Oswiu, King of Kings

by Edoardo Albert

  Oswiu paused, weighing the pebbles remaining in his hand, before tossing what was left into the river.

  “Cenwalh has fled his kingdom. There will be no aid from the West Saxons. At least Earconbert remains king of Kent.” Oswiu turned to look at his wife. “I do not think you need fear for him. The Kentmen are tied by blood and marriage to the Franks, and I do not think Penda wishes to call down their wrath. But for his part, Earconbert does not wish to attract Penda’s glance: he will not come to our aid. So that leaves, to the south, only Œthelwald. We can at least count on him; but the men of Deira have not the strength they once had.” Oswiu shook his head. “And what strength they had left we sapped in the campaign against Oswine.

  “As for the men of the Old North, Talorcan, king of the Picts, will send only what aid he can spare, and that will be little indeed, for Penda has raised his old alliances against us. Gwynedd and Powys and those kingdoms of the Britons that my father put down: they seek revenge on the father’s son. And Rheged…” Oswiu grimaced. “There will be no aid from Rheged. Not since…” He glanced at his wife and then looked away. “Well, they will not help us. Some men might come from Dal Riada, but with Rheged hostile and the men of the Rock ever looking for advantage, there will not be many.”

  The king looked at his counsellors. “I fear we stand alone before the storm.”

  At first, only the river made answer, whispering its reply through the trailing tips of the willows that hung down into the stream. But then the queen spoke.

  “You learned this from Ahlflæd?”

  “Yes. She sent word. Penda sent a messenger to his son, telling this and calling him to come to him.”

  “Think you not that this might be a ruse? Penda is subtle – surely he might guess that messages sent to his son will be relayed to you.”

  “I think he knows that well – and wants me to know. Besides, I have sent messengers myself to check on this news. Not all have returned, but those that have confirm it. I sought to catch Penda in a net of alliances, but he has burst the net, cutting down those who found friendship with me and putting in their place men beholden to himself. It seems to me that this time he seeks also to force men back to the old ways, to worship of the old gods, for those kings he has placed upon thrones have turned their backs upon the new life and gone back to the ways of before.” Oswiu shook his head. “This I do not understand. Never before has Penda sought to do this.” Oswiu looked to his counsellors. “There is some new devilry at play here, although I cannot discern what it is.”

  “What of your daughter’s husband?” asked Romanus, the priest. “The Red Hand.”

  “Ahlflæd sends word that the son will not heed the father’s call.”

  At that, Eanflæd looked sharply at her husband. “I fear Ahlflæd buys peace for us at the cost of great suffering for herself.”

  “What would you have me do? Bring her home and have the Red Hand raised against us too? That is the burden of women, the peace weavers: to be pierced to buy peace. It is what my mother faced.”

  Now Ahlfrith, Ahlflæd’s brother, spoke. “My sister knew well what she faced when she went to the Red Hand. Her courage won us the day when it seemed that Bamburgh would fall. Now it strips the enemy of the Red Hand – and I saw him as he grew. Peada has not the subtlety of his father, but the name he has for brutality is well given. For my part, I am glad not to have to face him on the field of slaughter, and I give thanks to my sister for winning us that battle.”

  “I too,” said the queen. “But I wish there was another way.”

  “Don’t you think I wish that too?” said Oswiu. “She is my daughter.” He stopped and turned away for a moment, breathing hard. With his back to his counsellors, he asked, “What counsel have you for me? My heart tells me that, in the end, I must fight, but my wit tells me I would be a fool to contend against such odds. What say you all?”

  “If a woman may speak of that which best concerns men, it seems to me that many kings gathered beneath one banner shall be as uncomfortable as many women cooking the same meal. The longer we delay them, the more likely there shall be some falling out between the kings Penda has gathered. The longer we give these fears and doubts to grow, the more dangerous they will become.”

  Oswiu nodded. His eyes looked out over the river, but his mind thought of the high paths and trackless places of his kingdom; places where many men might pass unseen to those who did not know the land.

