by H A CULLEY
‘What about East Anglia?’
‘Well there is nothing I can do to save my capital, southern Mercia – which he is bound to ravage – and Hwicce, so we might as well continue to invade East Anglia and then press on north into Lindsey and Elmet. That will give Oswald something to worry about instead of coming to Cynegils’ aid. Then we can think about teaching Wessex a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.’
‘You’re not going to allow him to burn and pillage our people, surely?’
‘What other choice do I have?’
‘You could negotiate.’
‘That’s for weak rulers. We will recover, but it will take time.’
‘You’re wrong, father. It’s not weak to minimise the damage and give yourself time to regain the advantage.’
Penda looked at his son with new eyes. He’d always tended to think of him as a little slow on the uptake but what he’d just said seemed to make sense, much as he hated to admit it.
‘Very well. You can ride to Tamworth with your gesith. Just make sure you get there before Cynegils. Let’s see what you can salvage from all this.’
‘What can I offer him?’
‘Hwicce. All of it. Provided he withdraws to Wessex. We can always take it back later.’
‘And what will you be doing?’
‘Continuing with the original plan. With Wessex out of the game we should soon be able to ride from the River Severn to the German Ocean in Mercian territory.’
‘And what about Oswald?’
‘I’ll offer to stay out of Elmet and Lindsey provided he doesn’t interfere. Once we’ve consolidated out hold of East Anglia I’ll be too powerful for him to resist me.’
~~~
‘It’s a good deal, Cyning. We not only recover Gleawecastre and southern Hwicce, we also get the northern half as well.’
‘Are you really so short-sighted?’ Cynegils said, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. ‘He’s in a very weak position now, but if we agree to this treaty it will give him time to finish his expansion of Mercian territory to the east. If he does that he will be too strong for Wessex to challenge. Not only will he take Hwicce back, he could even invade Wessex and take that over as well.’
The eorl who had spoken looked at his king angrily for a moment, then nodded to indicate the truth of what Cynegils had said.
‘Have we had any reply to your letters to your fellow Saxon kings?’ another asked.
‘Not yet. Nor have I heard where Oswald is. I think the safest thing to do is to play for time until we know more.’
‘Are you certain that Peada’s offer of peace isn’t a smokescreen whilst his father gathers an army to trap us here?’
The speaker was Bishop Birinus, who had accompanied the army with several priests. Not everyone was a Christian but the majority of Cynegils’ men were and those who were still pagan were becoming more interested in converting as time wore on.
‘Our scouts who are keeping an eye on Leicester say that he had moved east towards Stamford, so I think he is still intent on the invasion of East Anglia.’
‘If he’s committed to this war, then we could move south to Oxenforda. It would look as if we are heading back to Wessex but from there it’s only a three day march to Lundenwic. By then we should know where Oswald is.’ Ceolwald suggested. He was Cynegils’ half-brother and Eorl of Dorset.
‘Yes, thank you, brother. Let me think on that. We’ll meet again later.’
The meeting dispersed whilst Ceolwald and Cynegils went to discuss the idea further.
‘Peada, I accept your father’s offer. Withdraw your men from Hwicce now and I’ll sent my brother Ceolwald to garrison Gleawecastre and Weorgoran-ceastre.’
Weorgoran-ceastre was the capital of northern Hwicce.
‘And you’ll return to Wessex?’
‘We’ll leave Tamworth and march south towards Oxenforda tomorrow,’ Cynegils promised.
‘And you will cease your despoliation of Mercia?’
‘I have to feed my men, but I swear we’ll confine ourselves to just taking what we need and we’ll not lay waste the country as we go.’
‘Very well. I’ll send messengers to Weorgoran-ceastre and Gleawecastre now. Like you they will only take from the people of Hwicce what they need to feed themselves.’
‘Good. I understand that you’re a Christian, unlike your father?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Then we can both attest to the truth of what we have promised on the Holy Bible. This is Bishop Birinus. He will take our oaths.’
Both kings swore to do as they had promised but Cynegils was very careful not to undertake to do more than to retreat via Oxenforda.
