by H A CULLEY
By now the Mercians had had enough. They had lost twelve of their original twenty and some of the other eight had flesh wounds. One man lost his sense of direction in his panic to flee and left the ford. He was swept away to be drowned as the weight of his chainmail pulled him under.
As the seven men waded back the archers sent a few volleys into their unprotected backs. Not one man made it back across the river in safety.
The Mercians had a few archers of their own and these were now sent forward, each with a second man with a shield to protect the two of them. However, all the Bernicians did was to retreat behind the carts. The Mercian commander was now at a loss. He had no idea how to attack again without losing all his men. They were demoralised and would probably refuse to launch another frontal attack. However, Penda would certainly kill him, and probably the rest as well, if they went back having failed. Whilst he stood there undecided he was startled to hear a hunting horn to his rear.
To his amazement Oswald now led his gesith forward and started to cross the ford, his archers having swopped their bows for sword and shield. Moments later another sixteen men appeared coming out of the ruins behind him. They dismounted and formed another shield wall. He was trapped. His remaining twenty now faced thirty six of the most experienced warriors in Britain.
He was dead either way so the Mercian commander charged at Oswald in a last attempt to kill him. His weapon of choice was a large single bladed axe. He lifted this over his head so that he could bring it down, splitting the king’s skull in two. The blow never landed. Oswald dropped to one knee and thrust up into the Mercian’s belly. The axe shot out of his hands, which had opened involuntarily when he’d been stabbed, and landed behind Oswald. A thrust deep into the intestines is usually fatal, but not immediately so. The man lay writhing in agony until Oswald took pity on him and thrust his blade into the man’s neck. The rest of his men had had enough and threw down their weapons in surrender.
‘Did you have any trouble crossing the river, brother?’ Oswald asked as he and Oswiu embraced and slapped each other on the back.
‘No there was another ford fifteen miles away, but it’s as well that you delayed approaching this one until now or we wouldn’t have been in position in time.’
‘Oh, I think we’d have managed to hold off another attack or two but the danger was that the Mercians, or what was left of them, would have escaped. Now Penda won’t know what’s happened to his assassination attempt. I don’t know whether to leave him guessing or send the heads back to him.’
‘Why don’t you hang the bodies from the trees as a warning to others? Word will get back to Penda eventually and you don’t have to risk the life of the messenger who conveys the heads to him.’
‘And the captives?’
‘Sell them in Eoforwīc. Kings always need gold and silver, and it will enhance your reputation as well.’
~~~
Oswald wasn’t expecting the Witan to be particularly welcoming, especially after the difficult time he’d had at Yeavering, but he hadn’t appreciated quite how hostile it would prove to be. The presiding noble was the Eorl of Elmet. Ever since it had been incorporated into Deira by his father it had been accorded the status of a separate province of Deira under an eorl and this man, called Thurwold, was now the senior noble in the kingdom. His name meant Thor’s power – a pagan name – which was not a good sign.
The Witan met in what had originally been built as a church but, since the apostasy of the last king, had become the hall where the young warriors of Eoforwīc lived. It wasn’t particularly clean – the rushes on the floor hadn’t been changed for a while and the bones of past meals, spilt ale and dog and rat faeces were everywhere; and it stank.
Oswald had also noticed that the roof was in a poor state of repair. When it started to rain heavily just after the meeting had begun, water dripped through the thatch in numerous places.
Acha, as the daughter of King Ælle of Deira and the sister of the late King Edwin, was allowed to attend, but Thurwold’s first ruling was that she wouldn’t be permitted to speak. Both Oswald and Oswiu immediately challenged that.
‘My mother is the last surviving member of the royal house of Deira of her generation,’ he began. ‘As the only surviving child of Ælle as well as the sister of Edwin, she should have a voice.’
‘As one of the surviving æthelings, I support Oswald’s proposal,’ Oswiu stated as he glowered at Thurwold.
‘You are here as supplicants before the Witan and don’t dictate how we conduct our business,’ Thurwold almost yelled at him.
