THE POWER AND THE GLORY

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Some people never learn, do they father,’ Ælfwine chuckled from his perch near his father’s feet.

  ‘Why you insolent puppy.’

  For a moment Ælfwine thought that the incensed prelate was going to kick him and his smile broadened. If he goaded the man into doing something really foolish, perhaps his father would have an excuse to exile him once more, if not imprison him.

  ‘Be quiet, Ælfwine, you are not helping,’ his mother told him with some asperity.

  ‘You are here to learn boy, not make comments, however accurate,’ Oswiu said, supporting his wife whilst, at the same time, showing his son that he agreed with him.

  Wilfrid stood his ground. Let no-one say that he lacked perseverance.

  ‘Hexham, Cyning? If you return it to me I’ll complete it at no cost to you. The man who’s there now has done nothing since I left and I’m told that the monks live in hovels.’

  ‘Oh, very well. You’ll have to find a suitable post for the present abbot though, and I’ll need to approve it.’

  ‘I understand that the Abbot of Abernethy in the land of the barbarian Picts is close to death. I’ll write to Bishop Conomultus tonight to suggest the former Abbot of Hexham as his replacement.’

  He knew that mention of Conomultus would annoy Oswiu and he was correct. He hadn’t forgiven his former chaplain for deserting him. The king grew even more annoyed when he imagined Wilfrid figuratively rubbing his hands together with glee. It might cost the bishop quite something to finish the building work, if he did what he’d promised, but the income from the vills that the monastery owned would more than make up for that.

  ‘Cyning, there’s a messenger here from King Ecgfrith.’

  Oswiu waved a hand in dismissal and Wilfrid made a curt bow, passing the mud splattered messenger on his way out. The man pulled a sheet of vellum from the leather cylinder he was carrying and handed it to the king. He broke the seal and read the contents with mounting disquiet. He skipped the usual flowery greetings and scanned the rest of it before reading it again more slowly.

  Father,

  Stories are beginning to reach me here at Dùn Èideann that cause me considerable concern. Some time ago it would seem that Bruide, King of Penntir, invaded Ardewr and drove Morleo out of his kingdom. No one is certain what has happened to him, but he is probably a fugitive in his own land. Bruide seems to have shown considerable cruelty, disturbing in one so young, in suppressing all resistance to his rule. He appears to have terrorised the population of Ardewr into accepting him as their king, ruthlessly eradicating all opposition, so he now effectively rules the largest kingdom in the Land of the Picts, other than the sparsely uninhabited Cait in the far north.

  There are rumours that he intends to oust your eorl from Prydenn next. If he succeeds he will be powerful enough to remove Drest and take the high kingship. My suspicion is that he intends to unite the Picts under his rule, not as high king, but as king of a united Pictland.

  We know that he hates Northumbrians, and us Anglians in particular. If he succeeds we will have lost control of Caledonia because I doubt that Strathclyde or Dalriada will be able to stand up to him. That will, of course, make Goddodin and Rheged vulnerable to attack.

  My instinct is to strike now and kill Bruide before it’s too late, but I will, of course, be guided by you.

