THE POWER AND THE GLORY

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Really? Very well, if you’re sure; I’m certain Catinus would welcome the company.’

  ‘What’s the real reason you wanted to come with me,’ Catinus asked him quietly the following morning as they rode south west at a gentle pace.

  ‘I wanted to get away from the glowering looks my elder brother keeps giving me,’ he replied flippantly.

  Catinus gave him a pained look.

  ‘Oh, very well. My father is getting old and, whilst I hope he’ll live a good few years yet, it’s evident that there will be a struggle between Alchfrith and me for the throne as soon as he dies. I would be lying if I said I’m not ambitious, but I’m also convinced that Alchfrith will make a weak king. He’s under the influence of that weasel, Wilfrid, for a start. Now there’s a man who craves power and glory if ever I saw one.’

  ‘So you want to sound me out and find out where my loyalties would lie, assuming I outlive the king, of course.’

  ‘I see that subtlety is not one of your qualities.’

  ‘No, but loyalty is. I will support whoever the king wants to succeed him and whoever the Witan elects.’

  ‘And if they are different men?’

  ‘Then God help the kingdom. We need to remain united in the face of our enemies.’

  ~~~

  Three days later the synod convened. The debate was to be conducted by Bishop Colman, Abbess Hild of Whitby and Abbot Eata of Melrose on behalf of the Celtic Church, whilst Bishop Agilbert, Abbot Wilfrid of Ripon, the aged John the Deacon and the Queen’s chaplain, Romanus, spoke for the Church of Rome. Oswiu invited Colman to speak first and he kept his arguments short and to the point.

  ‘Cyning, we who were educated on Iona follow the teachings of the blessed Saint Columba of blessed memory. He instructed us to eschew the trappings of this world and to embrace poverty. The Romans, on the other hand, love wealth and temporal power. As for setting the date of Easter, we follow the method laid down by Saint John the Evangelist, which is to coincide it with the Jewish Passover.’

  Agilbert spoke next but Frankish was his native language and his English was so heavily accented that no-one understood him. Therefore Wilfrid was given permission to speak on his behalf and under his direction. He contested Colman’s claim to use of John the Evangelist’s method of calculation, saying that they didn’t adhere to it properly. But that was irrelevant in any case; the Roman Church celebrated Easter using the method of calculation laid down by Saint Peter. He reminded everyone present that it was Saint Peter who held in his hands the keys to the Gates of Heaven before going on to point out that every Christian on the Continent and even the Orthodox Churches in the East followed Saint Peter’s directive. It was only the Irish and the Caledonians who clung to the mistaken method of calculation advocated by Colman.

  After the others had rehearsed similar arguments Oswiu asked Colman if it was true that Saint Peter held the keys to Heaven. When he reluctantly admitted that this was so, Oswiu reached his decision.

  CHAPTER TWELVE – ALCFRITH’S REVOLT

  664 AD

  Catinus was loaned a birlinn by Ecgfrith in which to return to Kinneddar and he made haste to depart Whitby immediately the synod was over - before Oswiu remembered that he wanted an account of the situation in the north, Catinus’ ostensible reason for being there.

  It was therefore only sporadically that tidings reached him about subsequent events in Northumbria. These reports were often unclear and conflicting so it was only much later in the year that he understood what had transpired.

  Colman had had a blazing row with the king as soon as Oswiu had announced his decision in favour of the Roman Church’s method of calculating Easter. He hadn’t said that he had accepted the Pope as the ultimate spiritual authority, but everyone thought that was a foregone conclusion, given time. Colman had immediately left Lindisfarne for Iona in high dudgeon taking most of the monks there with him, including the Master of Novices. This left both Bruide and Lethlobar’s half-brother, Ruaidhrí, without a mentor.

  After the dust had settled Tuda, the prior, became bishop and abbot in Colman’s place but his term of office was cut short by another catastrophe - the plague returned.

