The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith

by H A CULLEY

  Swefred’s archers and slingers launched a barrage of missiles at the men crowding into the small area between the outer palisade and the new one. At first those at the rear, eager to get into the place and start looting, raping and pillaging, didn’t realise what the problem was and kept pushing at those already inside, frustrating their efforts to retreat.

  Slowly the message got through that it was a trap and the attackers withdrew leaving behind them well over two hundred dead and badly wounded. Not all had been killed by the defenders; many had been crushed to death or trampled underfoot.

  Morale in Eadwulf’s camp was at a low ebb that evening. Those ealdormen who had voted for him had done so in the belief that he was a strong leader who was experienced in the art of war. Now his younger brother, who had only just completed his training as a warrior, was making a fool of him. To make matters worse, they knew that Osred’s army could only be a few days’ march away.

  PART THREE – THE LAST OF THEIR HOUSE

  Chapter Nineteen – The Boy King

  705 AD

  Behrtfrith was beginning to wonder whether he’d made the right choice in backing Eadwulf to succeed Aldfrith. His recent conversation with him had left him feeling frustrated and apprehensive.

  ‘You need to forget about Bebbanburg, Cyning. It’s virtually impregnable, you’re bogged down here losing men to no good purpose and their morale is suffering. Meanwhile those who support Osred are gaining strength every day and when they get here they’ll pin you against the fortress and destroy you.’

  ‘Nonsense. My scouts keep me informed of their movements. They have only reached the crossing over the River Tyne, still at least a week away from here. Once I have captured Bebbanburg it is Osred and the Deirans who’ll be trapped between my army and the fortress.’

  ‘And how will you do that? You haven’t managed to do it in three weeks. What makes you think one more week will make any difference?’

  Eadwulf’s eyes narrowed in anger.

  ‘Don’t argue with me! I’m your king. Besides, I know a secret way into the place.’

  ‘Then why haven’t you told me that before?’

  ‘Because there are risks attached.’

  ‘Where is this secret entrance?’

  ‘Up the rubbish chute from the beach. The access inside the fortress is by the east wall and not far from the sea gate. If we can send in a small group of men at the dead of night, they should be able to capture the gate and open it to let us in.’

  ‘It sounds risky to me. The sentries might see them on the beach or they might be intercepted before they manage to open the gates; and they’ll get suspicious if they see men massing below the gates.’

  ‘Which is why we need a dark night. There is a new moon tomorrow night and the recent fine weather is coming to an end. Cloud cover will make it too dark to see anything at any distance.’

  ‘They’ll still hear the assault force beyond the gates. However quiet you tell them to be a large group of men will be heard on a still night.’

  ‘Which is why I’ll use my Frisians as the first wave to hold the gate once it’s been opened. They are the best trained warriors there are anywhere and they know how to make a stealthy attack.’

  ‘You haven’t heard then?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘They’ve had enough. They have lost a quarter of their men and their captains blame you for that. It doesn’t matter what you promise to pay them, they’ve had enough. They are leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘What? They can’t desert me now. How would they return to the Continent anyway?’

  ‘They’re not. The Picts you recruited are going with them; together they plan to depose Bridei and put their leader, Nectan, on the throne.’

  ‘Nectan? He’s plotting to become King of the Picts?’

  ‘Yes, he’s Bridei’s younger brother. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Beware of younger brothers,’ he said with some fervour and spat onto the ground. ‘They should be killed at birth.’

  ‘A bit late for that.’

  Behrtfrith watched Eadwulf carefully. He’d expected him to send for Nectan and the Frisian captains and offer them something that would persuade them to stay, but he just sat on his camp stool brooding. He left him to it and walked down towards the beach well out of arrow shot from the fortress.

