WHITEBLADE: Kings of Northumbria Book 1

by H A CULLEY

  Aidan would have liked to watch them depart, but as the abbot set off at a brisk pace towards the abbey buildings, Aidan grabbed his bundle and hurried after him.

  ~~~

  At first Oswald thought that his initial impression of Eochaid as an arrogant boy had been correct. When he was admitted to the guest house, he greeted the King of the Ulaidh courteously and explained that the abbot had thought that Eochaid might like to be shown around the monastery and the island.

  Before his father had a chance to reply, the boy, who was sitting on a chest sharpening his seax, looked up and glared at the young novice.

  ‘Why would I need some snivelling boy to act as my guide? I’m quite capable of finding my own way around this tiny little islet.’

  Oswald was stung by this response to an offer he hadn’t wanted to make in the first place and replied without thinking.

  ‘I’m no snivelling boy, you spoiled little brat. My father was Æthelfrith of Northumbria and if you want to keep that head on your shoulders you’ll show me some respect!’

  As soon as he’d spoken, he thought that his hot temper and his intemperate tongue had got him into trouble again; however, the boy’s father roared with laughter and smacked his son on the side of his head.

  ‘Well said. I think Eochaid may have met his match in you. Now put your toy sword down, boy and go with this young monk and try to learn something useful.’

  With bad grace the boy rubbed his head and shoved his seax back in its scabbard. He got up and stalked out of the hut, barging Oswald with his shoulder as he passed him. Oswald spun around and kicked the other boy in the back of the knee so that his leg collapsed and he went sprawling through the door. He stooped down and grabbing Eochaid’s long greasy hair, pulled his head up so that he could look him in the eye.

  ‘I told you to show me some respect, Eochaid, or I’ll do more than make you eat dirt.’

  To his surprise the Irish boy’s face crumpled and Oswald realised that he was trying not to cry. He immediately let go of his hair and pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Come on, we’ll start in the church.’

  He led the way, to give the boy a chance to recover his composure. He was astute enough to realise that Eochaid’s arrogant bravado was all show; underneath, he was an insecure little boy trying to live up to his father’s expectations.

  The Irish princeling sulkily followed Oswald into the church and stood in the aisle of the small, austere stone building as his companion went and prostrated himself in front of the altar. Oswald ignored the other boy’s surliness and began to explain about the life of a monk. He went on to talk about his own conversion to Christianity on Iona, having been a pagan for the first twelve years of his life. Suddenly, something he’d said caught Eochaid’s attention.

  ‘How did you escape from Northumbria after your father was slain?’

  Oswald recounted the skirmish with the Picts and Eochaid’s eyes lit up with excitement.

  ‘I envy you. My father expects me to become a warrior, but he won’t let me do anything remotely dangerous. The nearest I’ve come to anything at all risky is coming on this voyage with him. Even then, I have to stay safely in the bowels of the ship so I don’t fall over the side.’

  He spat to express his disgust and Oswald laughed. He had begun to sympathise with Eochaid and understand why he behaved like a petulant child.

  ‘I take it that you’ve never climbed up a rock face, then?’

  ‘You are in jest. Of course not.’ Suddenly his eyes lit up with excitement. ‘You mean there are places here that we can climb?’

  Oswald nodded.

  ‘They aren’t very high or steep, but they can be challenging if you crave a little excitement. Come on,’

  A few minutes later they reached the top of a cliff above a small sandy cove at the southern end of the small island. Eochaid peered over the edge at the beach fifty feet below, where the waves rolled in gently and lapped the shore, but Oswald grabbed his sleeve and took him to the other side of the rocky outcrop. Here there was no beach but just jagged rocks against which the sea crashed. Suddenly he didn’t seem quite so keen.

