Oswiu, King of Kings

by Edoardo Albert

  Many words were raised against such an insult, and some of the men put hand to belt, only to remember that in the king’s hall no sword might be unsheathed without permission of the king.

  But Œthelwald held up his hand for quiet.

  “Rash words for one among so many. Tell me, though, where does the High King propose we meet? In his kingdom or in mine?”

  “As a mark of his great favour, the High King proposes to meet you where the two kingdoms meet: upon the Humber.”

  Œthelwald laughed. “That is a strange place to meet and, I fancy, a cold and wet one. I suppose he wishes me to cross the river and speak to him upon its southern bank, in Mercia?”

  “No, you misunderstand, my lord. The High King has great regard for you. Where he would require other kings to come into his realm, he will come to you and meet you where neither king may call himself master, upon the river itself – for none but the Humber is master over its waters.”

  “But how does Penda propose to do this?”

  “Each shall take boat and meet upon one of the islands of the Humber, at slack water. Thus does the High King show his great courtesy.”

  “That is high courtesy indeed.” Œthelwald rose. “I will give answer tomorrow.” He made to dismiss the messenger, but the young man held up his hand that he might speak once more.

  “Before you give answer, lord, think on this. The messenger the High King sent to you, the man who stands before you, is Wulfhere, his own son.”

  At the news, whispers and gasps of wonder passed around the hall. All knew of the Red Hand, Penda’s eldest son, but many had heard tell of his second son, newly come to manhood. That Penda should send Wulfhere as messenger to the court of Deira was a tale to keep the fireside talking through many a long winter’s night.

  “That is a great and signal honour, Wulfhere, Penda son,” said Œthelwald. “We will remember it well when we think on our answer.” Œthelwald restrained his desire to look for the reaction of the men of the witan – he did not need to, for he could hear it well enough. Men who had just lately come to think that their new king might be worth dealing with were rapidly raising their estimation of him.

  The thanks for this were due to Penda. Oswiu, having made Œthelwald king, had left as rapidly as he had come, leaving no men and little in the way of advice beyond his parting words: “Choose your warmaster well and your enemies better.” Œthelwald had taken as warmaster one of Talorcan’s men, a Pict from the far north, whose body and face bore the marks of his tribe’s other name, the painted people. As for enemies, while Œthelwald sought to firm his grip upon the kingdom, he had decided to make war only upon those who attacked him. Peace he would meet with peace, and even war might be met with a better offer, so long as it would buy off the attackers until he was strong enough to meet them upon the field of slaughter. For now, Œthelwald knew he needed to gather men to his banner. Without the glory of battles won, the only other way to attract young men keen to hear their names sung by the scops was with the open hand of the ring giver. So Œthelwald gave rings to all he might – even a good throw in the hunt might earn a ring for a surprised but pleased warrior staying in hall while he sought service for his sword. Faced with such generosity, the first new men were beginning to bind themselves to him by oath and pledge. The news that the High King himself was willing to meet him, and on neutral ground, would soon spread, and more men would hasten to his court, eager to give their swords to a king whom the High King favoured.

  “We will speak on the morrow, Wulfhere, Penda son,” said Œthelwald. “Now I will take counsel on what the king of the Mercians proposes.”

  After Wulfhere had made the courtesy and retired, Œthelwald worked his way past the talking groups of men to the door and went out. The Humber lay only a few miles south. If Penda had sent Wulfhere while he was staying at one of his northern halls, they might meet in two or three days. But before he could decide, Œthelwald determined to ask counsel of one he could trust.

  A great barking told him where to look. Setting off from the hall, across the compound, he greeted those who gave him good afternoon without being waylaid into conversation. The dogs kept up their barking, the cheerful, musical note that told of food being given.

  The king found the hounds milling around the huntsman. But it was not the huntsman he sought. Beside the huntsman, handing out scraps to favoured animals, was Rhieienmelth.

