WHITEBLADE: Kings of Northumbria Book 1

by H A CULLEY

  Oswald was tempted to put Rònan in his place, but his curiosity was piqued and so, telling Acha that he would come and find her later, he went back to Rònan’s hut with him.

  ‘I was there during the birth, Lord Oswald and I know exactly what happened,’ Rònan’s wife said softly.

  ‘Go on.’

  She proceeded to tell him in detail – some of which he could have done without – how they had discovered that the baby was in the breech position and how hard Acha had fought to save both the child and the mother.

  ‘It was almost as if she was desperate to save Gytha. I mean, naturally, we did everything we could, but it was almost as if your mother was fighting to save her own life. When your wife died, Acha was beside herself with grief.’

  Oswald took the young woman’s hands in his own.

  ‘Thank you. I can tell that it was difficult for you to go through that again. Any woman would want to put it out of her mind as quickly as possible, so I’m grateful to you for making me understand what really happened.’

  He turned to Rònan, who was standing just outside the hut trying not to listen.

  ‘You were quite correct to bring me here before I spoke to my mother. I was ready to accuse her of not really trying to save Gytha and I know now how unjust that would have been. It would have probably done irreparable damage to my relationship with her. It took courage to risk my anger and I know now what a true friend you are. I shan’t forget.’

  As Oswald strode away in search of Acha, Rònan was left wondering whether the blow on the head and its aftermath had changed Oswald. He seemed somewhat more level-headed and tolerant now, rather than the impulsive character he used to be.

  ‘Mother, I know now how hard you tried to save Gytha and my daughter. I can never thank you enough.’ Much to Acha’s astonishment and delight, her son took her in his arms and kissed her forehead.

  ‘Now, I suppose I’d better find a place to live. I’m far too old to be living with my mother.’

  Acha laughed, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  ‘Eochaid had a new home built for you as soon as he moved into your old hut. It’s inside the stronghold on the spit of land that sticks out into the loch. Go and find him; it’s appropriate that he should be the one to show it to you. Oh! And come to eat with me and your sister tonight. Bring Oswiu with you. If you invite him, he might come.’

  Not only had Eochaid built Oswald a large hut next to the hall where the single warriors lived, but he’d found two slaves to look after him. They were a brother and sister, who he had captured on a raid south of Ulster a month ago. The girl was fourteen and the boy, nine. Even in the gloom inside his new hut, Oswald could see what a stunning beauty the girl was. His first thought was how much he wanted to bed her; then he felt ashamed. Gytha was hardly cold in her grave and he was already lusting after another. Besides, she was a slave and he had never compelled anyone to have sex with him.

  The siblings were named Keeva and Jarlath and they seemed pleased to be serving him. Willing servants were always better than coerced ones, but he could see nothing but problems. Living as they were in the fortress, there were only a dozen or so female slaves and a handful of boys. The girls who looked after the warriors manning it were used to being passed around for the sexual pleasure of their masters. Keeva was too pretty to be safe from his men’s attention when he was away and he frowned, unsure how to voice his concerns to his friend whilst not seeming ungrateful. Eochaid must have sensed his quandary.

  ‘If you’re worried about preserving her virginity, don’t be. I’ve made it clear to the oafs who live in the hall that she and her brother are off limits. One fool tried to mess with Keeva and Jarlath threatened him with a knife. Normally a slave would die for that, but I’d warned them and so, instead of punishing Jarlath, I had the man flogged and banished him from Arran.’

  ‘Thank you, but couldn’t you have found me an ugly couple of slaves? God knows, there are enough of them in Ireland!’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll marry again in a hurry, after Gytha, but you’re no celibate monk. I thought a pretty face might cheer you up.’

  ‘Hmmmm,’ Oswald replied noncommittally.

  Many Celtic monks were far from celibate, though they were meant to be. Suddenly he realised that both of his new slaves had understood what they were saying and there was no mistaking the interest in Keeva’s eyes. He blushed and the two siblings giggled, but they soon stopped when he looked at them sternly.

