by H A CULLEY
‘Was father in much pain when he died?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He seemed to have caught some wasting sickness. He was always well built but by the time he died he was half the weight he had been. The infirmarian said that the sickness was incurable and gave him a concoction made from various herbs and plants that he grew so I don’t think he knew much about it.’
‘You were with him when he died?’
‘Yes, he smiled at us at the end and whispered a blessing just before his soul left his poor wasted body.’
‘I’m sorry we couldn’t be there but, by the time the messenger reached us to say that he was seriously ill it was too late. In fact, we didn’t know he was dead until after the funeral.’
‘I’m sure he understood.’
‘Our uncle Conomultus is well though?’
‘Well enough, though he’s beginning to feel his age I think.’
‘My husband is of an age with him - he’ll soon be fifty four - but he seems in robust good health. Well enough to sire another child last year at any rate,’ she said, then blushed.
‘So was father until a month or so before the end,’ he replied, then cursed under his breath. It was hardly a tactful thing to say.
‘You’ve heard that Cousin Ethelred has had a son,’ she remarked, changing the subject.
At first Osfrid wasn’t certain who she was talking about, then he recalled that Alweo was the King of Mercia’s first cousin.
‘Yes, called Cenred; slightly confusing as his cousin, Wulhere’s son, is called Ceonred.’
‘Both are, of course, very young,’ she said in a whisper. ‘We have been approached by certain Mercian nobles who have said that they will support Alweo’s claim to the throne if Ethelred dies before either boy comes of age.’
‘But your husband is far older than Ethelred.’
‘Then, if not him, Æthelbald. He is the great-grandson of King Pybba, just as Coenred and Coiled are.’
Osfrid had forgotten that Alweo was the son of Eowa, the brother of King Penda of Mercia and that both were the sons of Pybba, the founder of the dynasty. Suddenly he realised that, just as Æthelbald was an ætheling descended from kings of Mercia, so his soon to be born child traced his or her ancestry back to Ida, the original King of Bernicia and founder of the ruling house of Northumbria. However, he wasn’t clear whether that would make him an ætheling or not, presuming it was a boy.
~~~
‘How many men are you taking on this raid into Hibernia?’ Alweo asked when he met with Osfrid and Stepan the next day.
‘Three hundred, a tenth of them mounted. All are trained warriors,’ Stepan replied. Osfrid had agreed to leave the talking to him as he was the senior ealdorman and commander of the expedition.
‘Our mission is to bring death and destruction to the Kingdom of Brega to teach Fínsnechta not to raid either Cumbria or Man again.’
‘Well, I applaud the sentiment but you’ll need a lot more than three hundred men. Even if you catch him unawares, I’m told that Fínsnechta has a permanent warband of seven hundred mercenaries, mainly Britons driven out of Rheged, in addition to his own Hibernians. At short notice he can probably call upon between a thousand and fifteen hundred men.’
‘We were hoping that you might join with us to punish Fínsnechta.’
‘I might, if I was certain it would succeed. At the moment it sounds as if it will fail and so make matters worse.’
‘If you were to join us, how many men could you bring?’
‘I can fill ten birlinns and pontos, so perhaps four or five hundred, especially if there is plunder to be had.’
‘Do you have any knarrs?’
‘Yes, half a dozen or so, but not the warriors to fill them. I’ll not take my fyrd, they are needed here to defend Man.’
‘Can you lend them to us and we’ll try and fill them,’ Osfrid asked. ‘That way we might be able to bring another three hundred. That would give us a thousand trained warriors.’
‘If we catch him unawares it might work. When do you intend to launch the raid?’
‘At the end of June.’
‘That gives me enough time to prepare. Some of my knarrs are away trading at the moment but they should be back in a few weeks. I’ll send them up to Caer Luel by the middle of the month. We’ll all meet here at Duboglassio a week later.’
~~~
Osfrid watched appalled as the monastery was set on fire. Once they had defeated Fínsnechta in battle shortly after they had landed on the shores of Dundalk Bay, they were virtually unopposed as they looted and pillaged their way through Brega. It was said that Fínsnechta had fled to the Northern Uí Néill to raise another army but he hoped that would take him time, enough for the invaders to leave before that became a problem at any rate.
Osfrid accepted that the destruction of the settlements and the enslavement of the people was necessary to stop further raids on Man and Cumbria but he drew the line at attacking monasteries and looting and then burning churches.
However, Stepan’s Cumbrians and the Manxmen had no such scruples.
‘They are Christians, like us. It is a mortal sin to slay priests and desecrate their churches,’ he had said to the other leaders after the first church had been plundered.
‘I disagree,’ Stepan had replied. ‘They are Celtic Christians, not true followers of our religion.’
‘We only came to make ourselves rich,’ one of the chieftains from Man had added. ‘Where are the greatest riches to be found? In the churches and monasteries of course.’
The other Manx leaders had thumped the tables and Osfrid found himself isolated.
Whilst his men were loyal to him he realised that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to convince them not to take their share of the spoils once they saw the others doing so. However, he did forbid them from slaying priests and monks and they largely obeyed him in that, except where they were attacked by the odd churchman trying to defend Church property.