~~~
Oswald wished that Oswiu was with him as he sailed down the East Coast in his birlinn, the Holy Saviour. The sky was as grey as the sea and occasional drops of water splattered him as he stood on the aft platform, though whether this was sea spray or rain he wasn’t certain. Jarlath, the captain of his gesith, stood next to him and Beorhtwulf, who had replaced the now dead Alaric as steersman of the king’s personal birlinn, was training one of the ship’s boys – a thirteen year old called Hrodger – to steer and to set the sails in the prevailing wind to get the best speed out of the ship. Not that they could go as fast as possible as they needed to remain in contact with the rest of the fleet. Oswald had managed to gather a total of fifteen craft - a mixture of birlinns, pontos and large currachs – to convey his war band of over four hundred warriors south.
Beorhtwulf looked to the north east, where the wind was coming from.
‘There’s a squall coming, Cyning. Quite a vicious one by the look of it and the speed at which it’s approaching. Put three reefs in the mainsail,’ he yelled at his crew.
Hrodger handed the steering oar over to him as several men hastened to take in the sail, scrambling up the rigging to the yardarm to do so.
‘Boy, signal the rest of the fleet to close up to us and reef their sails.’
Hrodger rushed to where the halliard by which Oswald’s personal banner was raised to the top of the mast was fastened. He lowered and raised the banner several times to get the attention of the other shipmasters then he ran to the bows. He climbed up and stood on the gunwale hanging onto the carved figure of Christ on the prow and waved at the other ships, then pointed towards the squall, then beckoned the ships to come closer.
Most of the other craft got the message straight away and started to reef their sails whilst steering towards the Holy Saviour, but two ships to the lee of him continued blithely on their way. Evidently they hadn’t been paying attention.
‘Those two haven’t got the message,’ he panted to Beorhtwulf after running back to the stern.
The steersman nodded and put his oar over, changing course towards the two ships. That woke them up and Hrodger signalled them again from the prow. This time he saw men clambering up the rigging to the yardarm and the two ships – a birlinn and a ponto – changed course to move towards the rest of the fleet. Beorhtwulf muttered ‘dozy swine’ to no one in particular as he moved back to his original course.
A few minutes later the squall hit them. The vicious wind pressed against the reefed sail, making the birlinn heel over and increasing her speed through the water. One man, slower than the rest to reach the deck, was caught still climbing down the rigging and was carried overboard. His cries quickly faded as the birlinn swept on leaving him to his fate.
Almost horizontal rain lashed the crew as they scrambled for something to hold onto. Hrodger felt himself swept up in Oswald’s powerful arms as the king pushed him against the base of the mast and tied him there. A large wave broke over the windward side of the birlinn and cascaded down into the bilges. A few seconds later the pressure of the wind brought her into the wind and she broached. She nearly capsized but the additional ballast provided by the water in the bilges helped to stabilise her and the mast, which had leaned over until it was at an angle of forty five degrees to the vertical, whip
ped back upright again as Beorhtwulf and two other men wrestled with the steering oar to bring her head round again.
Oswald was amazed that the mast hadn’t snapped and he fell to his knees to thank God for their safe delivery as the squall moved on towards the distant coast. He stood up again and scanned the sea for the rest of his ships. One had lost her mast and another, a currach, had capsized. He later learned that a dozen men and three boys had been swept overboard and drowned and another man’s head had been smashed in when he’d been thrown across the deck by a wave. A few more had broken bones but altogether they’d got off comparative lightly.
He sent the birlinn with the broken mast back to the nearest Northumbrian port with a skeleton crew and those too injured to fight or row. It reduced his fighters to four hundred but, he reflected, it could have been an awful lot worse.
Five days later they turned into the estuary of the River Thames. A few boats had come out from the shores of both Essex and Kent to investigate, but had beat a hasty retreat when they saw the size of the fleet. That night they anchored in the middle of the first bend in the river which his pilot, a sailor who had visited Ludenwic several times before, told him was called the Lower Hope.
