The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith

by H A CULLEY

  Shortly after the birth Aldfrith arrived and quickly made it clear that he was on more than just as tour of Bernicia.

  ‘I find myself in something of a quandary, Osfrid,’ he said that evening after they’d eaten and Godwyna had gone to bed. ‘Northumbria is without leaders and I’m not such a stranger to the realities of the world to think that our enemies - that is the Picts and the Mercians - won’t be tempted to take advantage of that. Even Elfin of Strathclyde may be drawn to invade Cumbria.’

  ‘How can I help, Cyning?’

  ‘I know that my brother held you partly responsible for what happened in Hibernia but I have taken the trouble to talk to those few who were there and are still alive. I know you opposed that fool Stepan. I therefore believe that you are both trustworthy and loyal. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, Cyning. Absolutely.’

  ‘Good. I need to create an inner council of people I can rely on. Unfortunately Cuthbert says he is too old to travel anymore and Bishop Bosa and I; well, let’s just say that there is little that we agree on.’

  ‘And John of Beverley?’

  ‘Yes, a good man I think. I intend to ask him to join my council, and your uncle, Conomultus, too.’

  ‘I’m pleased, he’s like my father was: loyal and very capable. He claims he’s too old and just wants a peaceful life, but the years have not sat as heavily on him as they have on Bishop Cuthbert.’

  ‘Just so. My first problem is to appoint new ealdormen and thanes. There are so many who died at the hands of the Caledonians that it is difficult to know where to start.’

  ‘Might I suggest that you need someone reliable on your northern border as the first priority?’

  ‘Are you suggesting yourself?’ Aldfrith said, not without a hint of suspicion in his voice.

  ‘No, I have no desire to leave Bebbanburg. Besides it’s the most important fortress in Bernicia. No, I was thinking of Cuthbert’s nephew, Behrt. He’s just about to turn sixteen. Although that is very young to be burdened with responsibility, you are not blessed with a wide choice from amongst the nobles. If he was made Ealdorman of Dùn Èideann he could also be given the responsibility of warden of the borderlands.’

  ‘But wouldn’t he want to be Ealdorman of Dùn Barra, like his father?’

  ‘He has a younger brother who will soon be fourteen. He might become ealdorman when he’s older. In the meantime his mother could manage the shire.’

  ‘Good. I’m grateful to you for your suggestions. I’ll go to Dùn Barra next and make a decision then. Will you accompany me?’

  Osfrid groaned inwardly. He had wanted to stay with his family a little longer but he could hardly say no to the king.

  ‘Of course, Cyning.’

  ‘Whilst we are on our own I think we can dispense with the title.’

  ‘Thank you, Aldfrith. Is there anything else I can help with at the moment?’

  ‘The Mercians aren’t far from my mind either, but Ethelred seems fully occupied by his struggle with Wessex at the moment. Long may that continue. Cumbria remains a problem, of course. Stepan had no children, nor are there any other close relatives still alive. I need a good commander in charge to hold the border against Strathclyde.’

  ‘There are many new settlers there who Ecgfrith brought in after he drove out most of the Britons. They are not all Angles, of course, but there may be some amongst the Saxons or even the Frisians or Jutes who would make good leaders. I do know that Stepan was not fond of them and wouldn’t have them in his warband. Therefore they didn’t die with him.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s helpful. Perhaps after Lothian we should go onto Cumbria.’

