Oswiu, King of Kings

by Edoardo Albert

  Then there had been the long search for the king, asking, where she dared, after his presence, until finally an old, almost wordless man standing ankle deep in his strip of field pointed to a distant ridge of land.

  “Yon,” he had said. “The king be there.”

  The tongue he spoke was close cousin to Rhieienmelth’s own native language and he spoke no other. If not for that, she would have searched longer. As it was, riding to the hedge boundary of the king’s estate, she saw the guards upon the gate and the purple and gold banner of the Idings flying beside the hall.

  The guard had recognized her and rushed Rhieienmelth across the compound towards the great hall. It was as she was crossing the compound that she heard the screams. They came from a house, rapidly put together from timber and thatch, that stood aside from the hall: the renewed scream told the reason for its construction. It was a birthing house.

  “The queen.”

  The guard shuddered as the scream trailed away, then he sketched a ragged cross from head to heart to shoulders. “It has been two days.”

  “She is strong if she still screams like that,” said Rhieienmelth. She looked to the birthing house. “After two days, she will need to be.”

  The guard took Rhieienmelth to the hall and presented her to the door warden. When he looked askance at announcing a woman, the guard poked him with his hand. “Know you not that this is the mother of the king’s son and daughter? Let her enter.”

  “The king has commanded I keep this door closed,” said the door warden, “so he would not hear the cries of the queen.”

  As the warden said this, a new scream came from the birthing house, louder than any of those Rhieienmelth had heard before, but this one, in its falling, had a different tone to it: the sound of final, exhausted triumph.

  She looked to the birthing house, head cocked, listening. And then it came. The thin wail of a new-born child, asking against its arrival in this middle-earth.

  Rhieienmelth turned to the door warden. “You can open the door now,” she said.

  *

  The king sat in silence upon the judgement seat. He stared into the distance, but saw nothing there, for there was no focus to his gaze.

  “All my choices have gone amiss.”

  Oswiu looked to where Ahlfrith stood in the hall, speaking with his mother. They were, in looks, much alike.

  Rhieienmelth had told that which she had travelled over many leagues and through much danger to tell: his son, given to buy peace, was going to die as sacrifice to buy back the favour of the old gods.

  The king stood, and his face was as the ash of a fire that has long since died. He felt his legs tremble beneath him. He reached for the arm of the judgement seat, lest he fall.

  Rhieienmelth it was who came to him then. She saw the look upon his face and remembered it of old; for it was how Oswiu looked when he most felt the loss of his brother, and the lack of him. She took his arm, making it seem to those watching not the support of a man failing in strength but the touch of one conveying news.

  “There is one more matter I would tell you,” she said. “Your mother asked my forgiveness when she lay on her death bed, but I would not give it. Now I would that I had. Go to Eanflæd, once husband – go to her and see your new child. She has crossed the dark valley to bring new life into this middle-earth; there is, in that, a sign. God has not forsaken you, Oswiu, nor his pledge with your people. Go to Eanflæd and see the truth of which I speak.”

  Taking his arm, she led him forth, and none stood in their way.

  But when Rhieienmelth had brought the king to the birthing house, she stopped outside its door.

  “It is not meet that I should enter here. Go in and bless your child.”

  The queen’s women were waiting for him, and they opened the door. The air within the birthing house was thick with incense and the smell of blood and excrement. Faces, pale and exhausted but triumphant, turned towards him, but there was only one he sought.

  The queen, Eanflæd, lay upon the rough bed. In her arms, nursing, was a baby.

  A new life.

  Sensing the watching silence, the queen looked up. Seeing the king, she smiled a weary smile.

  Oswiu, king, went down upon one knee beside the bed. “Is it…” he began.

  “A girl,” finished Eanflæd.

  “A girl.” He nodded. “Good. That is good.” Oswiu reached a hesitant hand towards the small head, then stopped without touching the baby.

  “Go on,” said Eanflæd. “Touch her.”

  Gently, as if it were an egg beneath his fingers, Oswiu laid his hand upon the baby’s head.

  “Child, I give you my blessing.” He bent down and, breathing on the baby, kissed her.

  The king stood up. “I will leave you now,” he said, “for I have much to think on.”

  *

  Night had come and Oswiu stood alone beneath the sky. His warriors, his thegns, had come to him, asking him to return to the light and warmth of the hall, but Oswiu remained without, under the stars. He drew his cloak around his shoulders. Autumn was passing. These were the first winter stars.

  He heard footsteps, crunching frost-coated grass beneath them, and knew who came to him in the night.

  “You were the one who loved the stars.” He did not look round.

  The footsteps stopped beside him.

  Oswiu looked up at the long trailing light of the Milky Way. “You told me, when I was little, and scared, that we could always escape our enemies and climb those stairs. I would that you had not climbed them before me. Everything I have done has turned aside. All my plans have gone astray.”

  Oswiu raised his arm and pointed to the great hunter. “But that was your favourite. When the hunter rose in the winter time, you always told me it was a sign that one day we would return home. You were right. You were always right about such matters. But I am not the same as you. I do not have your trust.”