  Looking up, Rhieienmelth saw Œthelwald looking at her. For a moment, she saw the face of his father, and memory stabbed its bitter pin into her side. But all her memories were bitter to her, and she barely gave sign of its striking.

  The king – Rhieienmelth still caught herself thinking of Œthelwald as a boy – gestured to her and she made her way through the swirling mass of dogs towards him.

  “The dogs are hungry, for they hunted well this morning,” she said. “We took a red deer, a stag with twelve tines. You should have come with us.”

  Œthelwald nodded. “I would have wished to. But a messenger came and I had to hear his embassy.”

  “The messenger from Penda?”

  “Yes. You heard?”

  “How not? All the hall was alive with the news. I doubt there has been such excitement since… Well, since I came to visit you.”

  Œthelwald smiled. “Probably not. Though much of the wonder was that you could come at all.”

  “It was not so difficult. Æbbe, my abbess and my warder, grew weary of me, I think.” Rhieienmelth laughed. “Her sisters complained that my dogs drowned out their prayers – though it seems to me that dogs send their praise to heaven too. I think it was a great relief to her when Bishop Finan asked her to return to Ebchester, her first house. Apparently, the brethren there had lapsed from their earlier purity. When you sent word of what had happened and of how you had come to the throne, the abbess that Æbbe left in her place was quite happy for me to travel south to see my heart’s son and give him my courtesy.”

  “I am glad this was so. Both for the joy of seeing the one who was as a mother to me and for the chance to ask counsel of one who will give me answer with no thought for advantage.”

  Rhieienmelth looked sidelong at Œthelwald. “Are you sure you can trust me that far? Few indeed can give counsel without any thought to their own advantage and I have had little enough of advantage to me these past years…” Her voice trailed away, but Œthelwald had no need to ask what she left unsaid.

  Œthelwald took her hands in his own. “I am sure,” he said.

  But Rhieienmelth took her hands from his. “I less so,” she said. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “It is windy here. Now, what would you ask me?”

  Œthelwald told her that which Wulfhere had told him: that Penda wished to meet him upon one of the islands in the Humber.

  “Would you tell me go?” he asked.

  “So long as I go too,” said Rhieienmelth. She looked at the young man in front of her. “I am too long in Æbbe’s holy house. Such a trip gives me reason to delay my return further. Besides –” and here she smiled grimly – “I would see the man who cast down your father.”

  “Wulfhere said his father will pay the blood price,” said Œthelwald.

  “Will he?” Rhieienmelth turned away. “What price would suffice?”

  Œthelwald looked to the woman who had been queen.

  “We will see what price he offers.”

  *

  The island had grown where the rivers Ouse and Trent met. It had slowly risen from the brown water – so slowly at first that, as the tide flowed in, the island disappeared beneath the water again. But the fishermen and ferrymen who lived by the rivers had watched the island grow. They had seen the first birds, birds with long beaks and longer legs, curlews and sandpipers, pacing the sand and mud. They had seen it grow higher, so that the sand in its centre was no longer dark but, drying out, became as yellow as the flowers of trefoil that began to flower upon the island.

  The river folk did not give the island
a name, for it had appeared as something given up by the rivers, and they waited upon the rivers to name it. But then the kings came, and by their presence named the island Two King Island.

  The day when the kings came to the island, Œthelwald stood upon the northern bank of the Humber. The flag of Deira flew beside him. Holding his hand up against the glare of the sun, Œthelwald peered across the wide river to the further bank. There, where the ferrymen pulled their boats up upon the southern shore, he could see a party of men standing. By the glint of sun on spear tip and helmet, he could see they were warriors. He squinted his eyes. Though his hand shaded his eyes from the sun, it did nothing to stop the glare reflecting from the river. But then the wind pulled the banner out and he saw, even across the width of the river, the black wolf of Mercia.

  “He’s here.” Œthelwald turned to the woman standing beside him. “I did not think he would come himself.”

  Rhieienmelth made no answer but shaded her eyes that she might better see. Her heart was clutching at the back of her throat. The old pain, the pain that she had thought dead, was pulling at her again.

