TREASONS, STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS

by H A CULLEY

  That was a statement of the obvious, of course, but it was his callous attitude that shocked me. I thought back to the execution of Otta outside the church on Lindisfarne. Perhaps it helped you become a successful king if you didn’t have a conscience.

  Although the thump of the ram against the gates brought down more mortar dust and even the odd stone, the keystone and the rest of the bottom row of the arch held. The problem now was the rocks that the defenders were dropping onto the ram from above the arch. It was stoutly built but the roof couldn’t stand that sort of battering for long.

  Without waiting to consult either king, I sent a group of archers forward to keep the defenders’ heads down. Each took a warrior with a shield to protect him from the enemy archers. The hail of rocks stopped. The roof of the ram had been damaged but not the frame. It continued to batter at the gates.

  Suddenly there was a tremendous crack and the left hand gate split down the middle. Two more blows from the ram and it collapsed; the left side hanging drunkenly from just the bottom hinge and the right hand part falling backwards onto the ground.

  I ran forward yelling for my men to haul the ram out of the way and for the archers to dissuade the defenders from congregating beyond the entrance to oppose us. I needn’t have bothered. The Picts were the first through the shattered gate and found no opposition. The defenders were scrambling up the path towards the palisade on top of the two hills as fast as they could go.

  The Picts chased after them but to no avail. The single gate at the higher level was slammed shut well before they got there. A hail of arrows, spears and stones shot by boys with slings greeted them and, leaving a few dead and wounded behind, they retreated out of range.

  Breaching the bottom gate had taken most of the day and we settled down to wait for the dawn. When the sun rose we couldn’t see it through the thick blanket of dark grey cloud. The past three weeks had been dry and, even if not sunny all the time, there had been no rain. All that changed overnight. The weather got worse as the rain swept in from the west.

  In such conditions the archers kept their bowstrings dry in greased leather bags and, even if we could get fire arrows into the citadel, the thatch on the roof was now too wet to burn well.

  To say that King Eadbehrt was displeased would be an understatement. He blamed me for not getting the ram ready earlier and dismissed me curtly. If I had expected him to congratulate me on capturing the gatehouse then I was in for a disappointment.

  The one good piece of news was that many of those fleeing the battle had sought refuge in the fortress and so King Rotri would have a lot of mouths to feed. With any luck we could starve him out quite quickly.

  The next day we discovered that Rotri had come to the same conclusion. The gate opened and a stream of women, children and wounded men filed down the hill and out of the shattered gates at the bottom. Now whatever rations he had in there would last twice as long.

  Rotri must have known the fate that awaited those he’d ejected. They were rounded up and kept under guard until a stockade to keep them in could be built. They would be shipped off to the slave markets in the Land of the Picts and in Northumbria. There were some three hundred of them, probably five per cent of the total population of Strathclyde.

  The rain didn’t stop for three days. Sometimes it poured down and at others it was reduced to a fine drizzle. Then, on the fourth day the clouds parted and the sun came out.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Eadbehrt asked me impatiently.

  ‘The roofs need to dry out, Cyning. Wet straw won’t burn.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think that conditions will never be right for this scheme of yours. I’ll give you one more day and then we’ll try a direct assault.’

  My heart sank. The palisade was fifteen feet high – too tall to lift people up and over and the steep ground on which the palisade stood meant that we couldn’t use ladders – at least not in the quantity we’d need for any chance of success. My already low opinion of Eadbehrt as a war leader dropped further.

  The sun continued to shine for most of that day and so I gathered the archers and briefed them the following morning. By midday the sun was at its zenith and clouds were approaching from the west. Furthermore Eadbehrt was getting impatient again.

  We sent several volleys of fire arrows arcing up into the blue sky to fall beyond the palisade. From below we had no idea where they had landed and what damage, if any, they had done. I was beginning to think my idea hadn’t worked when a column of black smoke began to curl upwards from inside the palisade on the east side. Soon it was followed by a few more and then we could see bright red and yellow flames leaping up into the sky.

