The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith

by H A CULLEY

  Cuthbert had been dead for a little while before Alaric had found him and rigor mortis had set in. They had therefore been forced to break his knee and hip joints to get him in his coffin but EadBehrt had sworn those involved to secrecy. If people knew that his body had been abused in that way it would have detracted from the awe in which the dead Cuthbert was held. EadBehrt was no fool. He realised the potential of a shrine where two renowned saints were buried. It would make Lindisfarne as famous as Iona and, as a pilgrimage destination, the monastery would become wealthy.

  The shock of finding Cuthbert’s body had a profound effect on Alaric. He gave up his role as Master of the Novices and became an anchorite himself, but living on a different islet to the one that Saint Cuthbert had inhabited. There he could suffer the repeated nightmares engendered by his discovery of Cuthbert’s corpse without disturbing his fellow monks.

  Chapter Fourteen – Wilfrid’s Rise and Fall

  688 to 691 AD

  Theodore of Tarsus was making a tour of all the dioceses in England. He was now eighty six and found travelling distressingly tedious. He had resorted to a carriage but, despite the padded seats, the rigid axles made it just as uncomfortable as a farmer’s cart. By the time he reached Eoforwīc he was exhausted and suffering from considerable pain in his arthritic joints. He was therefore not in the best of moods.

  When he entered the king’s hall he discovered that Adamnan, the de factor head of the Celtic Church, was also paying a visit to Eoforwīc and his moroseness changed to anger.

  ‘What is the Abbot of Iona doing here, Cyning? I was under the impression that you, like your father and brother, had embraced Rome and put the foolishness of the Celtic Church behind you.’

  ‘Perhaps you would like to go and take your rest after your long and arduous journey, archbishop? When you return you may be in a better mood and be prepared to conduct yourself in a more courteous manner.’

  Aldfrith’s voice was icily polite but he might just as well have told the archbishop to get out and come back when he’d recovered his manners.

  In fact Adamnan was there as the emissary of Fínsnechta, the High King of Hibernia, as Aldfrith explained to Theodore when he joined them for the evening meal.

  ‘You jumped to the wrong conclusion earlier, Theodore. Adamnan isn’t here as Abbot of Iona but to negotiate the return of the church property that was looted and the captives that were taken during Stepan of Cumbria’s raid four years ago.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I owe both of you an apology in that case.’

  ‘It’s already forgotten,’ Adamnan told him, smiling. However, Aldfrith said nothing.

  ‘Are you visiting every diocese, Theodore, or is there a special reason for coming to Northumbria?’ Wilfrid asked.

  His tone was friendly but the archbishop sensed a wariness behind the question.

  ‘No, I’m making one last visit to all my bishops before I get too old to do so. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that I may already have left it too late. My body isn’t coping very well with being jostled and bumped around for hours at a time. But I do want to meet your new bishop, EadBehrt.’

  He noticed Adamnan glance at Aldfrith when he said that and Wilfrid frowned.

  ‘Is there something I should know about him?’

  ‘He was the monks’ universal choice,’ Aldfrith replied, ‘and I knew him well years ago when we were on Iona together. He is a devout man and he’ll make a good abbot.’

  ‘On Iona? Is he a member of the Celtic Church then?’

  ‘He accepts the doctrine of Rome,’ Wilfrid said smoothly, ‘well most of it at any rate.’

  Aldfrith shifted uneasily in his ornately carved chair.

  ‘What Bishop Wilfrid means to say is that he is a devoted servant of God who is an aesthete, as Cuthbert was. He has little time for the trappings of wealth and the ostentation that some of our colleagues seem to be so fond of,’ Aldfrith said, trying not to glance at the richly decorated robe that Wilfrid was wearing.

  This was in stark contrast to the plain coarse woollen habit worn by Adamnan. The only thing which distinguished him from the humblest of his monks was the silver cross which hung from a leather thong around his neck. A monk would have worn a plain wooden one. Although Wilfrid and the king got on well together most of the time, Aldfrith deplored the bishop’s love of rich clothes, fine jewellery and what he regarded as an extravagant life style.