‘How long will you stay here, Cyning? Jarlath asked him nervously.
He was a lot happier on dry land and he worried that they could be trapped here without sufficient sea room to fight a naval battle.
‘I want to find out more about the local situation before I go any further,’ Oswald replied with a smile. ‘If I’m going to put my head into a wolf’s mouth I need to know how many teeth it has first.’
To his surprise the first craft to appear was a small birlinn which had set out from the Kent coast. Three men climbed aboard, two of whom looked like monks except their tonsure was circular and worn on the crown of their heads instead of the forehead, like Celtic monks. He recalled that James the Deacon had this type of tonsure and so he concluded that these were Roman clerics. The man they accompanied was dressed in a similar manner except that his habit was cream and he wore a red cloak embroidered with white crosses over it. His tonsure was covered by a red skull cap.
‘Greetings my son, I’m Paulinus, Bishop of Rochester. Am I right in thinking I’m addressing King Oswald of Northumbria?’
Oswald nodded before replying.
‘Paulinus? I knew you had been Bishop of York during the reign of the usurper Edwin, but I haven’t heard of Rochester or knew that it had a bishop.’
‘I was recently enthroned as bishop by Archbishop Honorius of Cantwaraburg as we spread the true faith ever eastwards.’
‘I gather I have to thank you for the timely warning about the plans of the pagan Penda of Mercia.’
The expensively dressed cleric nodded. At that moment another cleric approached. Unlike Paulinus, this one was dressed in a much worn habit of undyed coarse wool tied around the waist by a rope girdle with a plain wooden cross hanging from it. His tonsure identified him as a Celtic monk.
‘Ah, this is my brother and chaplain, Father Oslac. This is Bishop Paulinus.’
‘Greetings in Christ, bishop. I know you by reputation, of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
It was obvious to Paulinus from the disdainful way that Oslac regarded his rich attire that he didn’t approve.
‘There is something troubling you, Father Oslac?’
‘No, bishop. I was just thinking that if my own bishop, Aidan of Lindisfarne, had owned such fine raiment he would have sold it and given the proceeds to the poor.’
If Paulinus was offended he hid it well.
‘I was told that both Oswald and Oswiu tended to speak their mind somewhat bluntly. It seems that it runs in the family.’
‘Enough, Oslac. Each to his own,’ Oswald interrupted. ‘I was hoping to see King Æthelberht and find out what has happened since you sent your missive to James the Deacon, but no doubt you can tell me.’
‘The king will be on his way but his hall is at Cantwaraburg, some thirty miles away. Rochester is a mere five miles from here. It lies on the River Medway and you had scarcely dropped anchor before someone docked there to tell me of your arrival.’
Two ships boys appeared with two small barrels over which they threw wold skins for the king and the bishop to sit on, whilst the three monks, Jarlath and Beorhtwulf stood behind them on the small aft deck. Hrodger appeared again with a flagon of mead and, after another boy had handed round goblets, he poured out the amber liquid. He was about to leave but Oswald motioned for him to stay. Two minutes later Oswald repressed a smile as the boy re-filled Paulinus’ empty goblet. The aesthetic Aidan would have been dismayed by what he would have regarded as gluttony.
‘Penda is still in Middle Anglia but he is believed to have moved closer to the border with East Anglia. His son Peada has gone to Tamworth for a reason that is not entirely clear; however, there are rumour that Wessex had mobilised. The three small Saxon kingdoms have sent war bands to join Penda but they have done so unwillingly.’
‘Thank you. What is the situation in Ludenwic?’
‘Ludenwic?’ Paulinus seemed surprised by the question. ‘Its ownership is disputed between the Middle Saxons, the East Saxons, the South Saxons and ourselves. Penda has given it to one of his nobles, Eorl Toland, to settle the dispute.’
‘Tell me about Ludenwic and this Toland. How many men does he have? What are the defences like?’