  After an hour he reached a decision and went to find the captain of his warband.

  ~~~

  Shortly after dawn Swefred was making his usual rounds of the defences with Heartbehrt when one of his men came looking for him.

  ‘Lord, something is happening in the enemy camp.’

  Swefred ran to the watchtower and a minute later he looked down at his brother’s camp and tried to make sense of what he saw. At first it looked as if many hundreds of the besieging army were going off to confront Osred’s relieving force but, instead of heading to the south or west they headed north. Whichever way Osred’s army came it wouldn’t be from that direction.

  There seemed to be some sort of quarrel going on in front of Eadwulf’s tent. The man he thought might be his brother struck the man he was arguing with and swords were drawn. The dispute was getting ugly and Swefred began to laugh; something he hadn’t done in earnest for some time. It looked as if his brother’s army was falling apart.

  Behrtfrith had been astounded when Eadwulf had struck him. He’d been half expecting a fierce reaction when he’d told the erstwhile king that his attempt to establish himself on the throne was over, but a verbal not a physical one.

  ‘I advise you to take what few mercenaries are left to you and flee back to Frisia before it’s too late; I’m heading south to make my peace with Osred, if I can.’

  ‘Traitor!’ Eadwulf yelled at him.

  Behrtfrith was expecting a tirade of verbal abuse but what he hadn’t anticipated was Eadwulf punching him in the face and then trying to draw his sword to kill him. Fortunately Eadwulf’s own men held him back. Behrtfrith’s gesith had drawn their swords when their ealdorman was struck but he managed to calm them down.

  ‘You’re a fool, Eadwulf. God alone knows why I thought you’d make a good king. You’re nothing more than a spoilt brat who lashes out like a petulant child when he doesn’t get his own way. Good luck when Osred gets here.’

  After Behrtfrith had left, taking his three hundred men with him, Eadwulf had ignored the remaining ealdormen and withdrew into his tent, telling the sentries not to let anyone in.

  It didn’t take long for the other three Lothian ealdormen to decide to follow Behrtfrith’s example but, instead of following him, they decided to head home and disband the fyrd, trusting Behrtfrith to represent them. They reasoned that, had they also headed south, it might have looked as if they were intent on blocking Osred’s advance.

  When Eadwulf had calmed down he realised with dismay that he was now left with a five hundred men to confront probably around three thousand, and the loyalty of the remaining ealdormen was dubious to say the least. They had probably stayed because they didn’t know what to do.

  Later that day Swefred watched with glee as the last of the besiegers marched off to the west. Now only Eadwulf and his gesith were left and, being mercenaries, he doubted that they would be bound by their oath to defend their lord to their last breath in the same way as Anglo-Saxons would.

  His suspicion was well founded and later that day the Frisians brought Eadwulf - king for less than two months – up to the main gates of Bebbanburg and left him there, bound hand and foot, before taking two of the birlinns anchored in Budle Bay and setting off back across the German Ocean to find new employment back on the Continent.

  Swefred was left in something of a quandary. He knew that his brother would have killed him, probably slowly and painfully, had he managed to capture Bebbanburg, but Swefred had a deep belief in the ties and obligations of family. He couldn’t just hand Eadwulf over to the Witan for trial and certain execution. When the riders he’d sent out as scouts returned to say th
at Osred’s army was only two days away he knew that he had to make a decision, and make it quickly.

  ~~~

  ‘You’re a traitor, in league with your brother,’ Osred accused Swefred when the Witan had gathered in the hall at Bebbanburg.

  ‘Calm down Osred. If Swefred is at fault the Witan will determine that and decide what punishment, if any is due,’ Edmond of Eoforwīc told him firmly.

  Osred sat down beside his brothers, Otta and Osric, still fuming that Eadwulf had been allowed to escape. Otta had looked fearful when Osred had lost his temper; he knew only too well how dangerous he could be when in a rage. The five year old Osric just looked bemused and leaned against Otta’s shoulder for comfort.

  ‘We are here to decide first and foremost who should be elected king,’ Bishop Eadfrith began. ‘We can move onto the recent revolt and its consequences later.’

  As the Witan was meeting in his diocese he had been chosen to chair the meeting. However, as he had also been involved in what had happened to Eadwulf, he was anxious that the Witan didn’t focus on that first.

  ‘The three sons of the late king are present and are eligible to be considered. Is there anyone else with a claim to the throne?’