  ‘Keeva, you are in charge of my home. I expect it to be kept spotless and for the meals you prepare to be tasty and nourishing. My clothes and my bedding are to be washed regularly and dried properly. You, Jarlath, will look after my armour and weapons. If I find a spot of rust anywhere, you’ll regret it and my sword and seax must be sharp enough for me to use for shaving. Do you understand?’

  The two nodded vigorously and looked fearful until Oswald smiled.

  ‘If you look after me as I expect, you’ll find me an easy master and I’ll look after you; but don’t let me down. Now go and find out where my chests are and bring them here.’

  The two scuttled off and Oswald put his hand on Eochaid’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank you for the hut and for those two scamps. I have a feeling that we’ll get on well together,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Now I had better go and find Oswiu and see if I can persuade him to come and eat with our mother this evening.’

  ~~~

  Two weeks later, the Holy Saviour rounded the Mull of Kintyre and headed north towards Dùn Add. Oswald had relieved Rònan at the steering oar an hour before they neared the rock-strewn top end of the Sound of Jura. His friend had resumed his job as steersman now that he’d recovered from his wounds and Alaric had set up a yard to repair ships and built new ones.

  Oswald had sent Jarlath up the mast to keep an eye out for patches of white water, which would mark where the rocks were and the boy sat confidently astride the yard arm to which the sail was attached, with his bare brown legs hanging free and one arm loosely wrapped around the mast.

  He had settled into his dual role of ship’s boy and Oswald’s body servant easily and seemed to love the sea. His happy disposition endeared him to the crew and they soon forgot that he was a pagan Irish slave. From Oswald’s point of view, the only unfortunate thing was that he looked like his sister and was a constant reminder of her.

  Keeva had made no secret of the fact that she was attracted to Oswald, even if he was nine years older than she was. She flirted with him and Oswald had to admit that he liked it. He had loved Gytha, but now it seemed as if he had to fight to keep her memory alive. He had resisted the temptation to bed Keeva so far, though none would have blamed him if he had. He felt guilty at even thinking of doing so; as if it would be betraying his late wife. It would have salved his conscience somewhat if he could have married her, but, unlike Gytha, she wasn’t nobly born. It was unthinkable.

  One night she had slipped naked under the covers with him and the urge to make love to her was almost overwhelming. However, he had gently kissed her forehead and told her quietly to return to the bed she shared with her brother. Instead of being angry at his rejection, she had nodded and kissed him back on his cheek.

  ‘I understand. It is too soon after Lady Gytha,’ she had whispered. ‘But you know I’m ready whenever you are.’ She slid out of bed and put her shift back on before re-joining her brother, who had been watching them with interest by the light of the dying fire.

  He was jolted back to the present by a shout from Jarlath.

  ‘Breaking water fine in the left bow.’

  Oswald chided himself for not paying attention and moved the oar over to take them more into the middle of the channel.

  ‘Well spotted, Jarlath.’

  He had an uneasy feeling that the boy was well aware that Oswald hadn’t been as alert as he should have been. This annoyed him and he glared up at Jarlath sitting cockily on his precarious
perch. The confused look on the boy’s face made him realise that he wasn’t being fair. He knew that he had to make a hard decision when they returned to Duilleag Bán na Cille. Either he would make Keeva his lover, or he would have to get rid of her and her brother. Perhaps then she would stop distracting him when his mind should be concentrating on the job at hand.

