up, as helpless as a spring lamb, at his king.

  “Lord,” he asked, “why?”

  For answer, Oswiu pointed to the hall door. There, the men gathered were slowly parted, and in the gap appeared Eanflæd the queen and, with her, Garmund.

  “Ho
w many others did you cast down, warmaster? I gave over my queen, the mother of my children, because of your lies.”

  Æthelwin put his hand to the blade. He began to push it in.

  But Oswiu pulled the knife free, its edge cutting red slices along the warmaster’s fingers.

  “You die by my will, not yours,” he said.

  The warmaster slowly stood. Blood dripped from his hand. Around the high table, men were gathering, looping rope to make a noose.

  “My only betrayal was that I sought to serve you where you could not help yourself. Rhieienmelth was no queen for you. But you could not see that. So I made you see it.” The first hand reached for the warmaster, but he shook it off. “I did for you what you would not do for yourself.”

  More hands reached for him, and this time there were too many for Æthelwin to shake off. They pulled him from his feet and laid him out on the floor, binding his hands and his feet, looping the noose around his neck.

  They threw the rope over one of the beams holding up the ceiling. They pulled the warmaster to his feet, then they drew him into the air. Æthelwin stared at Oswiu when first the rope tightened round his throat, but the men surrounding him rained blows upon him, jerking him this way and that, taking vengeance for their king, and the warmaster spun away. But his dying was long, and he turned back to the king many times before the end.

  Even after Æthelwin was dead, the men of Deira continued to strike and spit upon the body.

  “Cut him down,” said Oswiu, eventually. “Cut him down!” he shouted, when they continued to rain blows upon the warmaster.

  The men of his own army, faces still shocked and appalled at what had happened, cut Æthelwin down.

  “Take him outside and bury him,” Oswiu said. “Bury him well, for he was long my friend.”

  As the men carried Æthelwin out, Oswiu turned to the death-sated faces of the witan. “Men of Deira, I would give you a king. A king that you may trust, for I know you will not trust one of my family. A king that I may trust, for I have been too trusting. Would you have such a king?”

  The witan was still too blood full to cry out, but many men nodded, and some cried “Aye”, and none gainsaid the king’s words.

  “I too. An ætheling, most throne-worthy. A man who has proven his truth to me when I gave him no chance to do so. A man of your blood, men of Deira.” Oswiu turned towards the door, where the queen stood with Garmund beside her. But now another stood there with her.

  “Œthelwald, Oswald son.”

  And the men of Deira acclaimed him.

  When Œthelwald came in and passed among his people, speaking to some, shaking hands with others, Oswiu slipped through the excited crowd of thegns to the queen.

  “You did right, going to fetch Œthelwald before coming to me,” he said.

  Eanflæd nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. “Pray we have not an end like Æthelwin,” she said.

  Oswiu’s face hardened. “He betrayed me,” he said.

  The queen looked up at him. “He did that which your heart most darkly desired,” she said.

  “I did not desire to put away my queen…”

  Eanflæd looked to him, and the king fell silent.

  “I meant the murder of Oswine.”

  “It is not murder to kill a king who has taken up arms against you,” said Oswiu.

  “But what of killing a king who has lain down his arms? Is that not murder? Will the blood price not stalk us, and stalk our line, until it is paid?”

  Oswiu looked away. “There be few Yffings left. There are not enough to pursue a blood feud.”

  “Nevertheless, let us stop it now.” The queen came and stood once more in front of her husband. “I will make a holy house near to where Oswine died, and endow it and the monks therein to pray perpetually for the soul of the Godfriend, that it may rest. I have spoken already with some people here, and they have told me of a kinsman of Oswine, a good man and holy, who has been ordained a priest. He would be the abbot of this holy house, and by making him so, you would heal the blood feud now, before it begins.”

  Oswiu nodded. “Yes. Let it be so. Now, I must go and speak with Œthelwald. We have much to settle.”

  Eanflæd the Wise watched her husband go back into the hall. And as he went, she said under her breath what she had said already: “I will make a holy house near to where Oswine died, and endow it and the monks therein to pray perpetually for the soul of the Godfriend.

  “And for yours, my husband. And for yours.”

  PART 4

  Reckoning

  Chapter 1

  “They’re here, Mummy! They’re here!”

  An excited Ecgfrith ran to find the queen, and tugged her, although she protested unavailingly that she was in the middle of weaving, to his vantage point.

  “There, look!”