  Osfrid’s heart sank further when he heard the ‘we’. Evidently he was going to be away from Bebbanburg for some time. With winter only a few months away he hoped that he would be able to return before travel became impossible.

  ~~~

  In the event Osfrid was away even longer than he’d feared. Having sorted out the situation in Lothian and Cumbria, Aldfrith decided that he needed to secure his northern border. He had sailed back to Iona and asked Abbot Adamnan to accompany him to see the kings of Dalriada and Strathclyde.

  It was early December before they braved the winter storms to sail between the Isles of Luing and Shuna into Loch Melfort. The sea had been choppy but, apart from the odd brief squall, the weather had been kind to them. Grey clouds scudded overhead as they rowers bent their backs to propel the birlinn that the King of Islay – one of the sub-kings of Dalriada - had loaned them up the loch. Half an hour later the helmsman brought the ship skilfully alongside the jetty with a gentle bump. Boys waiting on the shore caught the ropes thrown to them and they tied them off securely to posts on the jetty.

  As Osfrid followed Aldfrith and Adamnan ashore he looked up at Dùn Add, the fortress of King of Dalriada. It looked impregnable and he recalled his father telling him how Oswiu had captured it through trickery to put the present king, Mael Duin, on the throne.

  Mael himself came down to meet the visitors accompanied by a score of warriors. Evidently he wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘Abbot, King Aldfrith, what brings you to Dalriada?’

  His tone wasn’t hostile but neither was it overly friendly.

  ‘Can we go up to your hall, Mael, and I’ll explain,’ Aldfrith replied with a smile.

  The King of Dalriada shrugged and proceeded to lead the way through the settlement clustered around the hill on which the fortress sat. The day had started out grey but dry, now the clouds turned darker and a mixture of rain and sleet stung their faces, blown in on an easterly wind.

  As they ascended the path to the gates Osfrid turned and saw the rowers backing water as they took the borrowed birlinn away from the jetty before heading back down the loch and out to sea. Being stranded here in a strange land gave him a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. They were now dependent on Mael Duin’s goodwill.

  Once in the warmth of the hall they sat around a large rough-hewn table and servants brought ale, bread and cheese for them to eat. Mael waited a while, talking about nothing important, before he suddenly changed the subject.

  ‘Why would you risk venturing into Caledonia where your brother and most of his nobles and warriors perished? Don’t you realise that there is nothing Bruide would like more than to kill the last member of the House of Æthelfrith, leaving Northumbria leaderless. If that happened it wouldn’t take him long to push his frontier down to the Twaid.’

  ‘Why the Twaid? There are no Picts who live in Lothian,’ Aldfrith asked, clearly puzzled by the idea.

  ‘No, but we still call it Goddodin and the Picts are kin to the Britons who live there.’

  ‘Only so far as both were inhabitants of Britain before the Romans came centuries ago.’

  ‘Our language is similar; the main difference is that Caledonia was never conquered by Rome; but that’s not important. Bruide will seize on any excuse to expand his kingdom. It isn’t in the interest of either Dalriada or Strathclyde for him to become too powerful.’

  ‘You believe that he has an obsessive desire for power for power’s sake?’ Adamnan asked.

  ‘I do, as does Elfin. We joined him to defeat Ecgfrith when he invaded because we were frightened of your brother, Aldfrith. We see now that it was Bruide we should have feared. Perhaps we picked the wrong side, but it’s too late now.’

  ‘He’s putting pressure on you?’

  ‘To acknowledge him as our overlord, what you Anglo-Saxons term Bretwalda, yes. Oswiu was our Bretwalda but he was only interested in keeping the north peaceful. Bruide isn’t.’

  ‘When I was in Rome I read about a great king a thousand years ago called Alexander,’ Aldfrith exclaimed. ‘He united lots of small nations in a country called Greece so that they could attack their habitual foe - a mighty empire in the east called Persia. He defeated it and became its monarch but, not satisfied with securing peace for Greece, he carried on conquering kingdom after kingdom. It seems that Bruide suffers from the s
ame compunction to subjugate others just for his own satisfaction.’

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ Adamnan agreed. ‘I too have heard of this Alexander the Great. He also suffered from paranoia, distrusted his own commanders, several of whom he killed. Eventually he died whilst still a young man, poisoned by his own men according to some accounts.’

  ‘Bruide may not be an Alexander but I think you are right to be wary of him,’ Aldfrith said. ‘Have you talked to Elfin about this?’

  Mael nodded. ‘We have agreed to come to the defence of the other if Bruide attacks us, or anyone else for that matter.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t fear Northumbria in that regard. My only interest is in preserving my present northern border against attack. My kingdom needs time to recover. My aims include making it more prosperous, encouraging scholarship and developing our culture and the arts. I have no desire, or the ability, to be a warrior king.’

  ‘Well then,’ Mael said with a smile. ‘Let’s drink a toast to our alliance and the frustration of Bruide’s overweening ambition.’

  The next day Aldfrith and Mael swore a binding oath to defend each other in front of Adamnan and, whilst Mael and the abbot went on to persuade Elfin to do the same, Aldfrith and Osfrid returned to Caer Luel in one of Mael’s birlinns.

