The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith

by H A CULLEY

  There was a standard defence against it and no doubt his opponent expected Ælfwine to use it; he didn’t. Instead of deflecting it with his shield and making a counter thrust he let go of his shield, leaving it hanging in front of him by the strap around his neck and, grabbing the spear haft with one hand, he pulled the boy towards him and thrust his seax into his groin.

  The boy yelled in agony and fell to the ground clutching his wound with both hands. Ælfwine left him to bleed to death, and pulling his shield in front of him again, sought another opponent. Most of the Mercians in the compound had been killed by this time. A few had tried to surrender but they had been cut down. The Northumbrians were in no mood to spare those who had killed women and children in cold blood.

  Only one man with a battle axe remained. He swung it around him like a man possessed and had already cut down two of Ælfwine’s best warriors. The young king looked around him and spotted an archer up on the palisade.

  ‘Kill him,’ he yelled, pointing at the axeman.

  The archer nodded and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. The axeman was too preoccupied keeping his foes at bay to be aware of the archer. The arrow flew true and struck his chest, penetrating his leather jerkin and lodging close to his heart. It wasn’t enough to kill him but it distracted him sufficiently for two spearmen to get past his guard. One point entered his neck and the other entered his eye socket and ended up in his brain. The man dropped as if pole axed.

  The only Mercians left on the walkway were dead and so Ælfwine gathered the two hundred of his men who could still fight and they made their way out of the gates towards the sound of battle.

  ~~~

  Ecgfrith had drawn his men up in five ranks with his archers in front after they had captured the camp and the baggage train. All but the most valuable items were put to the torch and it was the smoke from the conflagration that had alerted Wulfhere to the presence of Ecgfrith and so saved Ælfwine from defeat.

  The Mercians came running into the open space to find their foe drawn up a mere hundred yards from them. The archers were even closer and they poured a rain of arrows into the horde of Mercians as they ran into the open. Some two hundred died before the rest were able to seek shelter behind the huts.

  Then archers on the rooftops began to single out the lords and best equipped warriors for death. The heavily armed men couldn’t climb onto the roofs easily and so it was the less well protected that tried to get to grips with the archers, who turned and jumped across the short space from roof to roof in the densely packed town. They paused now and again to send an arrow into their nearest pursuer. Eventually the Mercians realised that they were dying to little purpose and gave up the chase. When they climbed down into the street they were confronted by groups of Northumbrians who made short work of killing them.

  Wulfhere eventually managed to restore order and his men advanced out of the town in formation to engage the main body of the Northumbrians. At first he seemed to be gaining the upper hand as the latter slowly withdrew. Then Ælfwine led his two hundred in a mad attack on the rear of the enemy centre.

  Coincidentally Catinus appeared on one flank of the Mercians and Ruaidhrí on the other. It couldn’t have worked better if it had been planned. Each group of seventy horsemen threw their spears into the packed rows of warriors and then withdrew. This, coupled with the attack on their rear, unnerved the Mercians and the less experienced of them at the rear turned to flee into the town.

  Many managed to escape but scores didn’t, falling to either Ælfwine’s men or the hunter packs sent in by Ecgfrith and his archers.

  Ecgfrith’s shield wall advanced and, now weakened, Wulfhere’s men were forced back. Then the cry went up that Wulfhere had fallen. Ethelred did his best to rally those Mercians who hadn’t fled, but it was hopeless and, after another quarter of an hour in which he lost two hundred more men, he surrendered.

  Chapter Six – Two Weddings

  675 AD

  Ecgfrith was overcome with emotion when he saw that his brother was not only alive and well, but carrying a battered shield and a sword from the end of which a few drops of blood still dripped.

  ‘You took your time,’ Ælfwine greeted him with a grin.

  Ecgfrith didn’t reply but jumped down from his horse to embrace his brother.

  ‘You don’t know how much I wanted to race here to rescue you but Octa convinced me that to do so would have been suicidal until I’d mustered enough men. You can’t imagine how relieved I am to see you alive and well.’

  Then he noticed the blood on Ælfwine’s byrnie and face.

  ‘You’re wounded?’

  ‘No, it’s not my blood; just that of the men I killed.’

  He grinned, inordinately thrilled that he’d killed his first two men.

  ‘It seems that my little brother has grown up to be a warrior.’

  Ecgfrith was proud of his brother but he was also worried about him. Ælfwine had always been reckless and seemed to have no fear, either of death or anything else. He wished that he had a cooler head. He had an uneasy feeling that sooner or later it would lead into a situation that he wouldn’t be able to escape from unscathed. He sighed. It was no good trying to talk some sense into the boy. He would nod in agreement and assure his brother that he would take more care in future and then completely forget about his promise when some other adventure presented itself.

  The Mercian invasion had been a disaster. The pretender to the throne of Deira had been killed and, if Wulfhere wasn’t dead, he was severely wounded and might yet die. Dark had descended soon after the rout of the Mercians so at least they were spared immediate pursuit. Ethelred sent his brother back to Mercia in a cart that had survived the attack on their camp with what remained of the king’s gesith as escort.

  Meanwhile he did his best to round up his army and led them back along the old Roman road that ran from near Loidis to the ruins of Mamucium. Here he halted. Officially he was still in Northumbria but, as the people of Rheged had revolted against Ecgfrith’s rule and, as yet, he hadn’t sought to re-impose his rule on them, Rheged was an anarchistic land with the local nobles acting as they pleased. Consequently there was no organised resistance to his occupation of the area.

  Gradually other survivors of the Battle of Loidis trickled in. Of course, some had headed for their homes, but in the end Ethelred managed to gather two thousand men; enough, he thought, to be able to negotiate with Ecgfrith.

  Ecgfrith had followed up the Mercian retreat and was at the ruins of Rigodunum, ten miles from Mamucium, when Ethelred’s messenger found him.

  ‘What does Wulfhere say, Cyning?’ Octa asked.

  ‘Not Wulfhere, he must have been more seriously wounded than first reports suggested. The message is from his brother, Ethelred. He proposes a meeting to discuss a truce.’

  ‘Huh, not surprising. He’s outnumbered, his men are discouraged and we’ve got him on the run. I say we invade Mercia and ravage the land, as he’s done in Elmet.’

  ‘Yes Ecgfrith. We can subject Mercia to your rule, as our father did twenty years ago,’ Ælfwine chimed in, his eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘Calm down. You’re getting carried away and not thinking things through. Even our father couldn’t hang onto Mercia for long. Besides, I still have the problem of Rheged to deal with. No, it would be far better to agree a lasting truce with Mercia.’