  Your loving son,

  Ecgfrith of Deira

  If only Oswiu had supported Ecgfrith the history of Britain might have been very different, but he was old and worn-out. He told his son to have patience until the situation was clearer; only if Bruide attacked Prydenn would he intervene.

  ~~~

  One minute the sea was calm and there was scarcely a breath of wind; the next moment it was as if the ancient furies had emerged from the underworld and attacked them. The wind struck the ships, causing them to shudder to a halt and then move backwards, despite the efforts of their rowers. The sea was whipped into spume laden peaks and deep valleys that came at them from all directions, causing the ships to heal over first one way and then the other. Seawater crashed into the three craft, threatening to swamp them. Men baled furiously with anything that came to hand – leather buckets, helmets, even the piss pots that the rowers used so that they wouldn’t have to leave their posts.

  The rowers heaved on their oars one moment and backed them the next to try and keep the bows head on to the lashing wind. Ruaidhrí struggled to keep the steering oar under control but he was tiring fast. The damned thing appeared to be alive and fighting to escape his grasp. Then two men came to his aid and together they managed to tame it.

  Seconds later an ominous crack was audible above the howling of the wind and the top portion of the mast fell over the side, enveloping part of the ship in tangled rigging. Leaving the two men to steer, Ruaidhrí picked up a war axe from under one of the rowing benches and started to hack at the cordage. Twice he was nearly swept off his feet and over the side, but he recovered and, with his long hair whipping into his eyes and lashing his face, he eventually cut the last rope so that the ship sprang free of the wreckage.

  The wind died as suddenly as it had arrived. Once minute it was so strong that a man could scarcely stand upright against it and the next it was calm again; not so the sea. The waves no longer had spume streaking from their crests but now an oily sea lifted the ship onto the top of a wave just before it plunged down again into a trough thirty feet below. The planking of the hull flexed and water found its way through the gaps, despite the caulking.

  Ruaidhrí looked to the west where the squall had disappeared to and saw that the coast was now less than half a mile away. The waves were crashing against the spit of sand that jutted out three miles from the southern shore at the entrance to the firth. They had two options, to try and make enough sea room to clear the spit, or run into the Firth of Tay and seek shelter at Dùn Dè. He decided on the latter as they would be able to make repairs there. He looked across the sea towards the other two craft and saw Morleo in the bows of the other birlinn. Both ships looked in better shape than his birlinn, but the crews were still having to bail energetically. He pointed towards Dùn Dè and Morleo waved back, indicating his agreement.

  They arrived at the port to find the eorl and his fully armed warband waiting for them. He had evidently heard the stories coming out of Ardewr and was understandably suspicious at the arrival of three of Bruide’s ships. He knew Morleo but was apprehensive when he saw Ruaidhrí. When he last saw the latter he had been Bruide’s right hand man. Perhaps Morleo was a prisoner and they were trying to trick him. It took some time of shouting to and fro across the intervening distance before the three ships were allowed to come and tie up alongside.

  Three days later they were underway again, having re-caulked the planking and repaired most of the minor damage. However, Morleo and his original warriors from Ardewr weren’t with them. He was reluctant to go into exile far from the land he had lived in all his life, so he had volunteered to help the eorl to defend Penntir, if it came to that. Furthermore it gave him the opportunity to build up enough support to challenge Bruide for Ardewr in due course.

  The others had also left the birlinn with the damaged mast behind. Not only had the top part broken off, but the squall had also sprung the soleplate on which it was mounted. It would take some time to repair and, without Morleo and his men, the rest would just fit into the other two ships.

  They reached Lindisfarne without further incident and Ruaidhrí watched the isle he’d left with his friend Bruide not eighteen months earlier slide past. He reflected sadly on how things had changed. Less than an hour later they beached the two ships on the sand below the fortress of Bebbanburg.

  Catinus had been playing with four year old Osfrid, watched by Leoflaed and his eleven year old daughter, Hereswith, when his other son, Alaric, ran in to say that two strange sails were in sight to the north-east.

  Alaric was now eight but he showed more inclination to become a cleric, like his uncle Conomultus, than
he did a warrior. He even preferred reading the bible to riding or playing with the other boys. He’d been talking to the priest, who was taking his daily stroll around the battlements after the midday meal, when the ships had appeared around the north-east point of what was now being called the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

  He followed his father down to the beach with Eadstan and several members of his gesith, including Leofric, and his body servant, Uurad, who was carrying his master’s helmet and shield just in case they were needed.

  ‘Ruaidhrí, what are you doing here?’ Catinus called out in amazement when he recognised the youth who had jumped down onto the sand before the gangplank was run out.

  ‘Greetings lord, it’s good to see you again, but I fear I’m not the bearer of good tidings.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER

  669 to 670 AD

  Catinus cursed as he tried in vain to keep the driving rain from trickling down his neck as he rode south for the wedding of his daughter Hereswith to his friend Alweo. At first he wasn’t sure that it was a sensible idea. After all, she was thirteen and he was thirty nine, only two years younger than Catinus himself. However, it was a good match. She would be the wife of not only an ealdorman but an atheling of the Mercian royal house.

