“Edwin, king of Deira, sovereign of Bernicia, ruler of Lindsey and Elmet, lord of the isles of Anglesey and Man, by right Bretwalda, High King of Britain, brings greetings and gifts to Cearl, king of Mercia.”
The rafter made the courtesy but he did not move his craft any nearer. “Hail, Edwin, Bretwalda, High King. Cearl, king of Mercia, greets and welcomes you. He is eager to meet with you, for well he remembers the kindness you ever showed his dearly missed daughter.”
“For his part,” Guthlaf answered, “Edwin, High King, is ever desirous to speak with Cearl, king of Mercia, and waits upon this shore, ready to pass over into Tamworth.”
“I stand ready to bring the High King over the river, and his sons if they be here, and in turns the rest of the High King’s party so long as they be willing to deposit their swords and spears with the king’s door warden before passing into the royal precinct.”
“Is this the courtesy shown to the High King? That he be asked to leave his sword at the door, as if he were a travel-stained rapscallion of no worth.”
The rafter spread his hands placatingly. “There is no insult here – the king’s warmaster, with the king’s blessing, lays down this law upon all so that in the heat that sometimes comes upon men with feasting and drinking, there be no blood spilled and feuds entered, but rather friendship and good cheer.”
Guthlaf began to answer but Edwin held up his hand. “We will leave our weapons with the king’s door warden, so long as he undertakes upon his blood to care for them and return them when we ask.”
“He will undertake that right gladly, lord,” said the rafter, bowing his head to Edwin.
“Then we stand ready.” Edwin dismounted, and his men followed suit.
The rafter pulled his craft back across the river and grounded it upon the bank. It was broad enough to take three or four horses and men, so Edwin, his sons and Guthlaf led their animals upon the planks.
As the rafter strained to pull the now heavy laden raft off the bank, Edwin soothed his horse. Guthlaf, seeing the man struggle, gave his horse into Eadfrith’s charge and laid hold of the rope as well. Together, the two men hauled the raft back into the stream, whereupon the rafter pulled it to the far bank.
The Northumbrians led their animals ashore. The rafter made the courtesy, then pulled back across the river to start the task of relaying the rest of the party across the Tame.
Edwin, his sons and his warmaster led their horses to the gate in the stockade. The door warden made his courtesy, then accepted their swords gravely. His eyes widened when Edwin handed him the blade forged by Wældhelm, and this sword he laid carefully down, apart from the others.
“You need have no fear, lord,” he said. “I will guard your sword well, with my own blood.”
“I would have your blood if it were lost,” said Edwin.
“I would give my blood right willingly if I lost it,” said the door warden. “Now enter, for the king is expecting you.”
“Send the rest of the men after us when they have crossed the river,” added Guthlaf.
Passing through the gate, they entered the royal compound of Tamworth. Ahead and above them, standing high upon its platform, was the great hall, the gold and red painted designs on its great timbers gleaming in the sunlight. As they walked across the wide expanse of the compound, their practised eyes took in the encircling palisade, the workshops and smithy, the barns and dwellings, the well and the foodstores that made Tamworth both a grand royal dwelling and one well able to withstand a siege. The men, women and children working and playing in the compound all stopped what they were doing to watch as the small company strode across the flagstones towards the great hall and climbed the steps up to the platform.
The door to the great hall stood closed and before it stood four guards, fully armed. Although none of the men drew their weapons, they stood with hands upon hilts, ready.
“Who seeks audience with the king?” asked the hall warden.
Guthlaf again stepped forward, it not being meet that a king should announce himself.
“Who are you to ask this?” he said.
“I am Beocca, hall ward to Cearl, king.”
“Know this then, Beocca, hall ward of Cearl, that here stands Edwin, High King, lord of Deira, lord of Bernicia, king of Northumbria and Elmet and Lindsey, master of the islands, and he comes not to seek audience but to grant it.”
Beocca’s grip on his sword hilt tightened, but he did not draw it.
“This is the great hall of Cearl, king of Mercia, lord of the Tomsæte. He alone is king in these lands.”