He knew then that the old man could prove to be serious problem. Oswald joined his brother on his feet.
‘You say, Thurwold, that this is the Witan’s decision, yet I have seen no sign that this is so, just your opinion. I ask the Witan to vote on whether they wish to hear what the Lady Acha has to say. If the majority do not wish to listen to her then, of course, my brother and I will abide by that decision.’
Both brothers sat down again to a general outbreak of noise as those present discussed the issue. Unsurprisingly Thurwold was furious.
‘Silence, silence,’ he barked getting to his feet and glowering at his fellow nobles. ‘I have made a decision and that is the end of the matter.’
That was a mistake.
‘No it isn’t. You preside because someone must do so, but you are behaving like an autocrat. Each one of us has an equal voice in the Witan; yours is no more important than mine, or mine than the chief druid’s.’
Oswald looked with interest at the speaker; a man named Aylmer, another eorl, this time of an area known as the Wolds. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and, unlike most of those present, he was clean shaven, making him look even younger.
There was a general murmur of agreement and Thurwold wisely decided not to risk further humiliation by putting the matter to the vote. He waved his hand, indicating that he conceded the point.
‘Be that as it may,’ he continued. ‘There are three æthelings who are eligible to be considered but only one who is the son of our last king, Osric.’
Oswiu was on his feet once more.
‘That’s not true,’ he stated flatly. ‘There are four æthelings present.’
He sat down as Thurwold scowled at him again.
‘Who is the fourth? I see you and your brother and, of course, Oswine, son of King Osric.’
‘You are forgetting me, I think. I’m Oslac, also the son of Æthelfrith, King of Northumbria, and the Lady Acha. There is also a fourth brother, Offa, but he’s unable to be present today.’
It was cleverly done. Thurwold had been made to look a fool. He spluttered with rage before he regained his voice.
‘But you’re a monk, a follower of the false god, Christ.’
‘There is no true God but one and Jesus Christ is his Son, but that it not what we’re here to discuss today. I am nevertheless an ætheling of Deira, as is Offa, so what you have just stated is untrue.’
‘Do you wish to be considered as our king?’ Thurwold spat at him.
‘That is not the point, and I’m sure we’ll come to that. You are required as the man presiding over the Witan to list all the æthelings of Deira. It makes no difference if they are present or not, or whether they are a mewling infant or an old man in his dotage.’
Oslac sat down again. He was conscious of his brothers smirking beside him, but also of the looks of malice directed his way by the four chief druids present. Before Thurwold could continue the door opened and a man dressed like Oslac but without the distinctive Celtic tonsure entered, shaking the rain from his habit.
‘What are you doing here? You have no seat in the Witan,’ Thurwold barked at him.
‘On the contrary, I am here as the representative of Queen Ethelburh and her son Usfrea. As the son of King Edwin, Usfrea is also an ætheling.’
‘It seems the list of those wanting to be king instead of you grows by the minute, brother,’ Oswiu murmured to Oswald.
‘Where is Usfrea? Why isn’t he here himself? In any case he is only a young boy.’
‘That doesn’t preclude him from being king; if you elect him, as you should, his mother will act as regent until he is older.’
‘Who is the man speaking?’ Oswald asked the thegn standing behind him.
‘James the Deacon, the Lady Æthelburh’s chaplain,’ the man replied, stooping down to whisper in Oswald’s ear.
‘Ah, so he hails from Kent? Where Æthelburh came from? He must be a Roman Christian then.’
‘Just so. He served Bishop Paulinus, who was appointed by the Pope in Rome, until Osric became an apostate. Paulinus returned to Kent with Æthelburh and her brood were sent to Frankia for safety. There were four of them but two of the boys died as infants. There is a daughter too, Eanflæd. As far as I know they are both still in Frankia. James stayed here ministering to those who remained Christian after Osric reverted to paganism.’
He stopped talking and straightened up as he saw Thurwold glaring at him.