  No smoke appeared from the hill to the west and we later found out that, apart from a watchtower and a few huts, there was nothing there. All the flat ground was on the eastern hill. I could see a curtain of rain out to sea and I was fearful that it might put out the flames but, as the dark clouds approached, so the wind picked up, fanning the flames. I ordered the archers to send three more volleys into the east side and then we waited.

  The wind from the west was now blowing quite strongly and the conflagration had spread so that all of the eastern summit seemed to be ablaze. As the rain started the gate opened and smoke blackened men stumbled out. We got ready to charge into them, but then I realised that the enemy were throwing down their weapons as they emerged. We had won.

  ~~~

  Eadbehrt was delighted at the easy victory, for which he claimed credit, of course, but he did eventually remember to thank me for my help, albeit begrudgingly, which I suppose was something. The fire was dying down, dowsed by the heavy rain, but we the Picts were destroying what was left of the fortress as we prepared to depart at dawn the next day.

  Óengus hung the unfortunate Rotri and announced that henceforth Strathclyde was no longer a subordinate kingdom; it would become part of Pictland. A man called Dumnaguel was appointed as its mormaer and Eadbehrt received three things as his share of the spoils: some land which abutted Lothian and had been part of Strathclyde, two chests of silver and a treaty of friendship between him and Óengus. In particular the latter included recognition that the Cumbrian enclave in Galloway was part of Northumbria.

  However, the mood of celebration was somewhat spoiled when a messenger arrived from the king’s brother. Æthelbald of Mercia had invaded and had burned much of Eoforwīc to the ground. Archbishop Eanbald had been forced to flee to Loidis, which was now under siege.

  Chapter Four – The Battle of Newanberig

  756 – 757 AD

  I learned later that King Cuthred of Wessex had died and was succeeded by his distant kinsman, Sigeberht. His election as king wasn’t universally popular and his position on the throne was precarious. Instability within Mercia’s long standing rival for leadership of Southern England left Æthelbald free to attack Northumbria. The fact that Eadbehrt and his army was in the far north must have made the temptation irresistible.

  I sent a few men to accompany my father and the other wounded men from Bebbanburg back home whilst I headed south with a hundred mounted men. My task was to find out the whereabouts and the strength of the Mercian army. Although I felt flattered to have been chosen, it was a mission fraught with danger and difficulty. No-one seemed to know where the Mercians had gone after Eoforwīc and, although a hundred men sounds a strong force, it isn’t if you are seeking a foe numbering several thousand.

  I decided to ride to Loidis first and talk to Archbishop Ecgbert. However, when we got near we encountered a stream of refugees heading north away from the place. From what I could glean from their often contradictory accounts, the Mercians were besieging the town and not only the archbishop, but also the king’s daughter, Osgifu, and her husband Alchred, were inside.

  Alchred was man who was recognised by most as an ætheling. As Ida was reputed to have sired twelve sons, more and more nobles had emerged recently who claimed that they were descended from one or other of these sons. In Al
chred’s case he traced his descent from Eadric, the fourth of Ida’s sons. Not everyone accepted his lineage as true, but evidently Eadbehrt thought him enough of a rival to buy his loyalty with the hand of his only daughter.

  We set up camp near a settlement on the River Wharfe called Otley, some ten miles north-west of Loidis. From there I sent out patrols, not to find the main body of the Mercians - I knew by now that they were encamped to the north of the town – but to find a foraging party. I wanted prisoners who I could interrogate. I needed to find out the reason for the Mercians’ invasion and their exact strength.

  I struck lucky on the second day. Scouts came back to say that there was a party of thirty of the enemy at Guisley, which was barely two miles away. Thirty of my men were still out on patrol but I had enough to deal with this group. Whilst I led thirty men on the northern approach I sent the other forty across country at a canter to reach the track that led from Guisley to Loidis. I reasoned that the foragers would retreat as soon as they were attacked. It was a reasonable assumption but I prayed that my logic was sound.