“And he was once my father-in-law.” Edwin stepped forward. “You may not remember me, Beocca, but I remember you: so short, I had to lift you up on your horse and then you fell off the other side. How you howled!”
The other three guards strove to keep their faces straight, and failed. Beocca blushed beneath his helmet.
“However, you got straight back on the horse again, even though you were still crying. You were a brave boy and I see you have become a brave man; few others would keep me standing at the door. Whose command do you wait upon? Cearl would not have me shuffling my feet on his doorstep.”
Beocca made the courtesy, clashing his forearm against his mail.
“Your pardon, lord, but the king’s warmaster gave orders that none should be admitted into the king’s presence without his leave.”
“And who is Cearl’s warmaster now?”
“It is Penda, lord.”
“Ah, Penda. I have heard tell of this man. I would meet him, but after I have met the king. Stand aside, Beocca son of Berhtred. You have done your duty and more, but it is time now for kings to take counsel with each other.”
Beocca hesitated, then bowed his head and stepped back. “Enter, lord, and may you find the king willing to greet you.”
The Northumbrians entered the great hall. Light streamed through the door after them. Pillars of wood marched down either side of the hall; tall smooth beech trunks painted in intricate designs of gold and red and blue were interspersed with broader oak pillars hung with rich cloth. Rich tapestries dangled upon the walls, telling in pictures the deeds of the ancestors of the kings of Mercia, stories of the gods and the victories of Cearl and his forefathers. A great fire burned in the centre of the hall, even though it was summer, and the air within sweltered, heavy with smoke and sweat. Slaves and servants moved silently around the edges of the hall, but there were few men seated at table or gathered in conversation. Those who were there stood and watched silently as the Northumbrians advanced down the centre of the hall, walking between the flanking rows of pillars.
At the head of the hall another fire burned and behind it, beyond the high table, sat the king, flanked by his bodyguards. Cearl’s head rested upon his hand and his eyes were downcast, covered in shadow, so that he seemed a man in deep thought, but he did not stir as the Northumbrians approached. Despite the warmth in the hall, Cearl had wrapped around his shoulders a cloak, trimmed with wolf fur, and fine leather boots, also fur lined, upon his feet. He was seated upon a wooden throne, carved from a single trunk of oak and scored with intricate patterns, leaping animals chasing each other around his head, their eyes inlaid with garnets and emeralds, their limbs leafed with gold. In the firelight the throne glistened.
The Northumbrians stopped before the throne. In the hall all movement had ceased. Even the slaves stopped to watch. From outside there came the noise of dogs barking and distant conversation, but all was silent in the great hall.
“Cearl.” Edwin spoke. “Wife father.”
The man upon the throne slowly raised his head. Although in truth he had been asleep a moment before, there was no befuddlement in his eyes.
“Edwin,” he answered. “Daughter husband.”
Cearl’s recognition of the visitors brought a slackening of the tension in the hall. Conversa
tions resumed. Slaves returned to their tasks. The hands of the bodyguards rested more lightly upon their sword hilts.
Cearl held out his hand towards Edwin. It trembled slightly. Edwin stepped forward and took the hand in his own. The skin felt dry and cracked, like a leaf when no rain has fallen, but the flesh was cold.
A tear pricked the corner of Cearl’s eye.
“Would that you had not come, daughter husband, and seen me like this: old, unmanned.” The king spoke in a whisper so that only Edwin might hear his words.
But Edwin gripped the old man’s hand more fiercely. “Cearl King, you alone of all the monarchs in Britain pay me no homage.”
“That is in honour of Cwenburg, my daughter and your wife, and for no other reason, Edwin, as you well know.”
“In part it is for her honour and memory, but it is also for the home you gave me when I was in exile, and the kindness you showed me, and the escape you allowed me when Æthelfrith demanded my head.”
Cearl brushed the tear away before it could fall. “I miss Cwenburg still, Edwin. Do you?”