  ~~~

  Cuthbert knew that his time on earth was fast coming to an end. He felt increasingly weary of the world and decided to spend what time he had left in meditation and prayer as an anchorite. He therefore wrote to Aldfrith informing him of his decision and recommending the prior, EadBehrt, who had been elected by the monks, as his replacement.

  Aldfrith was at Loidis trying to decide on who should be ealdormen and thegns in Elmet when the letter arrived. He was tempted to drop what he was doing and ride north to see Cuthbert. However, upon reflection, he realised that Cuthbert would already have handed over to EadBehrt and taken up residence on whichever island he’d selected as his home for the rest of his life.

  It wasn’t until Bishop Bosa came to see him that he realised how much he was going to miss Cuthbert. The Bishop of Eoforwīc and the king did not get on. Bosa believed in every line of the Bible whereas Aldfrith enjoyed debating possible interpretations of what was meant in each gospel. He had serious reservations about much of the Old Testament in particular. Bosa was horrified that anyone, even the king, could question anything in Holy Scripture.

  Aldfrith had enjoyed theological discussions with Adamnan and, in the brief time he’d known him, with Cuthbert. Such intellectual exercises were now denied him and he missed them. He was therefore delighted when Bishop Wilfrid arrived during the summer. Here was a scholar who was highly regarded throughout the Roman Church and Aldfrith took a malicious pleasure in seeing how discomfited Bosa was by his nemesis’ return.

  Bosa handled the situation badly. He demanded that Wilfrid be banished again, as he had been by Ecgfrith.

  ‘Are you telling me what to do, Bosa?’ the king asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

  ‘No, of course not Cyning. But Bishop Wilfrid was banished on pain of imprisonment and, as far as I’m aware, his banishment is still in force.’

  ‘Is it? And who can lift the ban?’

  ‘Only the king…’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘Precisely. The king. So all I have to do is lift the order is it not?’

  ‘Yes, Cyning,’ Bosa said dejectedly.

  ‘Consider it lifted. Will you please inform Bishop Wilfrid accordingly?’

  ‘Me, Cyning?’

  ‘Yes, are you incapable of carrying a message for your king?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’ll let him know,’ he replied stiffly.

  ‘Thank you for lifting my banishment, Cyning,’ Wilfrid said when they were alone together a few weeks later. ‘The conversion of the South Saxons to Christianity was rewarding, of course, but I missed the land in which I was born.’

  Wilfrid had the sense to get to know Aldfrith better before he raised the first of the matters which he wanted resolved.

  ‘Cyning, you know that I used to be Bishop of Northumbria?’

  ‘Northumbria? I thought your diocese used to be Eoforwīc. There are two other bishops in Northumbria are there not? John of Beverley at Hexham and EadBehrt at Lindisfarne.’

  ‘Yes, Cyning. But the Pope gave me the authority to approve or reject their appointments and I believe it would be more satisfactory to combine them into one diocese again.’

  ‘With yourself as bishop?’

  Wilfrid nodded.

  ‘Yes, the Pope himself appointed me.’

  ‘But to the see of Eoforwīc, not Northumbria, I think?’

  ‘That’s true,’ Wilfrid confessed. ‘But that was because he didn’t wish to oppose Archbishop Theodore’s misinformed policy of dividing my diocese into three. By giving me control over their appointment he effectively made them subservient to me.’

  ‘Subservient? I think not. I suspect the desire of the synod who advised the then pope was to avoid disunity amongst the bishops of Northumbria as it was one kingdom.’

  ‘Are you then opposed to my re-instatement? Surely you wouldn’t wish to go against a papal edict?’

  ‘The Pope who made that decision is now dead. John the Fifth is now the Pope. In any case the decision is mine. The Pope is our guide in spiritual matters but he shouldn’t interfere in matters outside that.’

  Wilfrid had heard this before from Ecgfrith and he was too astute to pursue an argument he evidently wasn’t going to win.