  Œthelwald saw the paleness of her face and knew it for what it was.

  “I don’t remember him,” he said. “I wish there was a memory of him somewhere in my thought, but there is not. But you remember him.”

  “Yes,” said Rhieienmelth. “I remember…”

  The ferryman pulled his boat to the bank and Œthelwald, Rhieienmelth and their party got in, sitting upon the boards that held the boat open against the river’s push. The ferryman started by pulling almost directly upstream, into the current. For it was not yet low tide, and the flow of water was still strongly out to sea. Once he had pulled past the island and up into the mouth of the Ouse, the ferryman spun the boat round and, using the current, let the river take the boat towards the island. Watching, past the oarsmen, Œthelwald saw the island approach. It was fringed on the downriver side with marram grass and vetch, but on this upriver side the island shelved almost imperceptibly from the water. Feeling the water becoming shallower under their oars, the oarsmen pulled harder, sending the boat further up onto the sand until it stopped fast.

  Œthelwald looked to his standard bearer, one of his old retainers from his days among the Picts, and nodded. The standard bearer clambered out of the boat. His feet splashed into the water, still ankle deep, that surrounded the boat, before making his way to the dry sand. The other men followed, taking up position on the shore. Œthelwald looked to the far shore of the island. There, another party of men were disembarking from a ferry boat under the banner of the black wolf. He turned to Rhieienmelth.

  “Are you sure you would come?”

  Rhieienmelth stared past him to the wolf banner flying on the opposite shore of the island. “I am sure,” she said.

  Following behind their banners, both parties of men made their way to the centre of the island. There, a few bushes of gorse and some scrubby willow formed a small break against the wind. The Mercian flag bearer planted the pole of his banner in the soft sand behind the willows, and the men with him formed into a line behind. Seeing what they did, Œthelwald indicated for his own banner bearer to do the same.

  Then, from among the Mercians, a single man stepped forward. He was hooded and his face could not be seen, for the sun was at his back. Œthelwald, seeing him, thought of the tales that were starting to be told near the fire after the flames were banked. Some said that Woden, the Lord of the Slain, walked middle-earth in the guise of the king of the Mercians.

  “Would you meet him alone?” Rhieienmelth asked. “I have heard tales of the magic the High King wields. With none beside you, Penda might place a glamour upon you.”

  Œthelwald shook his head. “If Penda would meet me without a second, then what sort of king would I be if I did not do likewise?” He glanced at Rhieienmelth. “My father would have met him alone.”

  “I know,” said Rhieienmelth. “And we lost him.”

  Œthelwald smiled at her. “You can hardly lose me here, in clear sight, when I will be but fifty yards away.” He glanced back and saw that Penda had neither slowed nor stopped his slow, steady approach. “I must go, or he will think me fearful. Besides –” and Œthelwald’s smile grew broader – “what honour the High King pays, by coming forward to meet me.”

  With that, Œthelwald set off, striding briskly forward to make up for his later start, that the two kings might meet midway between their men.

  The ground, new risen from the river, was soft beneath Œthelwald’s feet. Drifts of marram grass and vetch spread along the troughs between the banked sand, shot through with the white heads of campion. Birds, sandpipers and dunlins, walked stiff legged over the wet mud where the island joined the river, darting off in new directions for every four or five paces that Œthelwald took.

  The king of Deira realized that he was looking at birds and plants to avoid looking at the figure he was approaching. Pulling his gaze back to the front, Œthelwald looked at the hooded figure coming towards him. With the sun in the south, the man’s face was shadowed. The cloak he wore was dark and plain, without even a rich border, although a gold clasp gleamed at his shoulder. Many said that Penda was a true ring giver, pouring out the riches of his treasury upon his men and keeping little for himself; from what Œthelwald could see, this was a time when what many men said was true. The hooded man walked with a staff in his hand, but Œthelwald could glimpse the pommel of a sword beneath the folds of his cloak: Penda had not come unarmed. But then neither had he. Œthelwald felt the weight of his own sword, as familiar to him as the weight of his legs.