After three weeks of laying Brega waste they set off back to Dundalk Bay but they made slow progress due to the number of captives they were herding along and the carts full of booty pulled by plodding oxen.
Osfrid and his fifty men formed the rear-guard and they were still two days march from their ships when two of his men scouting at the rear of the slow moving column rode in to tell him that there was a large army some ten miles behind them.
‘How large?’
‘Difficult to say, lord. In these dry conditions they are kicking up a lot of dust which obscures most of them from view.’
‘I need to know. How many men can you see, how much of the road do they occupy and then multiply that by the length of the dust cloud. Uurad and Drefan go with them.’
Two hours later they returned.
‘Probably two thousand, lord. All on foot apart from half a dozen riders at the front,’ Uurad told him.
Osfrid cantered off to find Stepan. When he told him the Cumbrian ealdorman seemed not to know what to do.
‘You have a simple choice Stepan. We can’t make it back to the ships, load them up and sail away in time. The Uí Néill will catch us and slaughter us like sheep if we try. So you either abandon the captives and the plunder so you can make a run for it, or else you stand and fight.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right.’
‘There’s no probably about it.’
Having felt powerless and frustrated throughout the raid now Osfrid felt that his moment had come and he took charge.
‘Ecgfrith won’t forgive either of us if we scuttle back to Northumbria empty handed. His instructions were to teach Fínsnechta a lesson that he won’t forget. We’ve probably killed five hundred of his people and taken the same number captive. On top of the slaughter of his warriors when we first landed his land is effectively depopulated. That would be partly undone if we let the captives go so that’s not an option.
‘So, as I see it we have no alternative. We have to delay our pursuers long enough to get the plunder a
nd the slaves away on the knarrs. They can’t take all of us in any case, so they’ll have to return for us. Someone will have to guard the plunder and the slaves. Let the Manxmen do it. Alweo will make sure we get our fair share later.’
‘But that will leave us with less than five hundred warriors to face two thousand,’ Stepan said, appalled at the odds.
‘You’d be correct if we faced them in open battle but we’re not going to do that. Remember our job is to delay them for a maximum of three days whilst we withdraw to the coast.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘We do what my father taught me. We hit them hard and then we run before they can retaliate. We start tonight but I only need my men for that. Meanwhile you can find a couple of good ambush sites.’
Unsurprisingly the Manxmen put up no argument when it was explained that their job was to run whilst the Northumbrians did the fighting. As he watched one dust cloud disappear to the east, he turned to watch the one approaching from the north. It was now about two hours before dusk and the Uí Néill were about eight miles behind the Manxmen and their straggling column.
Osfrid wondered whether they would be tempted to continue after dark but that would have been stupid. In daylight they could see where their quarry was from the column of dust; at night they risked losing them altogether.
The Uí Néill camped where the River Annalee entered a series of small lakes. When his scouts reported that they hadn’t even bothered to put out sentries, Osfrid smiled grimly to himself. After tonight they wouldn’t make that mistake again. Unusually for Hibernia, it hadn’t rained for weeks and the undergrowth was tinder dry. By the light of the moon and the myriad of camp fires the Uí Néill had lit it was easy to see the layout of the camp.
There was a stiff breeze coming from the west, which suited Osfrid’s purposes nicely. The enemy were camped between the river to the north and the shore of the lake to the east. He stationed thirty of his men to the south of the campsite and took the rest with him to the east.
Judging by the sounds emanating from the camp the Uí Néill were celebrating their victory on the morrow already. Osfrid smiled grimly; the more drunk they were the better. He waited until most sounds of revelry had died down and then he, Sigmund, Uurad and three others in his gesith crept forward to the nearest campfire. Fifteen men were fast asleep and snoring around it. It was the work of moments to slit their throats and take a number of burning brands from the fire.
Once back in the undergrowth his men ran along the bushes and piles of dead wood they’d piled up earlier and set them alight. Soon the whole of the eastern side of the campsite was ablaze and dense smoke started to blow across it. From behind the protection of the wall of fire Osfrid’s men lit fire arrows and sent them high in the air to land in the middle of the camp. Two even lodged in the oiled leather tent of King Fínsnechta, setting it alight.
Men woke to find themselves breathing the acrid smoke and, coughing and spluttering, they ran about seeking a way out of the purgatory they found themselves in. In their befuddled state some even ran towards the fire before realising their error. Others took refuge in the water of the river and the lake. A few drowned when they got out of their depth but the majority stayed close to the shore, breathing the clean air close to the water’s surface.
However, hundreds fled to the south, straight into the arms of Osfrid’s thirty men. Of course, many got away but over a hundred were killed by the wraiths that appeared from behind trees, killed and disappeared again into the darkness.
When three blasts on a horn sounded the Northumbrians made their way silently back through the woods to where they had tethered their horses and they rode away to the east well pleased with their night’s work. They had only lost one man, killed when he tried to take on four fleeing Hibernians.