  “Men do well to call you wise, my queen. Have my other counsellors aught to say?”

  “I would speak, Father,” said Ahlfrith. He looked to the others around him; by sign they bade him tell what he would.

  “If time be our strategy, then here is another way to buy it: send a messenger to Penda, a man of standing, to meet the king. The messenger shall tell Penda he has authority to treat with him, and he shall offer him great reward, in gold and silver, that Penda might stay his march and keep his armies from our land.”

  “Pay Penda off?”

  “If he will be bought. I think it more likely that such a messenger will but gain us time – but if time be our strategy, then we should seek whatever means we can to gain it.”

  Oswiu turned from the river back to his counsellors. “How much should we offer?”

  “I should say much.” Ahlfrith looked to his fellow counsellors for confirmation. “I would give all that I had, Father.”

  But Oswiu shook his head. “Not all. We shall offer Penda much, but keep as much back, for we may have need of it later.” He looked around his ring of counsellors. “It might be as well to find somewhere to keep our treasure safe, for I foresee that we shall have need to travel swiftly in the weeks and months ahead, and nothing slows a man more than the desire to make sure his wealth is safe.”

  “Bury it?” asked Ahlfrith.

  “That would be best,” said Oswiu. “Somewhere safe, where we may find it again.” He looked to his son. “I give you this task, Ahlfrith. What we do not give to the messenger to take to Penda, we bury, against the day we have need of it.”

  “But who shall be the messenger?” asked Ahlfrith. “I would go, but…”

  Oswiu held up his hand. “There is no need to say further. I would not give my right hand as hostage to Penda. Once, I would have sent Æthelwin…” Oswiu paused. “But now I do not know who to send.”

  “I will go.”

  The words were quiet. The speaker, as he spoke them, saw the wind part the curtain of sedge and, as the sedge parted, he saw the glitter light atop the water, playing with the joy of new creation. Then a swallow, skimming low, jinked over the river’s surface before flying past the line of people who had all turned to look, with open eyes and open mouths, at Coifi.

  Brought back to them by the swallow, Coifi looked at the faces of surprise.

  “Is it so strange? If Penda should slay me, would that be any loss to you? I am old now, and weary – and I have always hated riding as much as the animals have hated me. If you need swift movement and fast riding, I would surely be but a hindrance.” The old priest snorted with laughter. “The greater the need for swiftness, the more surely shall I see some mark of the working of wyrd, and turn aside to follow it, when all are urging me on. Besides, if it be true that Penda seeks now to restore the worship of the old gods, he will like enough treat with me where he would not treat with others. So I say send me, with what treasure you would give, and I will seek to stay Penda’s marching and prune some of his support.” Coifi smiled, although this smile was sad. “I fell from my old ways through love of that which the warriors wear as mark of the king’s favour and their glory: surely I might prise a few away from the enemy’s army with some of the baubles I once sought.”

  Oswiu came forward to stand in front of the old priest.

  “In truth, I wondered once why my brother saw fit to retain your service after Edwin died. Already, I have seen some of what my brother saw in you, but now I see it clearly: you are a good and faithful servant.”

 
; “Wait.” Romanus the priest held up his hand. “If this priest of the old gods will go as a messenger to a pagan king, then I should go as well, that the new life be brought again before Penda.”

  But Oswiu shook his head. “If Diuma could not bring Penda into the new life, then I doubt that you might. Nor would I lose you now, when the queen is with child, for we will have need of you when her time comes, to call down God’s blessings from heaven and to protect her from evil.”

  The priest started to dispute the king’s words, but Eanflæd laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I would not have you leave me, Romanus. Not now.”

  At her words, the priest bowed his head. “Then I needs must stay.”