  Theodore was also dressed in a fine woollen robe but it lacked the silver wire embroidery of Wilfrid’s and the archbishop only wore one jewelled ring, not several on each hand like Wilfrid. Although Aldfrith’s tunic and trousers were made of finely woven wool, they were unembellished and the only jewellery he wore was the signet ring that he used to seal documents.

  ‘So will you be going on to Lindisfarne tomorrow, archbishop?’ Wilfrid asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

  ‘No, I need time to recover. I was hoping that Bishop EadBehrt could come here.’

  ‘I’m not sure that he would be willing to stray into the diocese of another bishop,’ Wilfrid said in a tone which indicated his displeasure at the idea.

  ‘He will if I command it,’ Theodore said, losing patience. ‘I’m too old to travel so far north. Cyning, would you mind sending him a letter from me?’

  ‘No, of course not, Theodore. It would be my pleasure.’

  ‘Thank you. Then we can enjoy each other’s company for a few days until he arrives.’

  ‘Sadly I fear not. I am expected at Whitby for a service in remembrance of my father who, as you know, is buried there. I have invited Adamnan to accompany me as he would like to see their magnificent church. I would also like to meet my half-sister, Ælfflæd, who is now the abbess there. However, Bishop Wilfrid will stay to entertain you until my return.’

  ‘He won’t be accompanying you?’

  ‘No, he and the former abbess, Hild, disliked each other and I understand that my sister is cast very much in the same mould as she was.’

  Wilfrid and Theodore stood on the steps of the king’s hall in the rain as it swept across the compound in gusts. They waited until the king and his party rode out of the gates before rushing back inside to dry off in front of the central hearth.

  ‘Well, I for one am glad to forego the pleasure of see this magnificent new church at Whitby. Have you seen it?’ the archbishop asked Wilfrid.

  Before he could reply Theodore added, ‘of course you have, at the Synod in 664.’

  ‘Yes, but it was only partially completed then,’ Wilfrid replied. ‘The chancel had been roofed and that’s where we met. The foundations for the north and south transept were in place and the walls of the nave had been built but were open to the sky. Work had yet to start on the west front or the central tower so it’s difficult for me to envisage what it looks like now.’

  ‘Isn’t it a little odd that you haven’t visited one of the most important monasteries in your diocese in the past twenty years?’

  ‘You forget that I spent a fair number of those years in exile and was even imprisoned at one stage,’ he replied somewhat tersely.

  ‘No, I haven’t forgotten. You are evidently in dispute with the abbess and, from what I hear, your fellow bishops in the north as well.’

  ‘They sided with Bosa so it’s hardly surprising that I don’t have their support.’

  ‘Perhaps, but schisms in the Church in England, of which I am the head, are anathema to me. I would like to see you reconciled with your fellow bishops and abbots.’

  ‘I fear that is hardly likely to happen. I may be abbot of the monastery here at Eoforwīc but Aldfrith has denied me Hexham and Ripon, which the Pope granted me.’

  ‘The trouble with the papacy is that we keep electing men who die within months of their appointment. So far this century there have been eighteen. One pope countermands the decisions of his predecessor and consequently no one pays much regard to papal edicts anymore.’

  ‘Eighteen? I thought that there had been si
xteen?’

  ‘Pope John died a year ago. Presumably the news hasn’t reached you here yet? Unfortunately his successor only lasted a few months. Now a Greek called Sergius has been elected. He’s in his mid-thirties and hopefully his reign will last for decades.

  ‘However, his accession hasn’t been without its problems. Two other contenders for the papacy conspired against him and the Byzantine emperor tried to imprison him.

  ‘All that is in the past now, but it does serve to illustrate that the power of the Pope is a transient thing. I don’t think you can rely on it to achieve your objects.’

  ‘You mean that the Pope’s grant of Hexham and Ripon monasteries to me is worthless?’

  ‘I fear so.’

  Wilfrid looked glum for a moment before speaking again.