The High King fell silent for a moment. Here, in this hall, where he had first met Cwenburg, her memory still lingered, though it had faded under the abrasion of events.
“Yes, I miss her.”
“It is not right that a man should outlive all his children, Edwin, but I have outlived all mine. All dead; all dead save me, their father. I have known sixty summers, but in truth they feel like sixty winters, and their chill never leaves my bones, nor their frost my hair.” The old king stared into Edwin’s face, his eyes showing the first rheum of age. “Why am I still alive when they are all dead?”
“Not all,” said Edwin. “For in the child, the parent lives on. Wife father, here are the sons of Cwenburg, my sons, princes of Northumbria, heirs to the High King: Osfrith and Eadfrith.”
On cue, the two young men bowed to Cearl. The old king beheld them in wonder, his eyes moving from one face to the other and back again.
“Yes, yes, I can see her, my beloved Cwenburg. I can see her in you.” He held out his arms and now they were trembling with emotion, not palsy. The two young men approached and the old king embraced them, smoothing their hair with his hands, taking their faces each in turn and holding them close that he might see them the more closely. “Not only Cwenburg; I see in you boys how I used to be when I was young and strong, and all men feared me. Now age sits so heavily upon me, and the young men no longer come to me, ring giver, for glory and war, and my hall is empty save for the most faithful of the faithful.” Cearl shook his head. “I do not know what would have happened, Edwin, daughter husband, if it were not for the valour and ardour of my warmaster, Penda. Young men flock to him, for they know he will fill their arms with rings and their glory with war, but he does all this still in my name.”
“That is – remarkable,” said Edwin. “I have heard of your warmaster from other sources too. Come, where is he, Cearl. I should like to meet him.”
“He should return soon, for he has been out raiding and receiving the tribute that is yet given to me, but we were given word that he should be returning this day. Come though, let us eat and drink, that I may speak with my grandsons and see reflected, if only dimly, my Cwenburg for a while.”
“That would be welcome indeed, grandfather king,” said Eadfrith, “for we have ridden far.”
“And riding is thirsty work, particularly for me,” said Osfrith.
“He rides like a sack of oats,” Eadfrith added, to the old man’s evident delight.
“Come, come,” said Cearl, “mayhap it is the horse and not the rider. After we have taken our fill, I will show you my horses, that you might take your pick. They are fine animals, and on them, I’d wager, you would look like a king.” Cearl looked around for a slave and clapped his hands. “Food and drink for our guests.” The slave was about to rush to the kitchen when Cearl stopped him. “And bring me word when Penda returns – he must meet my heirs.”
That single word rippled around the great hall. Heirs. Cearl, king of Mercia, lord of the Tomsæte, was acknowledging his grandsons as his heirs. Slave whispered to servant, bodyguard to thegn, priest to scop, and they all turned to examine the new heirs to their king.
For his part Edwin said nothing. He had expected to have to work his way towards Cearl accepting his sons as heirs, rather than having the kingdom presented to them while he was still making his greetings, but he was not about to question such a turn of fortune. Indeed, it seemed that all had gone well since he had invited the new god of the Christians to demonstrate his power. As slaves and servants brought drink – wine, mead, beer and ale – and food in ever increasing amounts, laying them on the high table and filling those tables in the great hall that had men attending them, Edwin settled to eating and drinking quietly, allowing his sons to monopolize the conversation with Cearl. After all, they had to learn the ins and outs of the kingdom that would one day be theirs. Guthlaf sat in silence with the king, filling his stomach with food and drink but stocking his memory with details of the hall and the men in it, from which hand they used for the knife to the location of the subsidiary smoke holes in the roof. Although Cearl was embracing his grandsons with all the fervour of an old man not long for life, the workings of wyrd and the caprice of the fate singers could mean that in a year’s time they would be trying to burn down this hall rather than being received in it.
The meal slowly turned into a feast. Edwin’s own men joined the lower tables, doubling at a stroke the number of warriors in the hall. There were still many empty tables, however, and Edwin and Guthlaf noted the lack of warriors in the king’s household. Cearl, seeing Edwin’s appraising glance, nodded.
