by H A CULLEY
‘The death of my foster brother, who was the same age as me, has emphasised that the time that we have on this earth is all too short. I have decided that the burden of kingship is too heavy for me and I therefore propose to abdicate. I want to devote however many months or years I have left to preparation for the new life. I will therefore retire to Lindisfarne to live out my days as a simple monk.
‘I give the care of my son, Ethelred, to my foster-brother’s son, Seofon. You now need to decide who should replace me. I will travel with you when you return to Lindisfarne, Bishop Cynewulf, if I may.’
‘Of course, Cyning.’
‘No, not Cyning,’ he said taking of his gold circlet and handing it to me. ‘Just Brother Æthelwold from now on. I shall sign the deed of abdication today.’
With that he strode out of the hall.
The stunned silence was broken by excited chatter as soon as the door closed behind him. I had trouble restoring order and banged the pommel of my dagger on the table for some time before the babble of conversation died away.
‘Thank you. Æthelwold’s abdication came as much of a surprise to me as it evidently did to most of you.’
I looked at Ecgbert as I said this and a smile played at the corner of his mouth.
‘It now falls to us to elect a new king. As this has come to all of us as something of a shock, I believe that those who are eligible to be considered should have a little time to prepare what they wish to say. I shall represent the interests of the Ætheling Ethelred. Although still a baby he could still be selected as king with a council of regency to rule until he is fourteen. I therefore cannot continue to preside over the Witan. Bishop Cynewulf, will you please take over when we reconvene in, shall we say, an hour’s time?’
He nodded and I retired to my private chamber at the back of the hall with Octa.
‘You didn’t know?’ he asked me as soon as we were alone.
‘No, of course not. Æthelwold is being foolish. He is so depressed over the death of his wife and now his best friend that he has forgotten his obligations to the kingdom. I’m told that he can’t even bear to look upon his son because he blames him for Æthelthryth’s death. Now he has saddled your mother and me with his upbringing.’
‘Is that such an arduous responsibility?’
‘Not in itself, but he will be a strong contender for the throne as he grows up and that will make us enemies. The next king may well decide to eliminate him and, because I am now his guardian, my family is vulnerable too. This is a mess.’
‘You don’t think the Witan will elect him with you as regent then?’
‘No, I do not. No-one can prove that I was involved in Oswulf’s assassination now that Bleddyn has disappeared, but the rumours still circulate. I am therefore tainted. I’ll be surprised if I remain as hereræswa under the new king.’
The Witan eventually chose Alchred, Ealdorman of Loidis, to succeed Æthelwold. He claimed to be an ætheling in that he was descended from Eadric, Ida’s fourth son. His cause was supported by the archbishop, mainly because the man was married to his niece, Osgifu, brother of King Oswulf.
I had spoken eloquently in favour of the baby Ethelred as the last descendent of King Æthelfrith, the first King of a united Northumbria, but few wanted a child on the throne after what happened when his grandfather, Osred, was a boy king.
There were other contenders but all the churchmen followed the archbishop’s lead, even Cynewulf. It helped that Alchred was a devout Christian and had even talked about sending missionaries across to pagan Germania. I watched gloomily as the gold circlet was placed upon his head by Ecgbert and then we all lined up to swear him fealty.
When it came to my turn he gave me an icy stare and bent forward to whisper in my ear.
‘You and I need to talk about the murder of my wife’s brother. I know you sent the boy Bleddyn to him and he is rumoured to have entered Oswulf’s chamber just before he was killed. Then Æthelwold sent him back to you. This stinks worse than fish left out in the sun. You will come to see me at Eoforwīc next month where we can discuss this matter properly.’
I nodded, my heart in my boots. Once Alchred questioned Roswitha he would have all the proof he needed to convict me of complicity in Regicide.
Chapter Eight – The Court of Charlemagne
764 to 770
The wind in my hair and the salt spray in my face as the birlinn crashed through wave after wave did much to lift my spirits. I felt the brooding menace posed by Alchred’s accession to the throne lifting to be replaced by a sense of freedom as Bebbanburg dropped below the horizon behind us.
I grinned at Bleddyn – or Anarawd as he was now called – and he grinned back. The young boy had changed; now he was a brawny lad of seventeen and one of the sailors who formed the permanent crew. The rowers were found from amongst the warriors of my warband.
Late autumn was not the time to venture across the German Ocean but I had little choice. Just when I had inherited Bebbanburg and been given Islandshire to govern I had to abandon both and flee the kingdom. I was under no illusion that Alchred would find me guilty and execute me and I also feared for the safety of my family and little Ethelred. Alchred might have a reputation as a devoutly religious man but he was also known for his vindictiveness.
Consequently, at the age of forty I had gone into exile. I took my family, my brother and his wife, the servants and those warriors who wanted to come with me and we set sail in three birlinns and two knarrs for Frankia. I was gratified that most of my men decided to accompany us, even Cerdic, the captain of the warband, and many other married men came with their families. I already had a warehouse in Paris, which was my trading base on the Continent, and that is where I intended to settle. I could earn a comfortable living as a merchant. It was not what I was used to, or what I wanted to do, but there was little other option unless I wanted to become either a pirate or a mercenary captain.