  ‘In that case I shall just have to persuade Aldfrith to grant them to me.’

  ~~~

  Aldfrith and the half-sister he’d never met, Ælfflaed, had got on well from the start. Both were scholars and liked debating the finer points of theology, and they and Adamnan did so far into the night.

  He was impressed by the church; only that at Ripon came close to it for size. That on Lindisfarne could have fitted into the nave at Whitby with room to spare, whereas most other monasteries were constructed completely of timber.

  One thing put a slight damper on his good mood though. He had forgotten that Bosa was now the prior at Whitby and meeting him again was a trifle awkward, though Bosa hid any resentment he might have felt. It was the only matter that he and his sister disagreed about during his stay. She maintained that not only was his treatment of Bosa shabby but she also questioned Wilfrid’s fitness to be Bishop of Eoforwīc. Although Aldfrith defended his decision to replace Bosa, he was beginning to wonder whether he’d made the right choice after all.

  Ælfflaed had the sense not to pursue the matter once she had made her feelings clear and left the king to ponder the situation. Bosa went out of his way to be pleasant to him, which added to his doubts over his wisdom in dismissing him.

  Adamnan had been particularly captivated by the splendour of the magnificent church with its windows of stained glass. He had never seen a building so fine. However, he was even more enthralled by the library at Whitby. He had brought a book about the Holy Land as a present for Aldfrith from the library on Iona and he was proud of the collection of books and scrolls that he and his predecessors had amassed there. However it paled into insignificance compared to that of Whitby.

  When the king and his friend left Whitby they travelled north to visit the monastery at Jarrow on the River Tyne. This was an unusual establishment in that it consisted of two separate monasteries, one on the north bank of the River Tyne and one on the south bank. Adamnan had particularly asked to go there in order to meet the monk in charge of the scriptorium.

  At seventeen Bede was young to be given such responsibility but, as Adamnan soon realised, he was clever, knowledgeable and passionately interested in history. He had just started to write a history which he proposed to call historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum - the History of the English Church and People. Adamnan had been fascinated by the project when he’d been told about it and he spent several days helping Bede to carry out some of his research whilst, at the same time, consulting books and scrolls not available to him on Iona about matters he was interested in.

  Aldfrith was not keen on spending any longer than necessary at Jarrow. He hadn’t forgotten Benoc and his insults during the meeting of the Witan when he was elected king. He had no desire to see the old man again and he was on the point of returning to Eoforwīc, leaving Adamnan to follow on when he was ready, when a messenger arrived.

  The news he brought was ominous. Bruide had married at long last and his bride was the daughter of Elfin of Strathclyde. Not only that, Mael Duin of Dalriada had just died and his successor was a cousin of Bruide’s. It looked as if the King of the Picts was about to unite all of Caledonia under his leadership.

  ~~~

  Osfrid was celebrating the birth of his second son, Swefred, when a message arrived to warn him that the king was on his way north. The last few years had been good for Osfrid and Godwyna. Aldfrith’s peaceful reign had brought prosperity in its wake. The vill below Bebbanburg had expanded with several more craftsmen establishing workshops there. Not only did this benefit Osfrid directly through the licences they were obliged to purchase from him, but the gold, silver, leather and iron goods that they produced were carried on his knarrs to markets in Frankia, Fresia and the Anglo-Saxon homelands of Saxony, Anglia and Jutland. Naturally he charged for their transportation and also took a cut of the profits they made.

  Eadwulf was now four and his daughter, Guthild, two. His son’s jealously of Guthild hadn’t lessened and he refused to have anything to do with her. When Swefred was born Eadwulf had thrown a tantrum and Osfrid had lost his temper with him, smacking him hard to stop the boy screaming and pounding his little fists on the floor. He’d been shocked at the smack; his father had never hit him before and he retreated into a sulk which he kept up for three days before finally going to see his parents and apologising.

  Osfrid smiled and gave the boy a hug to show he was forgiven but Godwyna saw the expression in Eadwulf’s face as he returned his father’s embrace. It disturbed her. Instead of the pleasure at being forgiven that she had expected to see, his face was contorted into a grimace that conveyed both hatred and vindictiveness. She knew then that she had to keep Eadwulf from being alone with the baby.