  Eyes swivelled to look at Swefred, Eochaid and Cenred, all of whom might have put themselves forward. Cenred looked as if he might be about to stand, but then subsided back onto the bench he was sitting on.

  ‘Very well. I ask each of the three æthelings present to stand and present their case.’

  Osred leaped to his feet and began speaking in an excited treble voice.

  ‘My father was king and had three sons, of whom I am the eldest. Some have doubts that I can rule as I’m still young and not yet a warrior but my father trained me to succeed him and I am certain that I will make a good king. Neither of my brothers should be considered; they are even younger than me. I’m the obvious choice.’

  The boy had spoken well, though no doubt he had been coached by Bishop Wilfred who had become his mentor in the past few weeks.

  ‘Thank you Osred. Otta?’

  ‘I have no wish to be king.’

  ‘Osric?’

  The boy just shook his head.

  ‘Very well. It seems that we have no contest. Does anyone wish to say anything?’

  Wilfrid rose to his feet with difficulty and cleared his throat.

  ‘I am very pleased that the right person has been chosen to be king but, as he himself said, he is barely nine years old. He will therefore need guidance and advice until he’s of an age when he can rule on his own. I propose that regents be appointed to assist him to rule until he is of age.’

  Osred’s eyes narrowed at this. He didn’t believe that he needed help to rule and he suspected that what the bishop had said was disingenuous. The word regent meant someone who ruled on behalf of a king.

  ‘That seems sensible, thank you Wilfrid,’ Eadfrith said, smiling at the Abbot of Ripon. ‘Who should form the regency? I suggest that it would give too much power to one man but too many regents would prove unwieldy.’

  ‘Then I suggest two,’ one of the ealdormen called out.

  ‘Do we have any proposals?’

  ‘Wilfrid is a scholar of some repute and a man wise in the ways of the world,’ Edmond suggested.

  ‘Good. Anyone else?’

  ‘A churchman should be balanced by a warrior. One of the ealdormen should assist him.’

  This time it was John of Beverley who had spoken.

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘Behrtfrith is our most experienced warrior,’ one of the Lothian ealdormen tentatively suggested.

  ‘Behrtfrith! But he was Eadwulf’s most ardent supporter!’ Eochaid exclaimed.

  ‘I believe that the idea has some merit,’ Edmond said quietly but was drowned out by the hubbub of those arguing for and against the idea amongst themselves.

  Bishop Eadfrith looked on in dismay then called one of the sentries over. A moment later the rhythmic banging of swords against shields by the four sentries in the hall gradually restored order.

  ‘Thank you. Unless we can behave properly and observe the rules of the Witan I shall have no option but to adjourn the meeting. Now, Edmond I believe you were saying something?’

  ‘We were divided over the succession and that nearly led to civil war. Had it not been for Swefred’s stout defence of Bebbanburg we might well have so weakened the kingdom that the Picts and the Mercians could have walked into Northumbria and we would have been unable to oppose them. What we need now is unity under King Osred’s rule. To achieve that we must put the past behind us and move on. I say that there is merit in having a representative of each side as our two regents.’

  At mention of Swefred’s name Osred’s grey eyes sought out the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg and glared at him. Evidently the former’s loyal service counted as nothing in the new king’s eyes because of what had befallen his brother.

  After another hour’s discussion Wilfrid and Behrtfrith were elected as regents until Osred turned sixteen. The Witan then moved onto the replacement of the late Bosa as Bishop of Eoforwīc. This time it was Osred who asserted his authority.

  ‘My father had already chosen Bosa’s successor before he died. Of course, Bosa outlived my father for a short time and so he wasn’t able to implement his choice, but I do so now. The man chosen is John of Beverley; congratulations bishop.’

  John bowed and smiled his thanks whilst Wilfrid fumed. The boy king had neatly outwitted him.

  ‘And who should take Bishop John’s place at Hexham, Cyning?’ Eadfrith asked.

  ‘I know that Wilfrid has long coveted the See of Eoforwīc. I believe that he should be compensated for losing that struggle by becoming both Bishop and Abbot of Hexham.’