  Oswiu sat halfway down the bank of rowers, proud at being selected by his brother as a warrior for this journey. The evening meal with their mother on Oswald’s second day back had started awkwardly, but the boy had relaxed a little after the first goblet of mead. Oswald had supported his sister’s desire to become a nun and to everyone’s surprise, Acha had agreed, provided she waited until she was fourteen. The rifts between mother and her offspring had been healed that evening and Acha understood at last that her task was nearly done. Now she had to let them go. Offa was due back from Iona in a year’s time and she would support him, whether he decided to become a monk or a warrior, though from what Oswald had told her, the latter seemed highly unlikely.

  Oswald hardly knew his youngest brother. The two had spent a little time together whilst he was recovering on Iona, but novices didn’t get a lot of freedom and in any case, they had quickly found out they didn’t have much in common. They were divided by a lot more than the ten years that separated them in age. Offa’s goal in life seemed to be to live as a hermit, away from his fellow man, spending his time in prayer.

  When they arrived at Dùn Add, Domnall asked Oswald what he thought of Congal Claen, but when he found out that Oswald shared Eochaid’s view of him, he came to the reluctant conclusion that he would have to let Ulster seek its own destiny for now and concentrate on expanding Scottish Dal Riada. To do so, he needed to make it powerful enough to beat Strathclyde. He dismissed the Picts as backward and disunited and seemed unhappy about Oswald’s proposal to aid Fergus in his conquest of Skye. He felt it was wasting the young warrior’s talents.

  Next, the High King turned to the question of Arran. Its Lord, a man called Barra, had been appointed by Connad to rule the whole island, but the man had contented himself with ruling the south of the island, leaving Oswald to look after the north. Barra had been a second cousin of Connad’s and had refused to recognise Domnall Brecc as the new High King. He had lost his head in consequence and his family had fled to the Cowal Peninsula, though it seemed that sanctuary there might be short-lived.

  ‘I need someone I can trust to rule Arran. Its strategic position will be crucial in the coming war with Strathclyde. Furthermore, I can’t secure Cowal unless we invade the Isle of Bute, as that lies between Cowal and Arran.’

  Oswald was quiet for a moment or two.

  ‘My base on Arran would seem to be rather vulnerable, lying as it does less than ten miles to the south-west of Bute, once we go to war with Strathclyde.’

  ‘Correct; which is why I want you to rule Arran for me and to conquer the Isle of Bute. Then you can be Lord of both islands; you can even call yourself King of Arran and Bute if you wish, but subject to me, of course.’

  ‘The only kingdom I want to rule is Northumbria,’ Oswald replied rather curtly. ‘But I am grateful for the offer, my Lord King,’ he added as an afterthought, when he saw Domnall’s eyes darken in anger. ‘Perhaps Thegn of Arran would be a more fitting title?’

  Oswald wasn’t interested in ruling Arran and Bute so much as the fact that it would give him a good source of warriors if there was ever an opportunity to try and recover Northumbria. Bute was much smaller than Arran, but it was a prosperous island with one main settlement at Rothesay. The rest of the island, which was much flatter than Arran, was covered in small hamlets, single farmsteads and a few small fishing settlements on the coast. If he could take Rothesay, the island would be his.

  ‘I am delighted by the trust you place in me, King Domnall. I happily accept the Lordship of Arran and your instructions to capture Bute. How many men will I have for this?’

  Domnall looked surprised. ‘Whatever you can raise from Arran. I propose to invade Cowal next spring and you should aim to be ready by then.’

  ‘I see. Very well, then. I’ll let Fergus know of the change in my plans on the way home. I’ll need to build or acquire more ships, but we’ll be ready by the middle of April.’