  ‘Very well, Cyning. I’ll leave you to ponder all that I have said and I look forward to hearing your decision.’

  Aldfrith had enjoyed debating with Wilfrid and he respected his reputation as a scholar. He was so unlike the rigid Bosa and he found himself tempted to replace him with Wilfrid.

  A week later Aldfrith had another argument with Bosa, this time over the introduction of a much more formal liturgy to replace the more impromptu form of service that Aldfrith was used to. That decided him and he sent for both Wilfrid and Bosa.

  ‘Bishop Wilfrid I have listened to your argument that the Pope appointed you to the see of Eoforwīc and I think that my brother was wrong to ignore that. I have therefore decided that you should be restored in accordance with the Pope’s decree. Bosa I am sorry that this means that there is no diocese for you in Northumbria. It is not your fault that King Ecgfrith went against the Pope’s wishes and installed you as bishop. You are not being banished but you must find somewhere else where your ministry is needed.’

  Bosa was seemingly struck dumb by the king’s announcement; not so Wilfrid who smiled triumphantly at his unfortunate fellow bishop.

  ‘Thank you Cyning. I will serve you and God to the best of my ability. May I ask if my other appointments – that is as Abbot of Ripon and Hexham are also to be restored to me?’

  Aldfrith was completely taken aback by this. He had expected Wilfrid to be grateful. He hadn’t anticipated that he would be so acquisitive and opportunistic as to ask for his former monasteries as well.

  ‘You may ask, though this is hardly the time nor the place to do so. The answer is no. Be satisfied with what you have been granted, bishop.’

  Wilfrid’s discomfiture at such a public rebuke brought Bosa a little comfort, but he left the king’s presence without saying a word and set off within the hour to return to Whitby, where he had been a monk before being consecrated as a bishop.

  ~~~

  The twentieth of March 687 was cold but fine. There was a slight swell but the sunlight glistened on the sea making it look as if it was blue dappled with blobs of shimmering white as a man and a boy, both wearing monks’ habits, pushed a small boat off the beach below the monastery of Lindisfarne and climbed aboard.

  Alaric was accompanied by one of his novices, a thirteen year old called Edward who was the senior amongst the current crop of his students. In May he’d be fourteen and would return to Alnwic to start training as a warrior. The small fishing boat was lo
aded with food and water for the week for Cuthbert. Whilst Alaric rowed Edward steered. They smiled at each other, enjoying the break in routine. Alaric was fond of Edward and would miss him when he was gone.

  Edward called out to Cuthbert as they neared the small islet but the anchorite didn’t answer his hail. They brought the small craft alongside the jutting shelf of rock that served as a landing stage and Alaric jumped ashore whilst Edward tied the small boat to a rock. The novice then started to unload the supplies.

  He looked in through the tiny doorway into the beehive shaped hut built of loose stone but the interior was so dark compared to the bright day outside that at first he couldn’t see anything. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could just make out Cuthbert kneeling in prayer and so he waited for him to finish. When Edward joined him the monk still hadn’t moved so Alaric went inside the hut and tapped the anchorite gently on the shoulder.

  There was no response and, when Alaric touched his cheek to confirm his suspicions, he found his flesh was deathly cold. He stumbled outside, pushing Edward away so that he couldn’t go inside, and sobbed with grief. Like all the monks of Lindisfarne, he’d revered Cuthbert as a Holy man and a prophet. His death came as a great shock and for some time he was paralysed by his misery. Edward guessed what had happened and came to put a comforting hand on his master’s shoulder whilst they both wept. Eventually Alaric pulled himself together and, telling Edward to get in and untie the boat, he took the tiller whilst the boy rowed them back to the monastery. Leaving the novice to secure the boat on the beach and unload it again, he went to inform EadBehrt.

  Cuthbert had left instructions that he was to be buried on the islet where he died. However that was impractical. It was bare rock. He was therefore taken back to the monastery and a grave was dug in the floor of the church beside the altar, near that of Saint Aidan, the first Bishop and Abbot of Lindisfarne. He was regarded as a saint whilst he was still alive and as soon as he died they started to call him Saint Cuthbert long before the Pope officially canonised him.