  Wilfrid was surprised initially but quickly thanked the king before anyone could object. At least he was a bishop in Northumbria if not Bishop of Northumbria; and he’d regained Hexham. It was only later that he realised how clever Osred had been. By rewarding Wilfrid he’d ensured the regent’s loyalty and had consequently gained some power over him.

  ‘Before we come to the customary swearing of fealty to the new king, there remains the matter of Eadwulf,’ Eadfrith said a little hesitantly.

  ‘Finally we come to it,’ Osred broke in. ‘I say that his brother Swefred is a traitor for letting him escape and should be punished accordingly.’

  ‘I didn’t let him escape, Cyning. He was my prisoner and I gave him a choice. Either he stood trial or he became a monk so that he could never again become a candidate for the crown. He chose the latter.’

  ‘Knowing that he would have been found guilty by the Witan and executed had you not given him that choice,’ Osred said heatedly. ‘You usurped my prerogative to deal with him and by so doing you are as much a traitor as he is.’

  ‘I think you are forgetting, Osred, who saved your throne. You should be congratulating Swefred, not chastising him. ’ Eochaid said firmly.

  ‘You will address me as Cyning,’ Osred almost screamed.

  Several of the ealdormen looked at each other in alarm at this display of rage and some wondered whether they had made a mistake in choosing Osred as king.’

  ‘My apologies Cyning,’ Eochaid said smoothly. ‘Nevertheless, the fact remains that you owe your throne to the man who you now name as a traitor.’

  ‘Be careful or you will lose your shire too, Eochaid.’

  Swefred stiffened at the use of the word too. It implied that he was about to lose Bebbanburg.

  ‘Cyning, I see little purpose in pursuing this further. You, and the kingdom as a whole, owe a great debt to Ealdorman Swefred for almost singlehandedly defeating the usurper Eadwulf. He is now a monk and, as I understand it, is currently on his way to Iona exiled from Northumbria forever,’ Wilfrid said calmly. ‘He can no longer challenge you for the throne and this solution enables us to unite your kingdom under your rule.

  ‘Had you been forced to execute him there would have been those who w
ould have blamed you for his death and perhaps you would have stored up trouble for the future. This solution is the one I would have recommended in any case.’

  ‘Well, it’s not one I would have accepted. Be very careful bishop. You owe me for Hexham. I can easily undo what I have done.’

  ‘I think not, Osred. You are still a child and you have the status of king but not the power.’

  The man who had spoken was the Ealdorman of Luncæster, the one noble who had not taken part in the recent campaign on either side.

  Osred glared at him with his piercing grey eyes.

  ‘Perhaps not yet, but I will have that power in a few short years and then I shall be able to right the slights and insults I’m suffering now.’

  ‘If you live that long,’ the ealdorman replied impassively. ‘Given the way you’re behaving now, I wouldn’t put money on it. Kings need the loyalty and support of their nobles, however old they are. A throne is never a secure seat. Try and remember that.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Osred almost squeaked.

  ‘No, merely pointing out the harsh realities of life, Cyning.’

  Eadfrith let the uneasy silence last for a few moments and was about to dismiss the Witan when he realised that the nobles still had to swear fealty to Osred. At first the ceremony went smoothly but when Swefred knelt to give his oath and raised his hands to clasp those of the king, Osred whipped his hands away.

  ‘I don’t accept your oath and as far as I’m concerned you are no longer welcome in my presence.’

  ‘Very well, Cyning. Nevertheless I swear to be your loyal servant and to exercise my duties as the Ealdorman of the Shire of Bebbanburg to the best of my abilities and in your best interests.’

  Osred also refused to accept the oath of the Ealdorman of Luncæster. However, he reacted differently.

  ‘Then you are a fool as well as a spoilt little brat, Osred. If you won’t accept my oath, I’m sure that Coenred of Mercia will be only too happy to.’

  ‘Stop, this is madness,’ Behrtfrith broke in. ‘As regent I won’t allow your stupidity to cost Northumbria one of its largest shires. The loss of Luncæstershire would make Deira and Elmet almost impossible to defend. Hold out your hands Osred of I’ll do so by force. Good, now give your oath.’