“It was not as this in your day, was it, Edwin? Then young men came from all over this land, and from over sea, hungry for glory, greedy for gold, and my hall rang with song and story and boast. But as the years covered me and drained the strength and vigour from my marrow, the young men came no longer, and these halls grew quiet and drear. My heart beats proud now to see my grandsons, the image of my beloved daughter, filling the hall with laughter and cheer and promise.” Cearl leaned closer to Edwin, and while to any watcher he appeared to be speaking normally, he whispered, “Some among the men of Mercia will not welcome sons of Northumbria as lord – tell them to be on guard against Smala and Selred and Cutha – but they, and you, can rely on Penda. He will bring the men of Mercia around to you.”
“I look forward to meeting this Penda. It is… unusual to find such devotion today.”
“That is what I tell myself, and give thanks each day to the fates that in my old age they sent me such a man to keep my kingdom safe and hand it on to my grandsons.” Cearl peered towards the end of the hall, blinking. “He has arrived. He is here.”
A party of men were advancing up the centre of the hall, stained with the dust and sweat of summer travel. Whispers and greetings followed them as they went. King Cearl’s champion, his warmaster, had returned. At the head of the group was a man of normal stature, certainly not a giant like Wældhelm the smith, but Edwin noted the vigour of his tread and the fluidity of his movement. In battle, Edwin thought, such a man would favour speed over strength, feint over ferocity. His companions, his hearth troops, were men of similar mould, lithe and quick stepping, their travelling cloaks trimmed with fur and edged with gold. They wore rich buckles, and their cloaks were pinned with gold and garnet, but Penda’s own clothes were plain and he wore only a simple buckle made of iron. It was his bearing that told of his leadership, not his accoutrements.
Penda walked rapidly up the hall, and swiftly, fluidly, went down on one knee before Cearl, bowing his head, then raising it to say, “Hail, Cearl, king.”
“You are right welcome, Penda, warmaster, most faithful and trusted of my thegns. Stand and greet our guests.”
Penda rose to his feet with the same physical grace that he had shown w
hen kneeling. He looked curiously towards Edwin and the other Northumbrians at the high table, in particular at the two young men seated on either side of Cearl, but Edwin could see no trace of rancour or ill will upon his face, only natural inquisitiveness.
“Penda,” said Cearl, “warmaster, counsellor, friend, I present to you Edwin, daughter husband, whom I received in his exile many years ago, when I was as you are now, a man of strength. I gave to him in marriage my most beloved daughter, Cwenburg, and he returned to the glory that was his, reclaiming his throne and much more besides, as you no doubt know.”
Edwin, who could tell that the old man was enjoying himself, watched the warmaster closely throughout Cearl’s oration, but there was again only pleasant interest.
Penda made the courtesy to Edwin, but then he went further and bowed his head.
“High King,” Penda said, “I greet and welcome you.”
Edwin got to his feet. He was, he saw, half a head taller than Penda. The warmaster had the dark hair and build that was common among the Britons, but the ruddy complexion and pale eyes of a Saxon or Angle. The Mercians were Angles, but Penda looked only in part Angle to Edwin’s eyes. Whatever his background, the warmaster showed no sign of discomfort under Edwin’s scrutiny, but returned the High King’s gaze naturally and openly.
“Penda, I give you greeting,” said Edwin, “and my gratitude for your care and valour in defence of the realm of Cearl, wife father. We have come from the land of the West Saxons, where we slew their underkings and received the fealty of Cwichelm, their overking.” At this news Edwin at last saw a reaction from Penda: a slight tightening of the jaw and narrowing of his eyes as the implications of the Northumbrian victory became immediately clear to the warmaster. Edwin was nonetheless relieved: if he had been unable to perceive any reaction to such important news, he would have had to conclude that Penda was entirely unreadable and therefore a threat so great that he would have had to be removed forthwith. But now that he had seen behind Penda’s mask, he could consider allowing the man to live.
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