  ~~~

  The negotiations were entrusted to Bishop Wilfrid for Northumbria and the Mercian Bishop of Lichfield, Seaxwulf. Ecgfrith’s instructions were quite clear. He wanted to secure a lasting peace with Mercia, just as his father had done. As evidence of good faith he wanted a royal hostage but Wulhere’s son, Coenred was only three months old. Wulfhere’s nearest relatives after his brother and his son were his cousin, Alweo, King of Man, and the latter’s two sons, four-year-old Æthelbald and one year old Heartbehrt.

  His other demand was appropriate recompense for the destruction wrought in Elmet. This was a simpler matter. Li
ndsey had originally been an independent kingdom until a Northumbrian noble had become king. For a time it was a client kingdom of Northumbria until Penda conquered it and made it part of Mercia. Ecgfrith wanted it back, even though it was south of the Humber.

  It was Wilfrid who suggested a compromise. Instead of demanding a suitable Mercian hostage he suggested that the two royal houses should be bound together through marriage. Ecgfrith’s sister Osthryth was now twenty nine and still unmarried, a condition she was quite content with. However, she had refused to become a nun and so had remained a spinster. At thirty, Ethelred was almost the same age as Osthryth and so Wilfrid proposed that they should marry.

  Neither party was very keen on the idea, but politically it made sound sense. The negotiations dragged on for over a month, by which time Wulfhere had recovered from his wounds sufficiently to take over the reins of government again. He pressured Ethelred to agree to the match and so the wedding was arranged for the early autumn.