‘I hope we now have a complete list of æthelings,’ Thurwold almost sneered. ‘Good. They are Oswine, son of King Osric, Oswald, Oswiu, Oslac and Offa, sons of Lady Acha and Usfrea, son of King Edwin.’
Oswald got to his feet this time.
‘Whilst I obviously don’t dispute that we are the sons of Lady Acha,’ he smiled at his mother as he said this, ‘more relevantly we are also the sons of King Æthelfrith, elected by the Witan as King of Deira.’
‘He imposed himself on Deira and subjugated Elmet,’ Thurwold roared back at him.
‘That’s your opinion. I say that he was the saviour of both Deira and Elmet. Whilst he reigned over you there was peace. Edwin’s usurpation of the throne after he rebelled and killed my father has resulted in nothing but invasion and misery for you and your people. Deira needs a strong ruler who can keep her enemies at bay, not the incompetent son of an incompetent father or a boy who isn’t even brave enough to come here himself.’
Oswald’s speech brought forth yells of acclamation and howls of protest. Thurwold did his best to restore order but everyone ignored him. In the end the Eorl of Elmet got up and stormed out of the hall into the rain, banging the door behind him.
After a while the clamour died down and they noticed that the chair facing them was empty. Aylmer got up and went and sat in it.
‘I think we need to debate this calmly. As Thurwold seems to have found something better to do with his time, we need someone else to preside. I’m happy to do that unless someone else wishes to take on the onerous task?’
He smiled and there was a general murmur of agreement.
‘Well then, you have a choice before you. Can I start by asking the æthelings in turn whether they wish to stand for election as King of Deira? King Oswald, you are the eldest, do you wish to stand?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Oslac?’
‘No, I support Oswald.’
‘What about Offa?’
‘He would not wish to be considered.’
‘Oswiu?’
‘No, I also support my brother,’
‘Thank you. Oswine?’
‘Yes, I have the better claim because…’
‘Thank you Oswine. You will have a chance to present your case in a moment. For now we are merely drawing up the list of candidates.’
‘James the Deacon, you represent Usfrea. Before I ask you whether he wishes to stand, may I ask how old he is?’
‘He is six years old, lord.’
‘And does he wish to stand?’
‘His mother wishes him to be considered.’
‘That is not what I asked you, James. I asked whether he himself has specifically stated to you, as his representative, that he wishes to be considered as King of Deira.’
‘No, lord. I haven’t seen him since he was sent to Frankia. His mother is in Kent and it is she who wrote to me.’
‘Then he has not claimed the throne himself. Does the Witan agree that Usfrea should no longer be considered?’
After there was a general mutter of agreement Aylmer looked at Acha.
‘There is one more ætheling I think. Œthelwald, son of Oswald. Since his father didn’t mention him I would like his grandmother to confirm whether he is a candidate or not.’
‘Œthelwald is an eleven year old boy who is currently being educated at the Christian monastery on the Isle of Iona. He has not been asked if he wishes to stand or not.’
‘I see, then I am forced to assume that he is not a candidate, but he should have been listed.’
He paused and looked Oswald in the eye. The other stared back at him stony faced.
‘I see. Next I call upon each candidate to make a brief, and I emphasise the word brief, statement in support of their candidature. We’ll do it in reverse order of age I think. Oswine you first.’
‘Thank you Eorl Aylmer. My case is quite simple. Osric was my father and immediate predecessor as King of Deira. He has no other sons and so, being the only one in the direct line of descent, I should inherit the throne. Oswald’s claim stems from his mother and so he is the grandson of a king, not a son. His father only seized the throne through conquest and marriage, he was not freely elected. Moreover he is a warmonger who only seeks his own glory.’
He sat down to some applause and, at a nod from Aylmer, Oswald stood up.