Paulinus shrugged. ‘I know nothing about Toland except that he is from Oxenforda. Presumably his lands are in that area. I understand that he has a war band of fifty trained warriors but he can call on the local fyrd, which must number a couple of hundred, I suppose. They are mostly Saxons and it’s rumoured that they don’t like having an Anglian imposed on them. The old Roman city and its fortress have been abandoned. It’s said that the city is full of ghosts; all rubbish no doubt but it’s what people believe. The Saxons have built a new settlement about a mile or so to the west. The place has no palisade, or so I’m told, except around Toland’s hall.’
‘That’s most helpful, bishop. Thank you.’
‘Why are you so interested in Ludenwic?’
‘It is an important trading port for three of the four Saxon kingdoms. Whoever controls it can exert pressure on them. That’s why Penda has installed Toland there. If I can wrest control of the port from Mercia, then I might have a chance of persuading the surrounding Saxon kingdoms to break their alliance with Penda.’
‘If you do succeed in capturing it, how will you, a Northumbrian, hold it?’
‘That’s why I want to talk to King Æthelberht.’
~~~
‘Why do you want to make a present of Ludenwic to me, Oswald? What do you gain?’
Æthelberht and Oswald were sitting alone in a chamber in Paulinus’ hall at Rochester. Each had stationed two sentries from their respective gesiths at the door to ensure their privacy as well as their safety.
‘Penda is my enemy and Cynegils is my father-in-law as well as being my ally. Penda is trying to take all of Hwicce and, for all I know, he has succeeded by now. His so-called Saxon Confederation is aimed at the conquest of East Anglia. Once he has that he’ll move against my sub-kingdom of Lindsey. Then he will control all of Anglo-Saxon England except for Kent and Wessex. You and Cynegils won’t be able to resist him and we’ll have a pagan bretwalda ruling all of England south of the Humber. Is that what you want?’
‘Of course not! No more than I’d want you as Bretwalda of All England. From what I hear you are well on your way to making yourself Bretwalda of the North and here you are seeking my help to capture Ludenwic.’
Oswald sighed. ‘What can I do to assure you that all I desire is to frustrate Penda’s ambitions?
Æthelberht grunted but said no more.
‘Very well, but the longer we delay the more time we give to Penda to reinforce Ludenwic.’
‘Let me consult with my council. We’ll meet again this afternoon.’
Oswald glared at th
e King of Kent before stomping out of the chamber. He couldn’t understand why the man was so reluctant to commit to the obvious course of action.
‘Well what do you make of Oswald? You’re the only other one who has met him.’
Paulinus looked at Æthelberht warily before replying. He, Archbishop Honorius and a three of Æthelberht’s eorls were sitting in the bishop’s hall later that day.
‘He’s a barbarian with no diplomatic skills but he has a clever mind. I’ve no doubt he can be devious enough to deceive his enemies, but he has a reputation for honesty that makes me believe he would never pretend to a friend when he was not, if that’s what you fear, Cyning.’
‘Honorius?’
‘I am a simple churchman, Cyning.’ A statement which elicited a disbelieving snort from one of the eorls. ‘My task is to convert the pagans to the path of the true faith, I claim to know nothing of politics,’ he continuing, ignoring the eorl’s reaction.
In fact, he was a very clever and astute Gregorian missionary who had risen from a humble monk to become the leader of the Roman Catholic Church in England. Although he was a Roman, he was a great admirer of Aidan, who he had met when he travelled to Lindisfarne two years previously.
‘Nevertheless you have been to Northumbria and you have met Bishop Aidan. You must have formed some opinion of his king from what he said.’
‘I suppose so,’ he said at last. ‘Oswald is undoubtedly a gifted military commander, a brave fighter and he is ambitious. His brother, Oswiu is the same, and they are both devout, albeit as members of the wrong church.’
‘You say he is ambitious, how far does that extend?’
‘I would say that he seeks to consolidate his position in the North but he would be a fool if he sought to become Bretwalda of England, if that’s what you fear. His priority seems to be to counter Penda’s expansionist aims.’
‘Thank you, archbishop. My thoughts exactly. Good. Do any of my eorls wish to add anything?’