With a sigh I left the prow and went aft to check on my family. The boys were fine but Hilda was a poor sailor and had been violently sick as soon as we hit the choppy motion of the open sea. Thankfully she was sleeping and I left her to the care of her slaves. Beckoning the boys to follow me, I emerged from the awning that had been erected to give my family some shelter and privacy.
My sons were now ten and twelve and, whilst their mother wasn’t there to panic about their safety, I thought it was a good opportunity to teach them how to climb the rigging. I had been taught as a boy but now, at the age of forty I was happy to leave such antics to younger men. After a quick word to the captain I called Anarawd across to teach the boys the technique. The mast was supported by eight stays, one each fore and aft, three each side attached to the gunwale. Two of the latter formed a double brace, spaced a foot apart with ropes tied horizontally every six inches to act as a ladder.
This was how the lookout climbed to the junction of the spar - from which the sail was suspended - and the mast. It was also how the sail was reefed. The sailors and ship’s boys climbed up to the lookout’s position and edged out along the spar with their feet gripping a slack rope behind the sail between the end of the spar and the mast. They were then able to haul the sail up and tie the reefing points whilst the ship was hove to. It was a skill that took time to master. The rope could swing to and fro quite alarmingly in a pitching sea and many a boy had fallen to his death: either being crushed when they landed inside the boat, or drowning if he landed in the sea as precious few could swim.
However, the object of today’s game was to race up either side of the rope ladder and touch the bare feet of the lookout. It took Octa a little longer than the smaller Uuffa to get the hang of climbing, but when he felt that both boys were ready Anarawd glanced my way. I nodded and he yelled ‘go.’
At first Uuffa took the lead but then Octa’s greater strength and stamina allowed him to catch up. I was delighted when both my sons slapped the feet of the amused lookout at the same time.
‘It’s a tie,’ I called
up at the two grinning boys, their eyes alight with excitement.
Then I was brought down to earth by a scream behind me. I turned around to see that Hilda had woken and was standing behind me, her face a picture of horror.
‘Get down here right now!’ she screamed at them.
‘Stay right where you are.’ I called before turning to confront my wife.
‘Are you mad? Do you want to kill them?’ I asked her. ‘If they came down at speed in response to the urgency your cry demanded one or both would be in danger of falling. Going up at speed, now that they have been taught how to do it, is relatively easy. Coming down is not and needs to be done calmly and slowly.’
‘They should never have been up there in the first place,’ she shouted at me, her face almost purple with rage. ‘What were you thinking of?’
‘Preparing them to be men,’ I told her curtly. ‘I did it when I was a boy and so did Renweard, and my father before us. I took in a reef in a strong blow when I was thirteen. Their boyhood is fast becoming a thing of the past, Hilda. If the ship’s boys can do it, they need to be able to as well, if they want to earn respect.’
Hilda said nothing for a moment but the angry glare spoke volumes. She glanced at the sailors and the grinning warriors.
‘We’ll continue this conversation later when we’re alone. Now get my sons down from there.’
She retreated to the awning and I told the boys to come down slowly.
Hilda said nothing to me for the rest of the voyage but I heard an angry exchange between her and our sons. I went to intervene but I stopped myself just in time. I was on their side and I decided that I would only make matters worse.
Aix-la-Chapelle was the capital of the King of the Franks, Pipin the Short, the first Carolingian monarch. He controlled Neustria, Frisia and Austrasia whilst his elder brother, Carloman, ruled Swabia and Burgundy. However, Paris was still the major centre for commerce and the king or his elder son visited there from time to time to hold court in the old palace on an island in the centre of the River Seine.
When I arrived in December 764 Pipin had just turned fifty and his elder son, Charles, who was twenty two, assisted him to run the kingdom. Matters were complicated because the original kingdom had been divided between Pipin and his brother when their father died. I gathered that it was quite usual on the Continent for a father’s kingdom to be divided amongst all his sons under something called Salic Law. Charles had a thirteen year old brother and on Pipin’s death the kingdom would be further divided. It was an idiotic arrangement that was destined to make brothers bitter rivals and it weakened the kingdom overall.
I was required to present myself at court if I wanted to settle in Frankia as an exiled noble. Thankfully I was saved the journey to Aix-la-Chapelle as Charles was on one of his infrequent visits to Paris. I had taken Renweard, Octa and Uuffa with me as well as Cerdic and two of my warriors to clear a path through the crowded streets. Hilda still wasn’t speaking to me so she stayed at the place I’d rented pro tem. As we rode I couldn’t help but draw a favourable comparison between Paris and the streets of Eoforwīc, Lundenwic and Loidis.
Here all the important buildings, the homes of the nobles and rich merchants were built of stone and the main church – that of the Monastery of Saint-Germain-des-Prés – had been in existence for over two hundred years, long before Lindisfarne Monastery was founded. The church was both larger and more magnificent than any which existed anywhere in England.