‘Oswine’s speech was all about his rights, his entitlement to the throne. No word was said of his obligations to his nobles and his people. I don’t need to spell out to you the threats faced by Deira. Not only have the recent destruction wrought by Penda of Mercia and Cadwallon highlighted the need for us to be strong, but the expansionist dreams of the East and Middle Anglians makes Deira even more vulnerable on its own. You need a proven warrior to lead you, and one with powerful allies. As king, I will bring you alliances with Bernicia and Rheged. We need to take over the weak Kingdom of Lindsey on your south-eastern border before someone else does, bringing the threat nearer to you. I also intent to forge an alliance with Wessex so that we surround Mercia. That way I will bring not war, as Oswine claims, but peace to Deira and Elmet.’
Oswald sat down to applause from many but shouts of disapproval from others, especially the druids.
‘Who wishes to speak in support of either candidate?’
There followed an interminable number of speeches in favour of one or the other. However, no-one seemed to have anything new to contribute until Acha stood up.
‘It seems to me that Oswald is the better choice for three reasons. He is a direct descendent of King Ælle; Oswine is not. He is merely his great-nephew. Secondly he is wise, just and fearless. I can’t claim to know Oswine but his father was a fool, an incompetent militarily and accepted bribes for favourable judgements. Thirdly Oswald has a proven reputation as a victorious leader in battle, Oswine is an unproven youth.’
She sat down amidst a stunned silence. Then someone shouted out ‘Whiteblade’ – the name Oswald had been accorded as a great warrior in his early career - and the cry was taken up by most there.
When the hubbub had died down, Aylmer asked if it was the wish of the Witan to appoint Oswald as their king. The roar of approval left no doubt as to the answer.
It wasn’t until the eorls and thegns lined up to swear their allegiance that Oswiu noticed that, not only had the druids disappeared, but so had Oswine and his closest followers.
CHAPTER FIVE – THE HOLY ISLAND OF LINDISFARNE
635 AD
Eochaid waited until high tide before taking his two birlinns through the treacherous sandbanks of the Solway Firth. He thought that the best way to find Aidan and Ròidh would be to follow their trail. All the abbot on Iona knew was that they had been taken by a trader to Dùn Phris, a fortress a short way inland from the mouth of the River Nith, so that was the obvious starting point.
In total he had eighty warriors, a few sailors such as the steersmen, and eight ship’s boys. It was a sizeable force but he wante
d to avoid confrontation with the men of Strathclyde if at all possible. As they approached the dùn, but whilst still out of sight from it, he moored as close inshore as he could get and the majority of his men waded ashore. He hoped that he could now get away with claiming that he was a merchant and he had brought cloth and wool to sell to support his cover story.
In the event his two ships didn’t seem to excite much interest and he went ashore unarmed except for a seax. Accompanied by two of his men attired as sailors he made his way through the small settlement that had grown up between the few timber-built warehouses alongside the jetty and the circular palisaded fortress situated on a slight rise above the surrounding land. The man he was looking for was called Aderyn, a contact that Abbot Ségéne had given him. He had no idea if he could help, but he was the only hope he had.
The first person he had asked for directions had given him a strange look and hurried away. Like most of his fellows, he was small, swarthy and dark haired. Ethnically they were Britons like the Welsh and many of the inhabitants of Rheged.
Eochaid wondered whether it was their appearance or because he spoke Cumbric with an Irish accent that he kept getting suspicious looks, but whatever the reason it made him uneasy. Nevertheless, he asked another man for the whereabouts of Aderyn’s hut and the man took him there himself. However, he did seem a little nervous.
They knocked on the door as their guide scuttled away but no-one answered. He knocked again and this time a female voice asked him in hushed tones who it was.
‘Eochaid, Ségéne mac Fiachnaíhe sent me.’
The door was quickly opened and the three men were ushered inside and then hurriedly shut and barred behind them.
‘I’m sorry about that, but it isn’t a good time to be a Christian in Strathclyde. What does the abbot want?’
‘I was looking for Aderyn,’ Eochaid said uncertainly.
‘He’s not here I’m afraid. He fled to avoid being killed, but he had to leave me behind. I’m his daughter and both my husband and my child are sick. I need to be here to tend to them, but you shouldn’t stay in case you catch the sickness.’