  Because neither Wulfhere nor his brother Ethelred had so far produced any children, there was a chance that her son, his grandson, might even become King of Mercia. Since Catinus had started life as a poor Mercian peasant the thought made him proud of what he’d achieved.

  He looked across at his wife and daughter, who were riding beside him. They looked as miserable as he felt.

  ‘Cheer up, only a few more miles to go and we’ll be at Alnwic.’

  It meant the settlement on the River Aln and it was where Alweo had built his hall. Unlike the mighty fortress of Bebbanburg, it wasn’t built so much with defence in mind, but with comfort. True it had a palisade around it with a gateway set between two towers, but an agile child could climb over it. It was meant to delineate the ealdorman’s home more than to keep out a determined foe.

  As they rode through the next stretch of woodland Catinus noticed how early the leaves on the trees were changing colour this year. It had been a cold, wet summer and it was turning into a cold, wet autumn. He worried that his people would starve this winter. The harvest had been poor, though he had some grain stored from the previous summer when there had been a bumper crop.

  Animals would have fared poorly as well and there was now less meat than usual on both livestock and those they hunted. It meant that hungry packs of wolves would come down out of the hills looking for food and he would need to find and kill them first, always a risky undertaking, though it was good experience for young warriors. With these thoughts at the forefront of his mind he was in a gloomy mood when the settlement of Alnwic appeared through the rain a little while later.

  The next day was overcast but at least it wasn’t raining. All the women had a muddy brown hem around the bottom of their gowns by the time they reached the small church. Catinus sensibly wore leather boots over his red trousers. His woollen tunic was dyed blue and decorated with silver wire embroidery and his knee length cloak was secured by a large round silver buckle embedded with gems.

  He looked positively distinguished compared to Alweo, who appeared in a garish multi-hued tunic encrusted with golden stars, bright green trousers tucked into brown woollen socks with a crimson band at the top and tied from ankle to knee in criss-cross yellow ribbons. Instead of boots he wore leather shoes stained black, which had turned back to brown in the mud.

  Hereswith looked radiant in a cornflower blue surcoat worn over a cream gown. On her head she wore a crown made from woven stalks of wheat into which leaves of every colour from green to dark brown had been stuck. To get over the mud problem she was carried to the church in a chair carried by four warriors from Catinus’ gesith. On her way back to the hall for the feast their place would be taken by members of Alweo’s household.

  When he entered the church beside his daughter to escort her to the side of her husband-to-be he almost didn’t believe his eyes. He came to a faltering halt and Hereswith had to restrain a laugh. She was privy to the secret of who was to conduct the marriage ceremony but everyone had kept it a secret from her father.

  A broad smile lit up Catinus’ face as he almost left her behind in his eagerness to reach the altar rail.

  ‘Conomultus, you don’t know how good it is to see you again brother.’

  ‘And you too, Catinus. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, but now I have a couple to wed.’

  ‘Why did you leave Iona?’

  ‘Oh, I was happy enough there, I suppose, but I felt that life was passing me by. One day was much like the next. I got older but a feeling of frustration started to grow. In the end I was getting depressed and so, after years there, I made up my mind to leave.

  ‘However, before I did so we learned that Utta had died and Drest had sent to Iona for a replacement. He wanted a Pict or a Briton; not another Anglo-Saxon. The abbot chose me and I was on my way to Bebbanburg to beg a ship from you to take me the rest of the way to the Firth of Tay. I had travelled with a merchant as far as Alnwic where Ealdorman Alweo told me about his forthcoming marriage to my niece, so I offered to stay and officiate. I was going to send a messenger to tell you, but Alweo persuaded me to surprise you.’

  ‘The last I heard Utta was the Bishop of Prydenn and was Oswiu’s nomination. Why has Drest got involved in the appointment of his successor?’

  ‘Because Drest wants one bishop to be responsible for all of Pictland. In the same way that there is no longer a separate Bishop of Rheged, but just one for Northumbria, he sees it as a way to exercise more control over Pictland.’

  ‘Where will you be based? Not in Prydenn presumably.’

  ‘No, at Abernethy, Drest’s new capital. He has established a monastery there and I’m to be abbot as well.’

  Catinus nodded. Then a thought struck him.

  ‘Does the king know you’re in Northumbria?’

  ‘I doubt it, I’m an insignificant priest, there’s no reason why he should. Besides, what happened at Dùn Add was years ago now. Hopefully he’ll have forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten that his chaplain deserted him because he disapproved of his threat to murder women and children? I doubt it. And what about Wilfrid? He hates you as much as he does Eata for humiliating him when you were all novices together on Lindisfarne. He’s now the bishop here. He’ll find a way of harming you if he discovers that you’re in his diocese.’

  ‘You’re not making me feel very welcome, brother.’

  ‘It’s not a laughing matter. Alweo might well be in trouble for harbouring you too.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But I don’t think it matters. I’ll be leaving with you in a few days.’

  ‘Wilfrid would still make trouble for Alweo and me given half a chance.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘I intended to stay for a few days, but the sooner you’re on your way the better. Oswiu is still Bretwalda of the North, and therefore Drest’s overlord, but I don’t think he’ll risk upsetting the Picts once you’re safely ensconced at Abernethy. We’ll leave together tomorrow.

  ‘In the meantime let’s forget that you’re about to become a sober bishop and a pillar of the community and celebrate both our reunion and my daughter’s wedding by seeing how much of Alweo’s ale we can drink before we collapse.’