  Bruide and Ruaidhrí had become good friends during the two years that they’d been at the monastery and the two debated what they should do in the circumstances.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here, not with the plague striking down those who are left, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Ruaidhrí replied. ‘I’m not an idiot. Besides, what’s the point? There is no-one to teach us and in any case our two years is nearly up. But what should we do?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you but I intend to return to my Kingdom of Prydenn. I might as well train as a warrior there as anywhere, and when I’m sixteen I shall claim my throne.’

  ‘Won’t that depend on King Oswiu?’

  ‘If he tries to stop me, I’ll fight him,’ the boy said fiercely.

  Ruaidhrí spluttered with laughter whilst Bruide clenched his fists ready to hit his friend.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was just the image that sprang to mind of you challenging the Bretwalda of the North to a fight.’

  Bruide lowered his fists but continued to glower at Ruaidhrí.

  ‘My accession is two years away, anything could happen before then. Oswiu might die.’

  ‘True, but I suspect that whichever of his sons inherits will want to keep his hold on Caledonia.’

  ‘Hopefully my fellow kings will join me in fighting for their independence.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I honestly don’t think they are going to listen to a sixteen year old boy, king or not. Besides Oswiu has brought peace and prosperity to Caledonia; why would they want to put that in jeopardy?’

  ‘Because we are Picts, not the slaves of some Anglian.’

  Ruaidhrí gave up. They’d had this argument before and all Bruide saw was his dream of a Pictland that was free to do as it wished; presumably start fighting amongst themselves again, thought Ruaidhrí gloomily.

  ‘How do we get to Prydenn then? I’m not even sure I know where it is.’

  ‘You’ll come with me?’

  ‘I might as well train as a warrior there as anywhere,’

  ‘Good. Well, we can make a start by trekking across the sands at low tide and making for Bebbanburg. Hopefully there are ships there that ply between the fortress and my kingdom as that’s where its ealdorman is.’

  ‘Will Lindisfarne survive as a monastery then?’ Catinus asked the two boys soon after their surprise arrival at Kinneddar.

  ‘The rumour when we left was that Eata was to become the new abbot and that he was bringing his prior, a man named Cuthbert, and several other monks over from Melrose. However, he was going to let the plague run its course first,’ Bruide replied.

  ‘So he’s also the new Bishop of Northumbria?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It was all rather confused, but the monks were saying that King Alchfrith had made Abbot Wilfrid the new bishop.’

  ‘Alchfrith? Not Oswiu?’

  ‘No, Oswiu is ill, close to dying some say.’

  Not for the first time Catinus cursed being so far away from the centre of power.

  ‘So where will Wilfrid be based? He can hardly live on Lindisfarne. That wouldn’t work, even if Eata and he didn’t hate the sight of each other.’

  ‘Some say he’s going to Frankia to be ordained bishop,’ Ruaidhrí put in.

  ‘Frankia? Why?’

  Both boys shrugged, then Catinus recalled that Wilfrid had spent some time there when he was studying. Perhaps he had a mentor there who he wanted to consecrate him? Still, it all seemed a little odd; there were several bishops in the south of England, not to mention the Archbishop of Cantwareburg himself, if he didn’t want a Celtic bishop to officiate.

  The true reason was that Wilfrid had managed to persuade Alchfrith to take advantage of the king’s illness and seize power. However, he was far too wily to be around if it all went wron
g. Afterwards he could return when it was safe to do so as the ordained Bishop of Northumbria.

  ~~~

  Ecgfrith had been wrong footed. By the time he’d heard about Oswiu’s illness Alchfrith had already taken possession of the town and declared himself his father’s heir.

  However, he hadn’t hesitated. He set off immediately from his estate with his small gesith and as many of his warband as were able to ride. Once close to the town he sent out scouts who told him that there was a camp beside the River Ouse which looked as if it contained between five hundred and a thousand men. Ecgfrith sucked his teeth at that. He had no more than forty of his own men with him.

  The local inhabitants seemed happy to tell him what he wanted to know and they confirmed that the town was in his brother’s hands, but not the king’s hall. That was defended by Oswiu’s gesith and warband and Queen Eanflæd had secured the gates against him. So far he seemed loathe to attack.

  ‘Presumably he’s waiting for my father’s death,’ Ecgfrith said to himself.