  They were nearing each other. Thirty yards, now twenty-five, twenty…

  Should he stop and hail Penda, Œthelwald wondered? But as the High King continued to advance in silence, so did he.

  Fifteen yards, ten, five…

  Penda stopped and raised his hand.

  Œthelwald did likewise.

  “Greetings.” Penda raised his hands to his hood and slowly drew it down from his head.

  Œthelwald looked upon the man who had killed his father. He said no word.

  Penda looked at Œthelwald. “You are like your father,” he said.

  Still Œthelwald could say no word.

  “He was a great king. There has been no other like to him since.”

  Œthelwald felt his throat working with emotion he had not known he felt. His breath came thick and his tongue tasted iron. Without thought, his hand began to crawl towards sword hilt.

  “You would strike down the man who killed him, extract the blood price in blood.” Penda’s black eye did not move from Œthelwald’s face, although surely he must have seen the hand creeping to sword.

  “I am here to pay that blood price.” Penda spread his arms wide, leaving his chest open and unprotected. “If you would strike me down, when I have come to you, then do so.”

  Œthelwald, still without thought, drew the sword from its sheath and pointed it at Penda.

  From behind the High King came startled cries and shouts of alarm but, hearing them, Penda snapped his head round and shouted, “Stay back!” before turning to face Œthelwald once more.

  “Here I am,” he said. “The man who killed your father. Kill me, if only blood will pay for blood.” Penda stepped forward, so that now Œthelwald was within range: a single thrust would push the blade into the High King’s chest.

  The black eye met, and held, Œthelwald’s gaze.

  “You have heard tales of me: tales of treachery, tales of deceit. Tell me, do such tales match he who stands before you, offering blood for blood, life for life?”

  A single thrust.

  A father avenged.

  The sword tip wavered.

  “No,” Œthelwald whispered.

  He dropped his hand. The tip of the sword buried itself in the soft sand. Œthelwald looked down at the ground.

  Penda pulled his cloak back over his shoulders, then turned and gestured to his men. At the signal, two
men started forwards, carrying a chest between them.

  “The blood price must still be paid.” Penda signed for the men to put the chest down. “Would you see what I will pay?”

  Œthelwald glanced back at his waiting men. Seeing the look, Penda asked, “You would have counsel as to the worth of what I give? Call to you any who can answer such a question.”

  Œthelwald gestured his men closer.

  “No further,” Penda said quietly.

  Œthelwald held up his hand. “Warmaster, to me,” he called. “Warmaster… and Rhieienmelth.”

  As he called for the woman who had once been queen to come to him, Œthelwald heard the quiet hiss of inbreath. Penda was surprised.

  The surprise relieved him. Would the Far Seer have been surprised that Rhieienmelth accompanied him? Those dark-night tales he had heard must be just that: dark-night tales, told to make the listening maid huddle closer to the teller.

  Rhieienmelth and the warmaster approached. Penda had already made his way to where the two men waited with the chest. While Œthelwald quickly explained what they were about to see, he noticed that Penda had sent one of the two men who had carried the chest back to the line of Mercians: thus there would be two armed men upon each side – and Rhieienmelth.

  Penda stood behind the chest as the three of them approached, with his warrior to one side. They had laid the lid of the chest open and, coming closer, they could see golden light pooling within. But Rhieienmelth merely glanced at the treasure therein. As she came closer, she looked upon Penda.

  For his part, the king of the Mercians had drawn his hood back over his head, so his face was once more in shadow. As Œthelwald came to the chest, Penda stood back from it.

  The new king of Deira looked down into a chest of gold: arm rings, finger rings, gold hacked from the hilts of broken swords, pins, clasps, buckles, and coins. Running over everything else, a river of golden coins. Bending down, Œthelwald scooped up a handful of the coins and let them trickle through his fingers. With such a treasure he could bind many, many men to his service: enough men that none of the thegns of Deira would dare raise arms against him. His throne would be secure.