  But then Oswiu tilted his head, as if seeing the hunter for the first time. “Yet the hunter rises now as he did before. The ladder of stars still climbs the sky. And I have a daughter, a new life.” Oswiu breathed out and he watched his breath mist before his face.

  “We made no plan, did we, brother? When we returned from over the sea, we rode from the Holy Island with the men we had, to meet the king who had despoiled our land and killed our people. Since I took the throne, it seems to me all I have done is make plans and see them fail. All my wit – you might think that little enough, but for a while it seemed to me sufficient – has failed. There is naught else I can do. All my wriggling upon God’s hook has not freed me – no, not though I gave my own son to keep my throne.” Oswiu shook his head. “You would not have done as I have done. Will you tell me what I should do?”

  The king tilted his head to hear, but no sound came to him. But then he gave a small laugh. “Is it so clear that it needs no words? I fear that is true, and yet I have not seen it before. I understand now. In truth, even if you had come before I would not have understood.” Oswiu laughed again. “You did? See, I said I would not have understood – in that, at least, I was right.” He breathed out again, the air misting before his face. “But now I see.” He looked up at the ladder of stars ascending the sky, then bowed his head. “Will you give me your blessing?”

  Then it seemed as if the cold fingers of a night wind were laid upon the king’s head. And with his head bowed, Oswiu heard a sound he had not heard for many years: the wind rushing over stiff black feathers and then the coughing caw of the raven’s call.

  “You have sent Bran?”

  The rush of air beaten down beneath wings cooled the back of Oswiu’s neck.

  Oswiu, king, remained with his head bowed as the steps he had heard approach went away again, the frost grass cracking beneath them.

  *

  Oswiu stood in the great hall. He looked out over the faces of the men who had remained faithful to him, who had followed him into the hills and thirsted there beneath the sun, wh
o had slipped and squelched with him through the mud of autumn, and who now sat in the warmth of the hall as outside the first storm of winter lashed sleet and hail and rain against its wooden walls.

  “I have failed you.”

  There was still enough pride in his heart for part of him to hope that some, perhaps many, would stand and cry “Nay!” to him. But no one did. Instead, they sat in watchful, listening silence. Oswiu glanced, once, beside him. His queen sat there, upon his right hand side, with the babe silent in her arms, looking up at him as he spoke, her face grave.

  “I thought that I might buy peace with Penda – buy it with gold and with my son. I was wrong.”

  Some among the men nodded gravely at his words. Some, indeed, had wondered at the king’s actions; fewer had spoken, but even those the king had ignored.

  “Now, I go to make right what I did wrong. I go to claim back my son and regain our gold. If any would come with me, he will be welcome, even should there be ancient grudge between us. Let all be healed before I go, so that no man may bear me ill will should this matter go awry.” Oswiu turned to Eanflæd. “Before all, I say what I said to you alone, my queen. Let this girl, the flesh of our flesh, be consecrated to God through all the days of her life. For Penda would make a sacrifice of blood, but I would make a sacrifice of life – a life lived in service of our Lord. And of my wealth, of the riches that remain when all else tarnishes and fails, I give twelve estates, that twelve holy houses be supported, henceforth and forever, to offer the sacrifice of prayer – the true sacrifice of men’s hearts – to our Lord. For Penda, with his priest, would bring back the old gods. But we have forsaken them, for in them there is no life. The Lord of Life shall face the Lord of the Slain.”

  Oswiu looked slowly round the hall. “I go to war with Penda. I go to claim my son. Like enough I shall not return. Who here shall follow me?”

  Chapter 14

  “I cursed the rain all through the autumn, but now I see that it was a blessing.”

  Oswiu pointed through the screen of gorse and hawthorn that sheltered him and Ahlfrith from view.

  They had crawled up the far side of the hill, leaving their horses tethered in its lea. The wind had backed to the east and it blew cold into their faces as they reached the crest, seeking always to find the patch of heather or the wind-blasted thorn that would break up their outline should anyone below glance westward, to the hills.

  In pursuit of the great army, Oswiu had ridden south through Deira, taking the roads the army itself had travelled and trusting in the speed of their progress to outrun any message of pursuit. But why should Penda fear any pursuit? The great army, even somewhat reduced as men began to straggle away homewards, numbered more than a thousand. Some one hundred men rode with Oswiu. Others had pledged to follow, but the king would not wait for horses to be gathered or armour repaired.

  “Ride now, or follow later – I go to war,” he had cried as they swept south. And some, indeed, even answered his call in Deira; for the great army had fed while it made its way south through Deira, and all that Œthelwald might do had not stopped it. But even with those men, the army Oswiu had gathered was small before the host spread out below the king and his warmaster.

  “See how the river has swollen,” said Ahlfrith, pointing. “At other seasons, men and horses might ford there as easily as crossing the bridge. But now, after the rain of autumn, none might enter the Winwæd without drowning.”

  Oswiu looked to the west. The sun was but a hand’s breadth from the ragged line of the mountains.

  “They have not time to cross before dark,” he said. “But what think you, Ahlfrith?” He pointed to the clouds massing beyond the mountains. “If I be not mistaken, there will be rain on the hills this night. With the river so swollen, the dawn might see Penda’s army wake to find its feet wet.”