  He waited out of sight until just before dusk, when the gates would be shut for the night, then led his men at a canter towards the town on the side away from Alchfrith’s camp. The sentries made haste to close the gates until Ecgfrith called out to them.

  ‘Hold, in the name of King Oswiu. I’m Prince Ecgfrith and I demand entry to see my father.’

  The sentries on the gate hesitated, uncertain what to do. They were Deirans and under Alchfrith’s orders, but many of them regarded him as a foreigner because his mother had been a Briton from Rheged. In contrast, Ecgfrith was the son of Eanflæd, a Deiran princess. In the end they did nothing and Ecgfrith rode into Eoforwīc unopposed.

  Men watched from the side alleys but only one tried to stop them. He sent an arrow towards the prince, which ricocheted off his helmet. Almost without pausing, one of his gesith thrust his spear into the man’s belly and, letting go of it as the dying man collapsed, he turned his horse back onto the main street and rode on.

  Ecgfrith yelled who he was as they approached the palisade around the king’s hall and the gates swung open. Alchfrith’s men, who were supposed to be blockading the hall, were taken by surprise and they scattered out of the way of the cantering horsemen. Less than a minute late the gates crashed shut just after the last servant boy leading a packhorse had entered.

  Hearing the commotion outside and her son’s voice, Eanflæd rushed out to embrace him.

  ‘What’s the situation, mother,’ he asked once greetings had been exchanged.

  ‘Four of the seven eorls of Deira have already accepted your wretched half-brother as the king’s heir, but I don’t know what’s happening elsewhere in Northumbria. Even worse, there are rumours that Wulfhere is mobilising his army ready to attack us.’

  ‘And father, how is he?’

  ‘He still has a fever and is delirious; the physician thinks that it will either break soon or he will deteriorate and die.’

  ‘I’d like to go and see him, please.’

  He was shocked by the change in Oswiu. The virile, bear of a man he was used to had lost quite a lot of weight and he looked like a corpse as he lay on a bed of furs being bathed with cloths soaked in cold water. His complexion was pale, almost translucent and he was mumbling incoherently. Ecgfrith openly wept at the sight of the pathetic old man.

  He left the bedchamber and pulled himself together. Privately he thought that his father was near death’s door, but he didn’t say anything as his mother was obviously hoping that her constant prayers would bring him back to health.

  ‘We need to send out messengers to the three eorls in Deira who are loyal and to those who are nearest in Bernicia, such as the Eorl of Hexham, Ealdorman Alweo and the like. It’s a pity that Catinus is still stuck up in Prydenn. It would have been useful to have him here now.’

  ‘What about Alchfrith’s army who are camped outside the town? Won’t they intercept the messengers?’

  ‘Hopefully not if they ride out after dark. He’s not actually besieging us yet.’

  ‘No, but he does control the town.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to send some men in small groups to one of the gates to seize it for long enough. Hopefully it can be done without bloodshed.’

  The next morning Oswiu seemed a little better but the fever still raged. Ecgfrith had just come from seeing him when he was told that a small birlinn was coming up the River Ouse. Taking his gesith, he walked unhindered through the town and out of the river gate. He stood on the wharf, impatient to find out who the new arrivals were. To his surprise the only passenger who alighted was a monk; then he recognised Prior Cuthbert of Lindisfarne.

  ‘Cuthbert! What brings you here?’

  ‘The king does, lord. I dreamt he lives still. I hope the vision wasn’t false?’

  ‘No, but he is very ill and likely to die, I fear.’

  ‘You need more faith, Ecgfrith.’ The monk smiled to rob the mild rebuke of any offence. ‘May I see him?’

  ‘Of course, but prepare yourself. He isn’t the man you knew.’

  Cuthbert knelt by the bedside and ran his hands over the wasted body, praying as he did so. Whether co-incidentally or not, Oswiu stopped his delirious mumbling and fell into a deep sleep.

  ‘Leave him to rest. When he awakes the fever will have abated, but he’s not out of danger yet,’ he told the amazed crowd around the bed. ‘He’ll need broth when he’s conscious so he can build up his strength again. I need some sleep but I’ll come back in a few hours.’