  Oswald peeled off his habit and, yelling for Eochaid to follow him and copy what he did, he started to scramble down the rock face. When his head disappeared, the Irish boy gritted his teeth and undid his belt, dropping his seax on the grass before gingerly lowering his legs over the edge. He was waving his feet about trying to find a foothold when he felt his left foot grabbed and placed on a protruding bit of rock. Oswald continued to help him find foot and hand holds until he was confident enough to proceed on his own. A few minutes later, the two boys stood on a ledge just above the rocks being pounded by the waves. As they were splashed by droplets of spray, Eochaid put back his head and whooped his delight at what he had just done. He had never in his short life felt so alive.

  The climb back up was a lot easier and the two lay side by side grinning at one another.

  ‘Do you wrestle?’

  Eochaid shook his head. ‘But I’ve watched our warriors and I think I know the fundamentals.’

  Oswald spent the next hour teaching the other boy the basic holds and the techniques for throwing and pinning one’s opponent. By then they were sweating profusely, so Oswald took Eochaid down the much gentler scramble on the other side of the outcrop to the cove with its white sandy beach and they washed themselves in the sea. Neither boy could swim and Oswald panicked when a larger than normal wave swept his companion off his feet and he disappeared below the surface. He groped around under the water and found an arm. A moment later he pulled a laughing Eochaid to his feet.

  ‘Perhaps your father was right to protect you from harm,’ he grumbled. ‘Have you no fear?’

  ‘Not with you, Oswald. You have given me the confidence in myself that I lacked. How wrong I was about you when I first saw you.’

  The two made their way back to the monastery chattering away. Oswald realised with a start that he had made a friend of the Irish princeling. He was glad that they would be sailing together when he left for Dùn Add. However, he did wonder what had persuaded King Fiachnae to let Eochaid train as a warrior and said so.

  ‘Oh, I think my father fears for me because my two elder brothers were killed in battle and he’s afraid of losing his last son; that said, he realises that I have to learn to fight well, or, living where we do, I’ll be as good as dead anyway. I suspect it’s a case of, “if he can’t see me he can’t worry about me.” That’s why I’m to train at Dùn Add.’

  That night a great storm hit Iona and the birlinn fought against the ropes that held it secure halfway onto the beach. The ropes held, but the strakes at the stern were severely stressed by the action of the agitated waves. Like Aidan, miles to the south, Eochaid was pressed into service re-caulking the damaged stern and he was delighted when Oswald and his brother came and stripped off their habits to help him. Unlike Aidan, the two had lived by the sea at Bebbanburgh all their lives and had done this before, until they had been forced to flee.

  Once the birlinn had been repaired, Oswald packed his few belongings and changed his habit for the tunic he had arrived in. It was now ridiculously small for him and after Eochaid had finished laughing at him, he lent him one of his. Osguid was sad to see him go, but his elder brother reminded him that Oslac would soon join him and the boy cheered up a little.

  Oswald and Eochaid left Iona just three days before Aidan arrived.

  Chapter Three – Coll and Tiree

  620 AD

  For the next two years, Oswald and Eochaid learned how to fight with sword and shield, how to use a seax in close quarter fighting, how to use a spear and a bow and how to hunt. The latter gained them useful skills as trackers, mastering the stealthy approach and how to face a charging enemy when they hunted boar. Finally, they were being taught how to fight in a shield wall. Soon they would be ready to be classed as warriors.

  Oswald had been looking forward to Osguid returning to start his train
ing at Dùn Add, but he was to be disappointed. His brother had elected to stay on Iona and become a monk and now Oslaph had turned ten and gone to join his brothers as a novice. Connad had given Acha and her family a hut to live in when they first arrived, but Oswald lived in a separate hut with Eochaid and the other trainees. Naturally he visited his mother, but not very often. Acha would like to have seen more of her eldest son, but she consoled herself that she still had Oswiu and Offa at home to keep her company, as well as her daughter, Æbbe, who was now nearly five.

  ‘Have you heard?’ an excited Eochaid asked Oswald as he burst into the hut that they shared with six other youths training to become warriors.

  ‘Heard what?’ his friend replied, continuing to sharpen his sword with a whetstone.

  ‘Some Picts have landed on Coll and slaughtered or enslaved the people there. Apparently it’s not just a raid this time; the rumour is that they’ve brought their families and intend to settle.’