  He pointed and the queen saw. Rowing across the great river, the Tyne, the ferry boats were bringing riders. The men had dismounted and were standing by their horses, calming them through the river crossing, while excited fishermen, seeing the prospect for silver, rowed their own boats towards the southern bank to offer rides across the river for the riders who still waited on the southern shore.

  The riders had come north on the road of the emperors. Once, when the emperors still ruled this land, the Tyne had been crossed by a bridge, but the bridge had fallen many years back, and while some of the starlings still stood in the river, the bridge itself was reduced to broken-down towers and trailing timbers. Ferrymen now carried travellers across a river they had once walked over, dry shod. One boat was usually enough, but a crowd of impatient riders swirled around the pier on the south bank of the river, waiting to be taken over.

  “Go and tell your father,” said Eanflæd. “He’ll need to know.”

  “And Ahlflæd? Should I run and tell her, Mummy? She’ll want to know, won’t she?”

  The queen thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Ahlflæd will know soon enough. Leave her in peace for the time left her.”

  While Ecgfrith ran off to find the king, Eanflæd walked out from the hall to a rise that looked down to the river. From there she could see better. The first ferry had all but crossed the river. There was a banner flying from the boat, but as the river wind blew it, the shape shifted before her eyes, refusing to resolve into a shape she could make out. But then the wind settled and held the banner out for her: the sign of the Red Hand.

  Peada had come to claim his bride.

  *

  “So, we are agreed.” Oswiu looked over the table to where Peada sat holding a cup of wine in his hand while he looked round the king’s hall. “The bride price shall be seven white mares, a hundredweight of silver…”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Red Hand. “What we said.”

  “I will have Utta write it down.”

  Peada looked at Oswiu, surprised. “Can’t you remember it?”

  “Of course I can remember what we have agreed. But by writing it down, should there come a day when memories do not agree, we can look to see what is in the book.”

  The Red Hand suddenly focused on Oswiu. “And who will read what is written down? Your priest?”

  “You will have priests of your own to read what is written. You remember that?”

  “Yes, of course. Ahlflæd will bring her priest. And I will go under the water. I will take the salt.” The Red Hand smiled. “I will abjure the gods of my father.”

  Oswiu nodded, slowly. “That is no small thing you have agreed to. Think on it well before you say again yes.”

  “My father has made me the king of the Middle Angles, but I rule them only in his name. I would rule in my own name, with no grasping hand reaching to me for the gold I have taken in battle and tribute. Let all know that I follow this new god, and then all will see that the land of the Middle Angles is mine, whatever my father might say.” The Red Hand leaned over the table towards Oswiu. “If he wants the throne back, let him try to take it. Then we shall see who is the greater m
an.”

  The king, seeing that Peada’s cup was near empty, signalled to a slave to fill it again.

  “It is no small thing for a father to meet a son upon the field of slaughter – and such a meeting would bring grief to a mother,” said Oswiu.

  Peada, his wine cup full again, proceeded to drain most of it. “My mother takes always my father’s part. What do you expect? She is the daughter of a ceorl. Look hard enough and you can see the earth under her nails. But I, I am a descendant of Icel and of Woden.”

  “I have heard other tales of your father’s descent.”

  The Red Hand stared at Oswiu with suddenly narrowed eyes. “They are lies,” he said. “I come by true line from Icel, and he through five generations from Wihtlæg, Woden son.”

  Oswiu smiled and, reaching across the table, filled the Red Hand’s cup himself. “Then we are cousins,” he said. “For we Idings are descendants from Woden too.”

  Peada raised his cup. “Your health, cousin.”

  Raising his cup, Oswiu returned the toast. “As cousin, you will of course want the marriage terms for your wife to be right as well,” he said.

  Peada, working his way through this new cup of wine, grunted his agreement. Oswiu, glancing at the line of empty jars along the back of the hall, wondered just how much the Red Hand could drink. So far, all that he could see was a redness in the man’s eyes and a slight slur to some of his speech. But he still picked up each cup unerringly and drank without spilling any wine.

  Oswiu continued. “The gold and silver Ahlflæd shall bring with her when she comes to you will be hers to use.”

  Peada grunted his agreement. “I have gold enough – I don’t need that which a woman brings me.”

  “Ahlflæd shall have a priest to serve her – one selected by Abbot Finan. And even if a bishop be found for the Middle Angles, the priest serving my daughter shall not answer to him but to Abbot Finan.”

  The Red Hand waved his hand. Oswiu noted that there was to the movement, at long last, some of the imprecision that takes limbs when they are steeped in wine.