  If Ethelred was unwilling to marry someone as old as he was, he was even more unwilling to give Lindsey away, but Wulfhere saw little alternative. Mercia was now too weak to resist Ecgfrith if he decided to invade and there was more trouble on his southern border. Raids from Wessex were increasing in frequency and severity. He needed peace with Ecgfrith urgently so he could turn his attention to the immediate problem.

  It was a fine but chilly day in late September when a sulky Ethelred and an equally unwilling Osthryth were married in the monastery church at Lichfield by the two bishops, Wilfrid and Seaxwulf.

  Catinus and his son Osfrid had been invited, along with most of the nobility of both Mercia and Northumbria. Although the church was as large as any in Northumbria, it was still crowded and Catinus had given in to the pleas of Osfrid, now eleven, that he be allowed to sit on his father’s shoulders so that he could see. Catinus realised that it was a mistake several minutes after giving way to his son. His thigh had healed well enough but it still troubled him and now, with the additional weight of Osfrid placed upon it, it threatened to give way.

  Catinus lifted him off his shoulders and told him curtly to push his way to where he could see the altar. As far as he was concerned he couldn’t care less whether he witnessed the ceremony or not. Given his short stature compared to most men present he would have to have been right at the front to see anything. Whereas his slight son might be able to worm his way there, a man as stout and broad shouldered as he was couldn’t do so without creating an uproar.

  He’d only come because Ruaidhrí wanted someone to accompany him. Although Master of the King’s Horse and an ealdorman, Ruaidhrí didn’t feel part of the nobility of Northumbria. Catinus realised that, underneath his confident outward façade, his friend was actually quite nervous amongst strangers.

  The Ulsterman was now twenty six and about to get married himself. His choice had fallen on a daughter of the Ealdorman of Jarrow, whose lands adjoined his to the south. She was called Edyth and she was ten years younger than Ruaidhrí. They had met when her father had brought her to Alnwic to buy her a new riding horse a year ago.

  He bred horses mainly for the king’s warriors and taught them to fight on horseback, but he also bred a few horses from stock he owned for private sale. Ruaidhrí had fallen for Edyth during that first meeting and she seemed equally smitten by the handsome young Ulsterman. The problem was that, although their estates were next to each other, Alnwic was in the north of Ruaidhrí’s lands and Jarrow lay on the River Tyne, a dozen miles south of the River Wansbeck which separated the two domains.

  Catinus had eventually persuaded his friend that he needed to grasp the bull by the horns and eleven months ago, immediately after he’d returned from the battle against the Mercians, he’d ridden south with just his body servant and two men as escort to see Edyth’s father. He needn’t have worried; her father was delighted to see his third daughter married to an ealdorman. His two eldest girls had chosen a thegn and the church, which wasn’t what he’d hoped for them. He also had two other children, a boy of thirteen being educated at the monastery near Jarrow and another girl.

  If Catinus hadn’t particularly enjoyed Ethelred’s wedding itself, he certainly enjoyed the feast afterwards, as did Osfrid. For the first time in his life the boy had been allowed to get drunk and he celebrated his new found freedom by being violently sick. Unfortunately the recipient of his puke had been the fifteen year old son of a Mercian noble who’d been sitting next to him.

  Amongst the general rowdiness of the feast the altercation didn’t attract too much attention, but the unfortunate Mercian boy had leaped up from the table in revulsion and had taken considerable exception to the ruination of his brand new tunic and trousers. He had drawn a dagger on Osfrid when a calmer head next door to him clamped his hand down on that of the offended boy.

  ‘We’ve all drunk too much in our time, boy. Let it pass and go and get changed.’

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  The boy’s eyes glittered dangerously and for a moment the man thought that he might be foolish enough to attack him.

  ‘No, do you know who I am,’ he said putting emphasis on the I.

  ‘Some insufferable thegn who’s poking his nose in where it has no business,’ he replied heatedly.

  The man laughed. ‘I’m no thegn, boy. Your father knows who I am well enough. I’m Wigestan. The commander of Prince Ethelred’s gesith,’ he added when comprehension didn’t dawn on the boy.