As dawn broke Osfrid and Stepan rode to the top of a small hill that overlooked the Uí Néill camp. They watched as dispirited men dug graves for those killed. It looked as if many more had been asphyxiated than had been killed by his men. At a rough count about three hundred bodies were being put into the mass grave whilst the rest prepared to pursue the raiders. Osfrid imagined that the Uí Néill were now furious and determined to get to grips with their foes. It was what he wanted. Angry men are less careful.
The Uí Néill half walked half ran along the northern bank of another lake, this time a long thin one, when a hundred archers appeared out of the trees on the south bank and started to send arrows at high trajectory over the water into the packed ranks of the enemy. As few Hibernians possessed chainmail, or even a padded leather jerkin, most of the arrows caused wounds or death. Immediately the rest crouched down under their shields and stayed like that until several of their leaders rode around ordering then to make for either end of the lake so that they could attack the archers in the flank.
As the first group reached the eastern end Uurad led his mounted warband in a charge at the Uí Néill. The latter had never been charged by mounted warriors before and many turned and fled. Uurad’s men threw their spears into the midst of the remainder and then retreated. Two minutes later, just as the Hibernians were forming up again to charge the archers, the horsemen reappeared and threw another volley of spears at their foes.
The same thing happened at the western end. This time it was Osfrid and his gesith who charged. When they galloped away after throwing their second spear the Uí Néill cautiously advanced on the archers again but they just melted back into the trees.
It took the Uí Néill some time to reorganise, leave a burial party to bury the dead and others to take care of the wounded before they continued their pursuit. By now they had learned caution and sent out scouts. However, the scouts were easy targets for Osfrid’s horsemen.
When they were within three miles of the coast Osfrid sent Sigmund and half a dozen men to find out whether the knarrs had returned to convey them back to Man. They came back half an hour later to say that two were there and the others were expected within a few hours.
‘Stepan, I’m loathe to lose my horses unless I have to but it will take a couple of hours to get them on board. I propose to send them ahead for loading with a few of my least experienced warriors whilst we delay the pursuit again. We’ll have to do that in any case as the other knarrs have yet to arrive.’
‘Had you suggested that you travel with your horses, leaving me and my men here on our own, I’d have said no but, as I should have expected, you are doing the honourable thing.’
Osfrid had always thought that Stepan held him in low regard. That seemed to have changed.
The approach to the beach where they’d landed lay to the north of the Creggan River with a steep hillside above it. It was an ideal spot for a few hundred men to hold off a greater number. The Northumbrians deployed between the edge of the marshy area alongside the river and the lower slopes of the hills whilst those with bows took to the higher ground and hid behind a number of rocky outcrops.
When the Uí Néill came into view they were confronted by over three hundred men blocking their way with a shield wall four men deep. The Hibernians stopped and, as was their wont, they spent some time capering about and hurling insults at their foe, before they rushed at the shield wall in a disorganised mass.
Osfrid stood near Stepan in the middle of the front rank with Uurad on one side of him and Sigmund on the other. He gripped his spear in one hand and his shield in the other. He wore his sword on his back so that it was easy to unsheathe it in the press of battle. The first man to charge at him ran onto the point of his spear and he fell with the point imbedded in his chest. It was impossible to pull it out and so he let go of it and put his hand over his shoulder and pulled his sword out just in time to thrust it into the face of the next warrior to reach him.
The man screamed and fell away clutching at his face. The third attacker had a heavy axe and he swung it over his head to strike Osfrid down. He raised his shield to block the blow and heard the wood crack as it struck, numbing his arm. He thr
ust his sword under his upraised shield and felt it enter the axeman’s body. It wasn’t until he fell away screaming that he realised he’d stabbed him in the groin.
Then the pressure eased as the enemy retreated, not because of the significant casualties they’d suffered throwing themselves at a solid shield wall, but because of the damage being inflicted on them by the archers hidden above them.
Looking at the dead and wounded between the shield wall and the Uí Néill forming up a few hundred yards away Osfrid estimated that there must have been at least three hundred dead and badly wounded. In places along the Northumbrian line the pile of bodies was high enough to provide a significant obstacle.
Stepan walked along the front of the shield wall to speak to Osfrid.
‘It’ll be a little while before they attack again; they need to work themselves up into a frenzy first. If we can defeat the next charge it will be dark soon and we should be able to slip away and board the knarrs.’
‘Yes, but we may need to stage a fighting withdrawal. The archers won’t be of any use after dark so they can reinforce us as the valley widens out near the beach. Alternatively, if we can inflict a similar number of casualties next time as we did this time our numbers will be even. In that event we may even be able to defeat them and send them back whence they came.’
‘Yes, perhaps. Let’s make a decision whether to go on the offensive after we see what happens during their next attack.’
At that moment the Hibernians launched their next attack and Stepan had to run to get back to his position in the line. Instead of repeating the first wild charge they sent several hundred men climbing up the hillside towards the hidden archers so that the number attacking the shield wall was no more than six or seven hundred.
However, the archers were too busy to support their comrades in the valley. Instead they whittled down the men trying to get to grips with them and then, as they got close, one group would move back to the next rocky outcrop whilst another group would continue to inflict casualties. Once the Hibernians got close the same thing would happen. The group who had retreated would send volley after volley at their pursuers whilst the second group withdrew.