  But Ahlfrith shook his head. “There is no telling the weather this season. Even should the rain fall, the flood will like enough hinder us as much as Penda.”

  “Mayhap.” Oswiu turned back to his spying upon Penda’s camp. “But at least, with the day so late, they must wait until dawn to send the rest of the army across the bridge. And the vanguard on the far bank gives us fewer men to deal with.”

  “It gives me fewer men to deal with.” Ahlfrith turned to his father. “Let me go. If I fail, then you may still prevail. But if you are caught, then we have no hope.”

  Oswiu shook his head. “This is what I have learned: even should we fail, and all be lost, there is still hope, for our hope is not confined to this life. But in this I trust our hope shall prevail in the sight of men too.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I thank you. But it must be me, for he is my son, and my fault put him in this peril. Surely you know this to be true?”

  Slowly, Ahlfrith nodded.

  “Very well. I will wait until full dark. Have the men ready; watch and listen for my sign.” The king held up the hunting horn he had brought with him. “You know its voice. But if, as may be, there is too much noise for it to be heard, I will try to set flame to tent or pavilion: watch too for that.”

  “If you will not let me go in your place, then let me go with you, Father.”

  But again Oswiu shook his head, although he smiled. “Once before I went concealed and in disguise into my enemy’s realm to claim that which was precious to me. Now I go again. I know what to do. Besides –” he pointed – “here, on the border of his own kingdom, Penda has barely bothered to set any sentries. He knows we have no army to match his.” Oswiu smiled again, but this smile was grim. “He thinks himself a god among men. But we know, where he does not, that when a god takes flesh, he may die, as men die, and by the weapons that bring death to men and not in the jaws of the great wolf.”

  “I have heard many tales told of Penda. Are you sure there is no truth in them, Father?”

  “I have stood face to face with Penda,” said Oswiu. “He is no god – only a man. But the greater the fear his people have for him, the better goes it for me.” He looked back west. The sun was falling behind the mountains. It would soon be dark. “Come, let us return. You must make the men ready and get them into position. For my part, I have my own preparations to make.”

  *

  Ahlfrith was preparing the men, moving among them and telling each what he expected, when a cry went up from the edge of the camp. Men sprang to their feet, some making the sign against the evil eye, while others rasped blade from sheath or muttered prayers beneath their breath. Holding his hands up, Ahlfrith urged the men to silence, before turning to the object of their fear.

  He had appeared, in silence, at the edge of the camp, shadow rimmed and fire edged: a hooded figure, eye glinting in the firelight.

  Ahlfrith signalled to Acca to follow him and they went over to the hooded figure, looking it up and down.

  The hooded one stood silent and still before them.

  “Really quite good,” said Acca. He put his head to one side. “You’re very nearly the same size and build. In poor light, you should pass for him. Yes, not that bad for someone who has not been taught.”

  Ahlfrith looked sidelong at the scop, then back to the hooded figure. “Well, I think you look just like him,” he said.

  The hooded figure spoke, and the voice at least was unmistakably that of Oswiu. “But Acca has seen Penda more recently. What can I do to look more like him?”

  “It’s not so much the appearance; it’s the way you carry yourself, the way you walk. You step out boldly, but Penda glides – with the cloak on and the hood up, he seems to float over the ground. Try to slide your feet over the ground.” Acca cocked his head as the hooded figure began to move forwards. “Yes, that’s better.”

  Then the hooded figure tripped and almost fell, stopping itself, but cursing. “I can’t see where I’m stepping,” Oswiu complained.

  “Maybe it would be better if Father walked how he normally walks,” said Ahlfrith.

  Acca turned away. “He asked my thoughts; I gave
them. It is not my fault if the king cannot glide without falling over.”

  “You try it with this hood on,” said Oswiu. “But I’ll remember what you said. In their camp, there will be more light, so I will be able to see better.”

  “Speaking of seeing,” said Ahlfrith, “what have you done to cover your eye?”

  “This.” Oswiu reached up and drew the hood back from his head. He had wound a cloth round the side of the head where Penda’s ruined eye had been. The king pushed the cloth up. “But I will need both eyes to make my way into Penda’s camp.”

  He looked at the two men standing before him. “Acca, you have seen two kings fall under Penda’s sword. Like enough, you will see a third. But you have been ever faithful to the kings of the Northumbrians. If I should fall, I charge you to make a song of my passing that will be remembered after I am gone.” The king looked down at himself dressed in Penda’s clothing. “I will at least make for a good riddle!”

  Then he looked to his son, Ahlfrith. “You too have been ever faithful to me, my son.” Oswiu took his hand and, raising it, turned to the watching, waiting men.

  “I go before you,” the king said. “Now, while I am gone, in all things take Ahlfrith’s words as mine: follow him as you would me. And when I call, come quickly – or I will take all the gold for myself!”

  At that, the men laughed, as Oswiu knew they would. Before a battle, even the weakest of jokes would raise mirth, for men’s mirth at such time was laughter in the face of death.