by H A CULLEY
‘Aidan, I’m delighted to see you, old friend. How are you?’
Then he noticed the young monk by Aidan’s side. At first he didn’t recognise him, but then he hadn’t seen him for years. He quickly calculated that he must be in his early twenties by now.
‘Rònan, I wouldn’t have recognised you if you hadn’t been standing by Brother Aidan’s side.’
The two smiled at one another.
‘It’s good to see you again too, Prince Oswald.’
‘You’re being very formal.’
‘It’s appropriate, now that you’re the brother of a king.’
Oswald looked bewildered and Aidan suggested that they all sit down and he would tell them what he knew.
The three took a seat and Oswiu came in and joined them, signalling to a boy to go and fetch wine and refreshments.
‘Water and a little bread and a bite of cheese, if you have it, will suffice for us. Thank you, Lord Oswiu.’
Oswald smiled. It seemed that Aidan had grown more frugal and ascetic as he grew older. Both he and his acolyte looked as if they would get blown away by a strong gust of wind.
‘Now, I only know what I gathered from the Picts, but they were all full of Edwin’s death and the election of your brother Eanfrith to the throne of Bernicia by the Witan. Sadly, although Eanfrith had become a Christian and I had baptised him during his time in the land of the Picts, I am told he has now reverted to paganism.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘I suspect because, although Edwin converted on marriage, most Northumbrians are pagans still and Penda of Mercia, who Eanfrith seeks to appease, is a pagan.’
‘What of Edwin’s wife and children?’
‘I heard that Osfrith was slain with him and Eadfrith was captured. His wife and the younger children have fled to her father in Kent, or so the story goes.’
‘I wonder why he left Eadfrith alive.’ Oswiu pondered.
‘Perhaps Penda thought to make him a puppet king. Might he try to put him on the throne of Deira and Elmet?’
‘If so, he’s too late. The Witan in York has chosen your cousin Osric as its new king.’
Oswald sat lost in thought for a while. It seemed that he had missed an opportunity to take advantage of Edwin’s death, but of more concern was the fact that the kingdom was divided again after his father had managed to unite it, and that made it even more vulnerable to the depredations of Penda and Cadwallon. He was as certain as he could be that they would take advantage of their victory and plunder the land. Not only would it make both men and their armies rich, but it would destroy the power of Northumbria and allow Mercia to become the dominant kingdom in England.
‘Where will you go?’ he asked Aidan.
‘Back to Iona, for now. Like Eanfrith, Osric has renounced Christianity and reverted to paganism. I need to discuss with the abbot how we can persuade them – and their people, this time – to follow Christ. What will you do?’
‘Go and see Domnall Brecc and get him to release me and my men from our oaths to follow him. From what little I know of my half-brother and my cousin, I don’t believe that either will survive long, as neither Penda nor Cadwallon have agreed to their enthronement. I need to be ready for the next move in this dangerous game.’
~~~
Osric – the son of Ælfric, the King of Deira who had been killed when Oswald’s father had united the two halves of Northumbria – had struggled to raise another army after the disaster at Heathfield Chase. He was the obvious choice to succeed Edwin, his cousin, when the latter was killed, but instead of being accepted by the whole of Northumbria, Bernicia had opted to crown the eldest son of the man who had slain Osric’s father. It was hardly a move calculated to unite opposition against the invaders.
Had Northumbria remained a single entity, it might have been able to withstand the advance of Penda and Cadwallon, but Osric couldn’t bring himself to form an alliance with Eanfrith. Instead, he took advantage of the fact that Penda had returned to Mercia to deal with a problem there and promptly besieged Cadwallon and his Welshmen in Eoforwīc as soon as he had gathered enough men.
The King of Gwynedd had lost almost a hundred men at Heathfield Chase, so was believed to have no more than two hundred with him in the city and some of those would be wounded. Osric, therefore, believed that the three hundred he had managed to raise would suffice. What he had ignored was the fact that his army included old men and boys as young as thirteen, and that many of them hadn’t been trained to fight.
Much of the old Roman city of Eboracum had been flooded after the Romans left and had been abandoned for a time. The Angles had rebuilt the city on higher ground to the north of the River Ouse, renaming it Eoforwīc. It was protected by a palisade twelve feet high with three gates, to the north-west, north-east and south-east.
‘He evidently doesn’t know much about sieges,’ Cadwallon sneered to his chieftains as they watched the Deiran army divide into three roughly equal parts and camp two hundred yards back from each of the gates.
His eleven year old son, Cadwaladr, looked up at his father before asking, ‘What should he have done, father?’
‘Kept his army together and erected a fortified camp to protect it. He should have only put a small force in front of each gate to give warning of a sortie by us and to prevent supplies reaching us.’
‘Oh, I see. So, because he’s split his army, you can defeat them one section at a time?’
Cadwallon looked at his son with approval.