  What neither parent knew was that Benoc had told his grandson about his lineage when they had last visited Jarrow. Eadwulf had been too young to fully understand all that Benoc had said, but he’s grasped the fact that he was descended from the kings of Bernicia and that he had more right to the throne than the bastard Aldfrith had.

  This was why he hated Swefred, not so much because his parents’ affection was now divided amongst three children, though that was also true, but because his brother would grow up to be his rival for the throne. He might have only a hazy idea what being king meant at four, but he knew that he was important and powerful and that appealed to him.

  Osfrid and Godwyna had no idea about the poison that her father had dripped into Eadwulf’s ear; poison that would fester and grow with the passing years and inevitably lead to tragedy.

  ‘I’ve just come from Jarrow and I’m on my way to see Behrt,’ Aldfrith told Osfrid as they sat alone in front of the central hearth in the hall at Bebbanburg, enjoying a goblet of mead together after everyone else had retired for the night.

  The old hall was mean and primitive compared to others Osfrid had seen. It had been built nearly two hundred years ago and had been patched and repaired ever since. Now the roof leaked in places during heavy rain and it stank of smoke and the faeces and urine that had soaked into the rush covered earthen floor over the years. Even Aldfrith, who was no lover of luxury having endured primitive living conditions on Iona and elsewhere for most of his life, had wrinkled his nose in distaste when he’d entered.

  Godwyna had been nagging Osfrid to have a new hall built for ages and now, having seen the king’s reaction to his home, he determined to do something about it. His thoughts were dragged back to the present at the king’s next statement.

  ‘I’m worried that Bruide is becoming too powerful and may try and extend his territory southwards, either into Lothian or into Cumbria.’

  ‘Is there any evidence of this, Cyning?’

  ‘No hard evidence, no. But Elfin is growing feebler and his son, Beli, is the real power in Strathclyde now. He was friends with Bruide before but, now that his sister is the Pictish queen, the two are even closer. In the past Rheged used to stretch into Galloway on the far side of the Solway Firth before Strathclyde seized the area. Now I hear rumours that Beli is using the expulsion of the Britons from Rheged to incite his own people, who are also Britons, to exact revenge by invading Cumbria. I have no doubt that Bruide is egging him on.’

>   Aldfrith stopped speaking and gazed into the dying embers of the fire. Osfrid said nothing, sensing that the king hadn’t finished.

  ‘My real fear is that they will launch a concerted attack and that Bruide will invade Lothian at the same time. I’m confident that we could defeat either an attack on Lothian or on Cumbria, but not on both simultaneously.’

  ‘How can I help, Cyning?’

  ‘I want you to go and see your brother-in-law, Alweo of Man. Get him to promise to launch raids on the coast of Strathclyde if Beli invades Cumbria. That should force him to abandon his invasion and return to defend his homeland.’

  ‘I see. And Behrt?’

  ‘I want him to intensify his preparations to defend Lothian. If Bruide sees that we are ready to give him a bloody nose if he crosses into the land south of the Firth of Forth he might think twice about it.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll get ready to leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘Thank you. It would be quickest if you travelled west to Caer Luel where I’ve arranged for a birlinn to take you across to Duboglassio on Man.’

  ~~~

  Because this was going to be a peaceful mission, Osfrid decided to take Eadwulf with him. Godwyna had been against the idea, saying that her son was too young at not quite five to undertake such a long journey but Osfrid convinced her that it would be a good opportunity for him to strengthen the bonds with his eldest child. He placated her by agreeing that it was time to build a new hall and he left her to start drawing up the plans; a proposal she embraced with considerable enthusiasm.

  The journey to Caer Luel was uneventful. Osfrid had decided to take ten of his gesith with him as escort and a few servants leading packhorses to travel as swiftly as possible. Eadwulf had started out riding his small pony but, despite his excitement – or possibly because of it - he got tired quite quickly and Osfrid lifted him up to sit in front of him on his own horse whilst Drefan rode forward to grab the reins of the pony. The boy dropped off to sleep after a while cradled in his father’s arms and Osfrid felt supremely contented by the close contact with his son’s small body.