  ~~~

  Morleo halted on the ridge above the settlement in the valley. He had spent the past year training his men and another fifty or so that he’d recruited to help the eorl by patrolling the north-eastern and north-western borders of Prydenn where it adjoined Ardewr and Penntir. All seventy men had been trained to ride and were mounted on small hill ponies. They weren’t fast but they were sure-footed and had stamina.

  Below him the River Dee glistened in the sunsh
ine, marking the boundary between Prydenn and Penntir. He watched as a party of some fifty men made their way along Glen Muich that ran from the Dee south into Prydenn. Behind them came as many women and children as there were warriors, then several laden pack horses led by boys. Half a dozen more warriors brought up the rear. A favourite tactic of Bruide was to encroach into areas with little or no inhabitants, establish farmsteads there populated by his subjects, and then claim the land as his. Morleo had already defeated three such incursions and yet here was another one.

  The difference between this one and the others was the size of the party of invaders. Whereas the others had contained a dozen or so men, this incursion was over three times the size. Including the families was a new development too.

  Vara, his oldest and most experienced warrior, watched the column for several minutes.

  ‘This time I’m not so sure it’s a straightforward attempt at a land grab.’

  ‘Why, what else would it be?’

  ‘That is a lot of warriors to tie down in holding an unimportant area of wilderness. No, he’s after something else.’

  ‘Such as provoking a major skirmish to give him the excuse to launch a reprisal raid?’

  ‘Which might turn into a full scale invasion? Yes, possibly.’

  ‘In which case we are going to need to be a lot more careful this time. All of the people down there are going to have to disappear. Without any witnesses Bruide won’t have the pretext for a dispute.’

  ‘Quite, but how do we do it?’

  ‘A straightforward ambush is out of the question; some would escape and we would lose men, perhaps a lot of men, something I want to avoid.’

  ‘Hit and run tactics then?’

  ‘Partly. But in the end we’ll have to surround them first so none can escape and then eliminate them one way or another; either kill them or sell them into slavery.’