  I was correct, but only partly so. The Mercians had killed the men of the vill and rounded up the women and children to sell them into slavery. They were also encumbered by livestock and plunder. They were largely on foot whereas we were mounted. A few did flee but the majority elected to stay and fight for their ill-gotten gains.

  Some of my men were trained to fight from horseback, but for most of them their steeds were no more than a means of transport. We therefore dismounted and formed a shield wall to face the enemy. I had, foolishly as it turned out, sent the few archers I had with the cut-off group. And so we were at something of a disadvantage as five of our enemy had bows with them.

  It wasn’t so much that they could seriously damage us, but advancing quickly with your shield held just below your helmet brim restricts your vision, slows you down and leaves your lower legs and feet vulnerable. An arrow pinged off my helmet and I felt another strike my shield just before we reached the enemy line. I pushed my shield at the man opposite me and, as expected, he pushed back.

  I held my sword ready above my shield and now thrust it forwards, aiming at his eyes, but he ducked down and it struck his helmet. He responded by doing the same but then he surprised me by letting go of his shield so that he could use his left hand to pull my shield down. His sword snaked towards my neck and I only managed to deflect it at the last moment by batting it to one side with my own sword.

  He was left exposed with no shield to protect him and he was slow to bring his sword back into action. In that fraction of a second I thrust the point of my sword into his mouth and out through his neck. He exhaled sharply and the sharp tang of urine and faeces struck my nostrils. A moment later his body collapsed to the ground.

  I placed one foot on the corpse to move forward and confront my next opponent. He was a boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen, but he was dangerous. He had screamed when he saw my first opponent fall and his face was contorted with rage. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he was related to the dead warrior.

  He forgot all about what he had been taught and tried to skewer me with his spear held in both hands, his shield hanging by his side. I brought my sword across and chopped the end off, then batted what remained away with my shield. The boy stood there open-mouthed, staring at the useless lump of wood in his hands as I stepped forward and brought my sword up to strike at his helmet. The stupid boy hadn’t fastened the leather strap properly and it went flying. I brought the pommel of my sword down on his head, knocking him unconscious.

  Another warrior swung an axe at me and I lifted my shield to intercept it. The axe stuck fast in the lime wood and I brought my sword over hand to shove the point into his face, but he was too quick for me. He ducked, let go of the axe and drew his seax from its sheath in one fluid movement. He mistimed his cut though and the seax scraped off my byrnie doing no more damage than breaking a couple of links.

  Suddenly my adversary arched his back and fell down, a spear embedded in his back. My other forty men had arrived on the scene. It didn’t take long after that to finish off the rest. Twice I called upon them to surrender but they refused. I cursed when it was all over because I needed a captive to question. Then I remembered the boy.

  He wasn’t the only survivor. There were two servants who’d been left to look after the horses – a man and a youth. The man had foolishly tried to fight off forty armed men and had died for his stupidity but the youth couldn’t talk fast enough. He was a slave - a Northumbrian who had been captured during the sack of Eoforwīc so I trusted what he told us.

  Unfortunately, he knew nothing of Æthelbald’s plans, not even rumours, but he told us that the man I’d killed was a Mercian ealdorman. The warriors had been his gesith and the boy with him was his one and only son whose name was Higbald.

  Higbald had recovered consciousness by then. He had a lump the size of a duck’s egg on his forehead and had been violently sick. He was lucky. If my blow had been two inches to the right I would have hit his temple and he’d be dead. As it was he was feeling very sorry for himself.

  ‘What were you doing here?’ I began with a simple question.

  The boy glared at me but said nothing so one of my men cuffed him hard about the head.

  ‘Ow! My father got bored with the siege so he thought he’d amuse himself by plundering these hovels,’ he said before spitting out some blood. Evidently he’d bitten his tongue when he’d fallen.