  The crowd parted to let Cuthbert through and a servant guided him to the priest’s house near to the church. Once he’d rested the monk went into the church and prayed for an hour before returning to the king’s hall.

  Eanflæd rushed up to him as soon as he appeared.

  ‘Brother Cuthbert, we are all in your debt. You have saved the king’s life. His fever has gone and he is awake and lucid. I can never thank you enough.’

  ‘It wasn’t my doing, Síþwíf, but God’s. Thank him, not me. I’m merely His instrument.’

  The next morning the Eorl of Hexham arrived with his warband as did Alweo with his horsemen. They camped well away from Alchfrith’s men and the two contingents eyed each other warily. Alchfrith became alarmed later in the day when four more eorls arrived with their men and joined the other camp. Then the news came that the king was on the road to recovery.

  ‘What will you do, lord?’ Rægenhere asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Why isn’t your brother here when I need him,’ he asked.

  He was referring to Wilfrid, who was safe in Frankia. His chaplain already knew that Alchfrith wasn’t a particularly strong character but he hadn’t expected him to go to pieces quite so quickly.

  ‘If you want my advice, you’ll go into voluntary exile before King Oswiu demands to know why you raised an army to seize power.’

  ‘I only did it because I thought he was about to die and I wanted to prevent my bloody brother from getting his hands on the throne which is rightfully mine.’

  He stopped, realising he was ranting. He needed to think, but the more he thought the more he convinced himself that Rægenhere was right. He needed to put himself out of the reach of Oswiu and Ecgfrith. He could then bide his time, build up alliances secretly, and return when his father was truly dead.

  Not for one moment did he think about his wife, Kyneburga, in all this. She was under the misapprehension that her husband loved her but when he abandoned her without asking her if she wanted to accompany him - not even saying farewell - she realised that he didn’t love anyone but himself. Bitterly resentful at the way that she’d been treated, she entered a Mercian monastery as a nun. There her previous love for Alchfrith turned into a very unchristian hatred of the man and, by association, of all Northumbrians.

  ~~~

  Oswiu’s recovery was a slow process. The threat from Mercia never materialised once news of his miraculous recovery spread, as did Cuthbert’s fame as a healer. Now the ill and ma
imed flocked to Lindisfarne in the hope that he would cure them. It wasn’t what he wanted or had expected and he retreated to one of the small islands of the Inner Farne to escape them as much as to meditate.

  Oswiu formally deposed the absent Alchfrith as King of Deira and appointed Ecgfrith in his place. He also declared Wilfrid’s elevation to bishop null and void. Instead he appointed a priest named Chad to be Bishop of Northumbria. It was a move that was destined to lead to serious internal strife within the Church and eventual loss of face for Oswiu.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THE FALL OF ARDEWR

  666 to 667 AD

  Catinus had breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the sixteen year old Bruide walk down the aisle of the new church at Kinneddar towards Utta, the Bishop of Prydenn, who was standing in front of the altar. Morleo, Bran of Cait and the Eorl of Prydenn stood beside him in the front row of the congregation with Leoflaed and their children behind him. His daughter Hereswith, now aged nine and six year old Alaric stood quietly by her side, craning their necks to try and see what was going on. Osfrid was only two and considered too young to witness Bruide’s enthronement as King of Penntir.

  He’d been disappointed that the high king, Drest, hadn’t come, nor had the other two kings. It was evident that Drest was plotting something but Catinus had been unable to find out any details. He suspected that Bruide and Morleo knew but, if so, they hadn’t confided in him.

  Tomorrow he and his family, gesith and servants would leave by ship and return to Bebbanburg at long last. It meant that he no longer ranked as an eorl, but he couldn’t care less. There were far fewer eorls in Northumbria in any case. The three who had supported Alchfrith had fled abroad with him and their lands had been distributed to five new nobles who’d been given the title of ealdorman.

  Oswiu had continued his reorganisation and, when Kenric died, his son, Beornheth – Cuthbert’s younger brother – had become an ealdorman. The Eorl of Dùn Èideann was now termed the Eorl of Lothian and the former British kingdom of Goddodin had been divided into a total of six shires, each with its own ealdorman under the eorl’s leadership.