  ‘Really? Where did you hear this?’ Oswald’s eyes lit up at the prospect of some action at last. Dal Riada had been too peaceful for his liking over the past few years.

  ‘Two men and a boy managed to escape in a fishing boat and they’ve just arrived here. Connad has told Lorchan to gather the crews of five birlinns to go and recapture the island.’

  The Isle of Coll was one of two small islands that lay to the north west of the much larger Isle of Mull. If Coll had been invaded, then the other, Tiree, was probably under threat as well. The eight boys in the hut had all turned sixteen and hoped to be included in the force being sent to retake the islands. If Lorchan, one of the most experienced shipmasters, was taking three big and two smaller birlinns, then he would need at least two hundred and fifty warriors to man them. That would mean every man from Dùn Add except the elderly would be needed. Connad would presumably have gone himself, but he was recovering from a bout of fever that had left him weak and bedridden.

  Later that day they were told that they would be crewing one of the smaller birlinns and found out that another one would be joining them from Mull. They would rendezvous off Iona and then sail up Mull’s western coast and across the seven miles of open water to Coll. As it was probable that the Picts had also invaded Tiree, Lorchan was sending Oswald’s birlinn there on its own to find out exactly what the situation was. They were not to fight, but merely to assess the enemy’s strength and disposition.

  Oswald’s shipmaster, Cael, re-iterated Lorchan’s instructions about not trying to tackle the Picts on their own, but Oswald made up his mind to ignore him if he got the chance. He had trained for two years for this moment and he wasn’t to be denied his first fight.

  The wind was against them as they rounded the end of the Ross of Mull and entered the sound between Mull and Iona. Rowing demanded all his concentration and effort, but Oswald glanced at the monastery as they passed and wondered how his three brothers were. He had found the life of a novice monk restrictive, but during his two years there he had become a devout Christian and he could understand Osguid’s attraction to a life of prayer and meditation.

  They anchored for the night in Loch Scridain, a deep inlet on Mull’s west coast and set off at dawn for the two outer islands. As they left the loch, Cael steered north-west directly towards Tiree, whilst the rest continued along the coast. The crew were still rowing, but now they had the wind on their beam to help them. The direct crossing was twenty five miles or more, so it would be the middle of the afternoon before they reached the island.

  However, it took them a little longer than that, as Cael steered for the south coast of Tiree as soon as the island came in sight. He hoped that it would appear to anyone on the isle as if they were heading around Tiree for the Isle of Barra further out.

  Once they were out of sight of Scarinish, the only settlement on Tiree, he turned the birlinn and headed into Balephuil Bay. Once they had beached the ship Cael left Oswald and his seven friends to guard it and divided the remaining men into three groups to explore the island.

  Needless to say, Oswald, Eochaid and the others had been bitterly disappointed to have been given such an unexciting task. Oswald immediately took charge and started to plan how they should defend the birlinn, should they be attacked. Although Oswald had been accepted by most of the others as their leader for the past two years, one of the youths had never accepted this and constantly disputed anything he proposed.

  Ultan was a nephew of King Connad – his sister’s eldest son – and he thought that this gave him the right to lead. The others told him repeatedly that this had to be earned, but it made no difference; he repeatedly challenged Oswald and this time was no different.

  ‘All we have to do is stay here with the ship. There’s no one for miles around. I’m going to sleep.’

  The others ignored him and Oswald took one other youth with him to keep watch inland from a clump of marram grass on top of a small dune above the beach, whilst Eochaid stayed with the rest on the ship. Because the wooden benches and deck of the birlinn were uncomfortable to sleep on, Ultan stretched out on the sand and soon started to snore gently. Eochaid scooped up a bucket of sea water and crept up on Ultan before tipping the cold water over him. The others hooted with laughter, but Ultan was not someone to take a jest in good part.

  He leaped up with a roar of rage and drew his sword. Eochaid had his sword and his seax belted to his waist but he made no effort to draw either blade. Instead, when Ultan rushed at him and tried to spit him on his sword, the Irish boy merely stepped to one side and tripped Ultan up as the momentum of his charge took him past. Of course, this made the others laugh even harder.