  ~~~

  On Oswald’s first night back at Duilleag Bán na Cille, he sent Jarlath to spend the night with Oswiu and the other trainee warriors. He didn’t fancy being watched whilst he made love to the boy’s sister, though he knew that he would have to get used to that; he couldn’t send the boy off every night.

  At first they kissed tentatively and then with more passion. Their foreplay didn’t last long before he took her virginity with more violence than he had intended, but she was even more inflamed than he was, if anything. They made love three times more that night. The first was over far too quickly, as they both sought release from their pent-up lust for each other, but after that, Oswald was gentler and made sure that Keeva enjoyed the act of love just as much as he did.

  He was surprised to find deep, bloody scratches on his back the next day and Keeva was still tending to the wounds she had inflicted when Jarlath returned. The boy’s eyes grew wide and he giggled, drawing annoyed looks from both of them.

  ‘You can stay here at night from now on, boy, but you are to avert your eyes. If I find you watching us, I’ll beat you until your back looks like mine.’

  ‘Yes, master. I understand.’ Privately the boy thought that, if they got that carried away when they made love, they wouldn’t notice if all the boys in the settlement came to cheer them on.

  The next six months were busy ones for Oswald. Alaric started to construct the extra birlinns he’d need and his warriors intensified their training. One pleasant surprise was the arrival of Oslac to serve as his senior priest. He had been away in Lorne when Oswald was on Iona and the two hadn’t seen each other for years. He was four years younger than Oswald, but the two had always got on reasonably well together, allowing for the fights that brothers always have as children. Oslac was devout, but unlike Offa, he was also a man of the world and he joined his brothers and companions in getting drunk to celebrate his arrival.

  In addition to Eochaid’s Gift of God and the Seraphim, now captained by a man from Arran called Lorcan, he would need two more large birlinns so that he could ferry two hundred warriors to Bute; not that he was sure he could raise that number on Arran. His priority was, therefore, to tour the southern half of the island and assess the loyalty of the various chieftains and settlement headmen, whilst Alaric and his apprentices continued to work on the two new boats.

  The new Lord of Arran let it be known that he had adopted the title of thegn, one that was used throughout Anglo-Saxon England and parts of Scotland to signify a noble who held land from the king. After some deliberation, he decided that a show of strength was not the way to get the islanders to accept his rule. He therefore took only Eochaid, Oswiu, Lorcan, Oslac, Cormac – now a young warrior of eighteen - and Jarlath with him. Both Acha and Keeva pleaded with him to take more men, but he was adamant. He found leaving Keeva a wrench, much more so than when he had left Gytha, but he couldn’t take her with him all the time, especially when he invaded Bute, so he’d have to get used to it.

  He decided to tackle Brodick first. It was the nearest major settlement to Duilleag Bán na Cille and it was the one where the previous Lord of Arran had based himself. When he approached the settlement, he found the gates shut against him. Signalling his companions to remain where they were, out of arrow shot, he rode forward and asked to speak to whoever was in charge.

  ‘What do you want here, Whiteblade? Have you come to slaughter Lord Barra’s wife and children, as Domnall Brecc did their father? If so, you’ll be disappointed. They are not here.’

  ‘I know that, old man. They have fled to Cowal, though I would never have harmed them unless they opposed my rule. I am now the Thegn of Arran and your Lord. Now open the gates and stop trying my patience.
’

  ‘You swear you mean us no harm, Whiteblade?’

  ‘If I did, I’d have brought a damn sight more than four warriors, a priest and boy with me.’

  Oswiu grinned delightedly at being termed a warrior.

  The old man introduced himself as Turlough, the chief of the elders of the settlement, before calling a boy forth from the silent crowd to take them up to the Lord’s Hall.

  ‘You’ll find the place deserted since Barra’s demise,’ he warned them. ‘It’s in a bit of a mess, too.’

  Oswald grunted. No doubt the settlement’s people had looted it after Barra’s family had fled.

  ‘Send up some servants to clean the place up then, and some food and mead or ale for us tonight. I’ll address the settlement council tomorrow morning and then speak to everyone at the marketplace at noon. Please make sure you spread the word.’

  A sullen, watchful group of boys appeared to sort out the hall and then some men arrived with a handcart carrying a little bread, cheese and a small barrel of ale.

  ‘They don’t intend to spoil us, then,’ Eochaid muttered.

  Oswald gave one of the men a sliver of silver – far more than the provisions were worth.

  ‘Now go back into the settlement and bring us more bread, meat, fruit and a barrel of water.’

  The man looked surprised, then smiled.

  ‘Aye, Lord. I will, but there’s good fresh water in the well outside the hall.’

  Oswald’s simple gesture in paying for their meal had paid dividends. The people were far less surly than they had been yesterday when the small group walked down to the church where the council usually met and the councilmen themselves seemed eager to hear what Oswald had to say.

  One of the council was dressed as a priest, though his robe had seen better days and the crucifix attached to the rope around his waist was a crude thing made from two small sticks. Oslac made his way over to him and after a minute or so the two made their way to the altar.