  “But not I.” Acca stepped forward. “If this old fool gets his wish to put himself into the wolf’s lair, then I will go with him, lest on the way there he sets off chasing after some phantom of wyrd and ends, not in Mercia, but looking down a badger sett in Dal Riada. Besides, lord, on such an errand there will be need for someone with the gift of honeyed words and right speech.” Acca pointed at the slight figure of the old priest, with his raven-feather cloak drawn tightly around his thin shoulders. “Should Penda give him leave to speak, his croaking might as well come from the beak of the bird that sits upon his back. Whereas if I speak, then the king of the Mercians shall hear a voice that has told the tales of our people into being, that has sung the song of the kings and brought the gods down from high heaven and set them before men in hall. Such a voice might even persuade Penda to lay aside his purpose and seek renewed friendship with you, lord. After all, if Penda’s son can marry your daughter, then surely peace is possible between Bernicia and Mercia?”

  “I fear,” said Oswiu, “that marrying Ahlflæd to the Red Hand may have stirred Penda to this new wrath. Besides, he has reason enough to hate me already. After all, I took his eye.”

  At that, Coifi croaked, making the sound of a raven. Oswiu looked to him.

  “Very well, Bran took the eye. But not having the raven to work his revenge upon, Penda must seek another. I have long awaited it.” He looked around his counsellors. “Now the time has come. He seeks to destroy me. But I will not wait for him, like some hare caught in a snare.” The king took the hands of Coifi and Acca. “You will go, together, into the hands of my enemy. I will give you my blessing, as king and as friend: may you be wise and subtle as the serpent, that you sow doubt among our enemies and bring time for your lord.” With that, Oswiu breathed upon their hands and upon their brows, and kissed them both.

  Stepping back, he looked at priest and scop.

  “You must go quickly. I will gather all the gold I may in such time as remains, that you have enough to earn a hearing from Penda and the kings of the land. But above all, go fast.”

  Chapter 6

  “I don’t think the king meant this fast.” Coifi, bobbing up and down on the horse, flung his arms around its neck in a final attempt to stop himself being thrown from the animal. But Acca urged his own mount on and, reaching over, grabbed the halter of the old priest’s horse and pulled it along.

  Feeling himself beginning to slip down the side of his animal’s neck, Coifi cried out, “I’m going to fall.”

  Glancing round, Acca reached over and grabbed a handful of raven’s feathers, with some of the old priest’s thin shoulder beneath, and hauled him back upright.

  “No, you’re not,” he said. Nevertheless, Acca slowed his animal down. His old friend had never been a good horseman. Back in the days, many years past now, when he had been chief priest to Edwin, Coifi had been forbidden from riding a stallion. This had been little loss for the priest, who was only comfortable sitting on the calmest of animals. As for the horses, they regarded Coifi with the same suspicion as he looked at them. But on this hard ride south, Coifi had, of necessity, to sit astride stronger and faster animals; it was only through some chance of fate, Acca thought, that he had made it so far without breaking leg or arm or neck. The small troop of warriors that accompanied them – for it was not safe for two ageing men to venture abroad carrying the treasure they brought with them – had learned to ride at a distance behind Coifi, ready to stop immediately should the old priest fall, again, from his horse.

  But now, Acca saw, the need for haste was over.

  He held up his hand. “Stop.”

  He was leading. The old road, the road of the emperors, had been rising, slowly but steadily, for the past mile, climbing the climbing land, but now Acca crested the ridge and he saw the road falling just as gradually into the vale below, where the straight road of the emperors met one of the hollow ways of the men of old, the ones who had first walked this land and scored paths by the passage of their feet and the hooves of their animals. Past the junction, scattered on either side of the road, he saw the largest camp of men and animals he had ever seen. Scanning over the tents and shelters, and round the makeshift paddocks holding horses and oxen, Acca started counting the banners and flags flying outside the larger tents and pavilions. As he was doing so, Coifi’s horse crept up level with him.

  “Penda?”

  “Yes,” said Acca. “But more than just Penda, many more. I can see twenty… twenty-five banners. They are too far for me to read from here, but most, I think, are the banners of kings or great thegns.” The scop shook his head. “I have never seen an army so great.”