  ‘How many men does Æthelbald have? How many warriors and how many in his fyrd?’

  ‘No idea.’

  He looked at the ground instead of continuing to glare at me so I knew he was lying.

  ‘Oh dear, it looks as if we’re going to have to do this the hard way. Let’s get a fire going and find some lengths of wood to make a tripod.’

  A look of panic crossed the boy’s face as several of my men went to do as I’d ordered.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked in a whisper.

  ‘Hang you above a fire and burn your feet. If that doesn’t work we’ll lower you bit by bit and burn your legs and then your crotch.’

  His face turned ashen and he vomited again, though there was only bile left in his stomach.

  ‘You can’t do that! I’m an ealdorman’s son!’

  ‘A dead ealdorman’s son,’ I reminded him. ‘Either you’re the ealdorman now or Æthelbald will appoint someone else and you’ll be homeless.’

  He thought about this for a moment or two, then his shoulders sagged.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you want to know,’ he said listlessly, all his antagonism and defiance had vanished like last winter’s snow.

  I felt sorry for the lad but I had a job to do and so I forced myself to remain stern and threatening. I’d never have tortured him and I wasn’t quite sure what I’d have done if he’d called my bluff about roasting him alive.

  ‘What did your father tell you about your king’s plans?’

  ‘King Æthelbald isn’t popular, to put it mildly. From what I’ve been told he’s seduced too many nobles’ daughters, and even the odd wife, for him to keep their loyalty. He wanted to invade Wessex again as it’s in turmoil, but he only made peace with their previous king a year ago and my father said that the Witan was in no mood to allow him to break the treaty.’

  He paused and sobbed for a while, no doubt upset at the thought that his father was now dead.

  ‘He needed to unite his nobles somehow and so he decided that Northumbria was a ripe plum for the picking – or that’s how my father put it. He and his fellow ealdormen thought, that with your king away in the far north, they could raid Eoforwīc and this place Loidis and then withdraw back into Mercia before Eadbehrt could do anything about it.’

  ‘So he thought to unite his nobles by bribing them with Northumbrian gold, silver and slaves? Did he not think that there’d be a price to pay once Eadbehrt returned?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I can only tell yo
u what my father said to me.’

  ‘And you picked up nothing else that’s useful in the camp? What morale is like, for example?’

  Higbald shrugged. ‘The men are happy now. They’ve all got plunder from Eoforwīc and a goodly number of women and girls they’ve captured to warm their beds at night. Some are getting fed up with the siege and are apprehensive about the arrival of the Northumbrian army the longer we stay there, but most don’t seem too worried about it, but I don’t know why. I agree; we’re strong enough to beat Eadbehrt if he tries to come to Loidis’ relief.’

  Some of the boy’s former cockiness had returned as he spoke.

  ‘What’s Æthelbald really after?’ I asked.

  It was a rhetorical question. I was puzzled by the Mercian king’s motives. He’d given his men their reward and no doubt restored his standing amongst most of his nobles, at least for now. Why not just head for home and dare Eadbehrt to venture into Mercia? Instead he was risking being trapped between Loidis and the Northumbrian army.

  The only thing I could think of was that he intended to lure Eadbehrt south into a trap. A major victory like that would make his position unassailable. If my reasoning was accurate Higbald must have heard rumours. Nothing stays secret for long in a camp.

  ‘How close is Æthelbald to capturing Loidis?’

  ‘Not very. He doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. There’s been no assault so far.’

  ‘Are they building a battering ram?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so; at least, I’ve seen no sign of it, or of siege ladders even.’

  The boy said it as if he was genuinely puzzled. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder why before this.

  ‘How many men do the Mercians have?’

  I had asked him the question before but this time Higbald answered.

  ‘There are a dozen ealdormen and their gesiths and warbands – perhaps eight hundred trained warriors in all. I’m not sure how many there are in the fyrd, perhaps a couple of thousand but some have deserted and gone home since we’ve been at Loidis; and then another thousand or so camp followers – servants, slaves, carters, women and so on.’