  ‘Oh,’

  ‘Yes, oh. Now go and get changed.’

  Wigestan glanced down at Osfrid, who was now snoring loudly, and smiled. The boy would never know how close he came to being gutted.

  ~~~

  Osthryth awaited the arrival of her new husband after the feast with considerable trepidation. She knew what had happened between her sister Alflæd and Ethelred’s elder brother, Paeda. He had treated her brutally until she’d had enough and she slowly poisoned him to death. She prayed that Ethelred wouldn’t be like Paeda.

  She cowered in the bed, pulling the furs up under her chin when he entered, calling out some bawdy comment to his friends who’d come with him to the door of his chamber. He came and sat on the bed beside her when he saw how afraid she was.

  ‘What’s this?

  His mind was a little befuddled by drink but not so much that he didn’t soon realise why Osthryth was afraid of him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed softly. ‘I’m nothing like Paeda; I don’t think you’ll have to resort to poison in my case.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Yes, I know and Wulfhere knows. We chose to keep quiet about it because we were ashamed of how Paeda behaved and we didn’t want it to become the subject of idle gossip amongst the common people.’

  He gently stroked her shoulder and then bent down to kiss her gently on the lips. Somehow she knew that Ethelred would treat her well and perhaps she might even come to love him in time.

  ~~~

  Once again Ruaidhrí felt nervous, this time because it was his own wedding day. Unlike the fine weather which had graced Osthryth’s marriage to Ethelred, the weather was foul. The sky wasn’t even grey, it was black, and snow fell with flakes as big as the opal mounted on the hilt of his dagger, a wedding gift from Catinus.

  Thankfully most of the guests had arrived before the weather had worsened. Everyone said that they had never seen snow like it so early on, after all it was only the middle of November. Men were out clearing a path from his hall to the church, but the snow fell as fast as it was cleared.

  Everywhere was a blinding universal white, not that anyone was able to see very far through the swirling flakes. He trudged through the snow, thankful he was wearing leather boots instead of shoes, and kicked the accumulated snow from them before he entered the small timber church. His body servant took his thick, oiled riding cloak from him as he entered and he walked down the aisle between the throng of people standing on either side.

  Catinus smiled at him as he reached
the front and Osfrid gave him a cheeky grin. The priest officiating had arrived at Bebbanburg the previous week and had travelled down with Catinus and his son. His arrival had caused something of a stir. Catinus’ brother, Conomultus, had been left without a home when Bruide had replaced him with a Pict as the Bishop of Abernethy. Conomultus had been lucky to have just been exiled.

  He had fallen out with King Oswiu years ago and had fled Northumbria; however, now that Oswiu was dead, he felt that it was safe to return and had taken passage on a knarr as far as his brother’s fortress. He had thought of retiring to Lindisfarne as a monk but Catinus had persuaded him to stay at Bebbanburg as his chaplain.

  When his previous chaplain had died, the priest from the nearby vill had fulfilled the role pro tem. It was a step up in status from being a local priest but he seemed pleased by Conomultus’ appointment. Catinus wasn’t surprised. He was an idle man and would have no doubt welcomed the reduction in his responsibilities.

  Edyth arrived in a covered cart to protect her finery from the snow as much as possible. She looked radiant as she walked down the aisle, keeping her eyes demurely downcast. When she reached her husband-to-be she looked up and smiled at him before looking at Conomultus, waiting for him to begin.

  When the ceremony was over and mass had been celebrated the couple stood in the doorway and looked in dismay at the falling snow. The path that had been cleared was a foot deep again so Ruaidhrí sent for the cart and travelled back to his hall in it with his new bride. The rest would have to make their own way as best they could.

  This time Osfrid was a little more circumspect about how much ale and mead he consumed and only became pleasantly merry. Besides, he didn’t want to show himself up in front of the young girl he was sat next to, Edyth’s youngest sister Godwyna. She was eleven years old and Osfrid thought that she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Godwyna was flattered by his obvious interest in her and she unconsciously flirted with him. By the time the meal finished Osfrid knew he was in love.