Of course, there were the usual wattle and daub and timber hovels of the poor and somewhat better built huts occupied by the artisans, like any other town or settlement. As usual the streets were muddy and strewn with filth but, as we crossed the timber bridge onto the Île de la Cité, we found the streets on the far side were paved with small stones like a Roman road. There was rubbish and other detritus in the gutters but the main thoroughfare was clear.
Our horses’ hooves sounded loud in my ears as the noise of them striking the stones reverberated off the buildings that lined the street from the bridge to the gateway that led into the palace. We were challenged as we reached the entrance and had to surrender all our weapons before we were allowed to proceed. Boys came running to take our horses as we reached the doorway into the king’s hall. We dismounted and, leaving Cerdic and his men to make sure our horses were properly cared for, we climbed the stone steps up to the magnificent doorway.
The construction was all in stone, but not rough cut as in our few stone buildings. The masons had faced each exposed surface so that it was perfectly flat; the chisel marks showed how painstaking this work must have been.
We were met just inside the hall by a man who introduced himself in Latin as the princeps domus, a term I had last heard at the Mercian court. No doubt Offa had got the idea from the Continent. I had learnt quite soon after arriving that there were dozens of different languages and dialects spoken in Frankia. Each region seemed to have several. Thankfully nobles and the clergy spoke Latin as a matter of course.
The man told us to proceed through the door in front of us and wait to be summoned forward to the throne. Unlike every other hall I’d been in, where the entrance door led directly into the main hall, here there was a room between the entrance and the hall. I thought it a good idea as it kept the cold wind, rain and snow from blowing into the hall every time someone entered. It was an idea I intended to copy if I was ever allowed to return to Bebbanburg.
The hall was big, it was packed and it was cold. There was no central hearth, just a brazier in each corner which made little difference, except to produce smoke, not all of which made it through the holes in the sloping ceiling above. Even for early January it was cold and the stone walls and floor seemed to suck the heat out of you. It may have been my imagination, but I thought it was colder inside than outside. But the hall was undoubtedly impressive.
Prince Charles sat on a raised dais at the far end of the hall. A servant would come and find someone in the crowd and take him, or them, to stand at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the throne where they would wait their turn to go up and have a brief word with the prince. It struck me as being all rather formal and a bit pompous. No English noble would take kindly to being told what to do by a servant, however grand his designation. However, I was a stranger here, and one seeking refuge at that, so I waited my turn with as much patience as I could muster.
My companions had expected to accompany me, but they were rudely told to stay where they were. The prince only wanted to see me. That angered me but I tried not to show it as I followed the servant towards the throne.
‘Ah, Lord Seofon, welcome to Frankia,’ Charles said in Latin when it was my turn to walk up the steps. ‘I understand that you were the last King of Northumbria’s army commander. Why are you now an exile?’
‘Northumbria is not a safe place for the friends of the last king, Domine,’ I replied with a smile.
‘So I understand,’ he replied, but without returning my smile. ‘In fact I have a letter here from King Alchred asking me to return you to Northumbria where you are wanted for regicide.’
My mouth dropped open in surprise and I felt physically sick. It sounded as if I and my family had walked into a trap.
‘I therefore find myself in something of a quandary,’ he went on. ‘Offa of Mercia is growing too powerful and is charging too high a levy on trade between our two countries. I therefore need to cultivate Alchred and support him against Offa; at the same time I want him to lower the tariff he charges on trade between us so that we can export to Northumbria instead of the south of England. You understand my predicament?’
‘Perfectly, Domine. In your shoes I wouldn’t hesitate.’
He looked at me in surprise. At least I’d wiped away the look of disinterest he had effected up to now.
‘Unless, of course, I had something more valuable to offer you,’ I continued.
‘And have you?’
‘I think so. You have soldiers but not much in the wa
y of fighting ships, I think.’
‘And why should I need them?’
I lowered my voice so that the hovering servant, impatiently waiting to usher me away so that he could introduce the next man in line, couldn’t hear.
‘You father is dying by all accounts and he plans to divide the kingdom between you and your brother. In addition your uncle rules over part of Austrasia and Frisia – both of which have a long coastline on the German Ocean. If you wish to expand your part of the kingdom, you might find having the ability to land men all along that coast useful.’
I knew that the Franks had no warships to speak of. We had developed boats that could cross the sea when the Angles, Jutes and Saxons had first raided and then invaded what was then called Britannia. These had been craft that were rowed. We learned the art of sailing from the Scots who settled in Dalriada. They had adapted the old Roman galleys, which were unsuited to rough seas, into sleeker, more sea-worthy ships.
The trading ships that the Franks operated kept to the coast, as the Romans had. Sailing across large stretches of water in all weathers was a very different matter. I had learned all this, not from my time at Lindisfarne where study was almost entirely confined to the scriptures, but from my father who had an inquisitive mind and had talked to those who had studied ancient books and scrolls on the Continent, and in the libraries at Jarrow and Wearmouth.
However, I felt that the design of our ships could still be improved. They needed a higher freeboard and a broader beam to make them more stable but I had never had the time to develop my ideas.
My mind had wandered and I realised that Charles was speaking to me again.
‘I will consider what you have said. In the meantime you may settle here under my protection for the moment; and you may operate as a merchant for now.’