  Suddenly Oswald appeared and cuffed both Ultan and Eochaid around the head.

  ‘Shut up, you idiots. You’re meant to be keeping a lookout. There’s a sail over there,’ he said, pointing to the southern tip of the island. ‘Quick, into the ship and cover yourselves with whatever you can find to make it look as if it’s been left unguarded.’

  Ultan, still angry, was about to question him, but the glare that Oswald directed at him convinced him to do as he was told and all eight hid under the spare mainsail beneath the small area of deck in the stern on which the helmsman stood.

  ‘Good. If you had questioned me again, Ultan, I’d have had no compunction about killing you to save the lives of the rest of us. Now we wait here until they put a crew aboard and they’ve put to sea; then we emerge and kill them.’

  ‘But they’ll outnumber us,’ Ultan objected.

  ‘You stay hidden and become a slave, then,’ Eochaid told him brutally.

  ‘They’ll be busy rowing and won’t be expecting us. Now, quiet.’

  The eight boys held their breath and gripped swords and seaxes tightly. Shields would have only encumbered them. They heard the Picts clamber aboard and felt the birlinn shudder as it was pushed off the beach. The splash of oars and the slight rocking motion told them that the enemy were backing the ship and then the change in motion meant that it was turning out to sea. There was a shouted exchange between the two shipmasters and then they felt the ship pick up speed.

  ‘Now,’ yelled Oswald and sprang from his hiding place. He had stabbed the three rowers nearest the stern before the Picts realised what was happening. Without waiting to see what the others were doing, he jumped up onto the helmsman’s platform and cut the astonished man’s throat. The ship slewed round without his hand on the steering oar and Oswald stumbled before regaining his footing. This gave the man standing beside the dead helmsman – presumably the shipmaster – a chance to draw his sword.

  Oswald could hear the shrieks of the rowers as more of them were killed where they sat, but then the clash of metal against metal indicated that at least some of the Picts were now fighting back. However, Oswald had other things to worry about. The man facing him had several scars on his legs, arms and face and they, along with the rings around his upper arm, indicated that he was an experienced warrior as well as the ship’s master.

  Suddenly t
he man feinted at Oswald’s head, then changed direction to stab down at his thighs. Oswald was slightly disappointed. He had been expecting such a move and he twisted sideways to avoid the thrust and, at the same time, stabbed the man in the right biceps with his sword and slashed at his body with his seax.

  It was unwise to wear chain mail whilst at sea, unless you wanted to sink like a stone if you fell overboard, but the man was wearing a thick leather jerkin which absorbed most of the blow. Nevertheless, blood began to seep out of the cut in the leather and he had to change his sword over to his left hand, as his right arm was now almost useless.

  The Pict looked at his young adversary with new respect and growled something at him which Oswald didn’t understand, but he guessed that it wasn’t complimentary. This time the man decided to make a sustained attack and it was all that Oswald could do to parry the other’s cuts and thrusts. However, the man was far from the first flush of youth and he began to tire.

  Now it was Oswald’s turn to attack and the man was forced back against the sternpost. Oswald stepped forward to press home his attack, but then slipped on the blood coating the deck. In trying to recover he stumbled forward and head butted the Pict shipmaster in the belly. The man took a couple of steps backwards trying to regain his balance. He failed and fell over the side.

  Oswald thanked God for his good fortune and turned to see how the others were faring. Suddenly Ultan appeared in front of him. The boy stabbed out with his seax, hoping to gut Oswald, but he misjudged it and opened up a long, shallow wound in the other’s side instead.

  Oswald felt nothing for a moment and then an agonising pain shot through his body and he fell to his knees. His head drooped so he didn’t see Eochaid come up behind Ultan and thrust his sword into the boy’s torso. Putting his foot into the small of the traitor’s back, he straightened his leg and Ultan followed the Pict shipmaster over the side. As it happened, Ultan couldn’t swim, but it would have made no difference. His spinal cord had been severed and he had lost control of his limbs. He floated face down for a while and then sank beneath the waves.