  “Well, let us be grateful,” said Coifi. “An army this great is hard to hide and we have found it with little difficulty.”

  “With an army this great, Penda has no need to hide,” said Acca.

  Coifi squinted. The distance of the world had been disappearing into a blur, as if a fog that never lifted had fallen upon everything. Men’s sight failed as they aged, but he had not known it would fall upon him in such a way. By squinting, he sought to clear some of that fog and, in the bright sun of the summer, he could see further. The scop spoke truly. In truth, Coifi had never seen so many men gathered together either. Even the great army Penda had brought to lay siege to Bamburgh was but a part of the array of men spread before them.

  While Coifi continued to look at the army laid out before them, Acca set to ordering the warriors who had accompanied them.

  “Ride back along the road. Two miles back, do you remember the ash by the side of the road, split in two as if by Thunor’s hammer? There is a wood lying near the road at that point. Go there, and take cover in the wood, but keep watch upon the road. Should Penda accept the king’s offer, we will return to find you and deliver the treasure to the king of the Mercians. But if we do not return in two days, or you see others searching for you, then take the treasure back to the king. You understand?”

  The leader of the warriors, a fine, experienced man named Goda, nodded his understanding. “I would not send you alone into Penda’s camp,” he said to Acca.

  “You see it,” said Acca. “Even if you all came, could you guard us against so many?”

  “No,” said Goda, “but Penda would buy your lives dearly,” he added with a grin.

  “I would prefer that my life not be put up for sale,” said Acca. “Besides, the king charged you with the care of the gold and silver he gave over to us. Keep it safe until we have need of it, Goda.”

  Goda made the courtesy, then wheeled his horse, and with the other men started back along the road to the split ash tree.

  Acca watched them go, then turned his horse round.

  “With so many men, it’s strange that Penda has set no sentry here,” said Coifi. “Such a post could see anyone approaching.”

  Acca pointed down the road. “It seems the king of the Mercians agrees with you.”

  Galloping towards them was a party of warriors, spear tips glinting in the summer sun.

  *

  “So, your king sends a scop and a priest as messengers.”

  Penda sat on the judgement seat that had been set beside his tent. Around him were the kings who rode under his banner: the king of the East Angles, the king of the East Saxons, the king of Lind
sey, the kings of Gwynedd and Powys.

  It was a still day and the banners hung limply from their poles, only stirring when a heat breeze sprang up, rustling the dry grass and bending the stiff arms of the teasels that lined the road of the emperors. As Penda’s men had brought them towards the camp, Acca had expected to be blindfolded. But when they dismounted, the scouts had merely led them, none too gently but with nothing masking their eyes, through the camp. It was as if Penda did not care what they saw of his preparations.

  In among the tents and shelters, it was much easier to see a banner whenever the stuttering breeze spread it out. One flag, flicking out as the wind pulled it, caught Acca’s attention more than any other.

  “Did you see that?” he asked, pointing.

  Coifi looked to see, but the wind died away as soon as it had risen.

  “Keep watching,” said Acca. “By that tent. Tell me, please, that my eyes fail me and I saw that banner wrongly.”

  But then the wind had flicked the cloth into the air once more and Coifi gasped his sight of it. “Deira,” he said.

  Among the dragons and wolves and bears and ravens that fluttered above the army Penda had gathered around him was the boar of Deira.

  Now, standing before Penda, Acca looked at the assembled kings for sight of Œthelwald. But there was no sign of him among the other kings. Only the glimpse of the banner told the tale.

  “Would a king that honours me send a scop and an old priest as his messengers?”

  Acca took one final, measured glance around. This was an audience such as even he had never known before. Should it be his final performance, it would be one to be remembered the length and breadth of this land.

  “Hwæt!”

  At the old, familiar call to attention the conversations and whisperings and movements all around the gathered kings came to a stop. Never before had a messenger called such a group of kings to attend to him.