‘Precisely. At dawn tomorrow we’ll sally out and wipe out one of the detachments, then carry on and attack the rest, by which time our numbers will be more even.’
He examined the men setting up their camps for a while and grunted in satisfaction.
‘Do you notice anything else about this so-called army of Osric’s, Cadwaladr?’
The boy peered at them for a while before a grin spread over his face.
‘Quite a few of them appear to be no more than a few years older than me and there are a lot of old men, too.’
‘Yes, I estimate a third of them or more are not normally members of the fyrd. They’ll be unused to war and will panic easily. They’ll be more use to me than to that fool Osric.’
Cadwaladr was disappointed to be left behind with a small force to protect the city when his father led his army out of the north-east gate, but he watched from the top of the gatehouse as the Welsh swept into the Angles’ camp. Most of them were still asleep and the alarmed cries of the few sentries didn’t give them enough warning. Before the sun had fully risen into the sky, flooding the area around the city with light, Cadwallon had killed nearly one third of Osric’s army and the survivors had fled, throwing away their weapons.
Cadwallon left a few of his men behind to go around the camp killing those of the enemy who were badly wounded. Just to make sure that none were playing at being dead, they stabbed everyone in the throat, dead or not.
Osric had hastily roused his men when he heard the sounds of fighting coming from the north, but no enemy appeared. He sent out scouts to find out what was going on and they returned a little later to tell him of the slaughter at the middle of the three besiegers’ camps.
‘What about the one to the north-west?’
The scouts looked at each other uncomfortably.
‘Cadwallon is attacking that now, Lord King. Our men are fighting bravely, but the cursed Welsh are forcing them back towards the river.’
‘Come on,’ Osric yelled, ‘there is no point sitting here waiting for Cadwallon to attack us. We must go to the rescue of our countrymen.’
Osric set off, followed by most of his men, but about thirty of them took the opportunity to desert. When they reached the middle camp they saw a hundred corpses or so strewn about the place and his men became fearful. Carrion birds were already picking out the eyes of the dead and tearing at their flesh. Even Osric felt his courage seeping away. A few more men started to run away and the trickle soon became a flood.
By the time Cadwallon had finished obliterating the north-west camp, Osric had joined the rest of his men in flight.
The short-lived King of Deira had left too late. By the time that he’d decided it was time to retreat and wait for another opportunity to tackle Cadwallon, his mounted scouts had fled and someone had taken the king’s own horse to aid his flight. Osric and his bodyguard ran away from the debacle at Eoforwīc, but they had gone less than three miles when a group of mounted Welshmen caught up with them.
Osric glanced behind him and saw a group of nearly naked men mounted on small Welsh ponies with bodies covered in blue patterns closing on him fast. He and his ten warriors turned to face their pursuers. They were outnumbered by two to one, but the Welsh decided not to risk their own lives. Three of them carried bows and they dismounted to send arrow after arrow into the tightly packed warriors. Most did little more than lodge in the Angles’ shields, but a few got through to pierce legs, arms and, in one case, a neck.
Osric didn’t know what to do. He was conscious of the fact that the main body of Welshmen on foot would be getting nearer all the time. Eventually he decided to attack. After whispering his orders he yelled and led his men towards the group of horsemen. They caught the archers by surprise and killed them before they could mount. The rest rode off, then turned and charged back. Two of Osric’s men were in the process of lifting the king onto one of the dead archer’s ponies when a spear took Osric in the middle of the back, breaking apart the links of his chain mail byrnie and shattering his spine. He fell to the ground, as his two bodyguards died of other spear thrusts. Then one of the Welshmen dismounted and proceeded to hack at Osric’s neck with his blunt sword until it parted company from his body and he stuck it onto his spear.
Lifting the grisly trophy on high like a banner, the scouts chased after the rest of their routed enemy.
~~~
Oswald knelt nervously in front of Domnall Brecc in the latter’s hall at Dùn Add. For just a moment, he was taken back in time seventeen years to when he had stood by his mother’s side in front of King Connad. That seemed a long time ago, now.
‘Why should I release you from your vows and those of my men living on Arran and Bute who want to go with you? I would be losing one of my best leaders and many of my trained warriors. Of what advantage is that to me?’
Oswald got to his feet and looked Domnall in the eye.
‘I have served you loyally, Domnall Brecc. I was instrumental in putting you on the throne on which you now sit and I won you the Isle of Bute. Prior to that, I brought Arran back to Dal Riada. I was hoping that you might do as I asked to acknowledge the debt you owe me!’
Had Oswald not been so angry at Domnall’s attitude, he might have thought before he spoke to the king so intemperately. As it was, his anger was matched by that of Domnall.
‘You are being impudent and unwise, Oswald. Watch your tongue or I’ll have it cut out.’
‘I’m sorry, Cyning. I apologise.’ Oswald took a deep breath to control his fury at being denied his heart’s desire. ‘You ask what’s in it for you. I’ll tell you. The border of Northumbria runs with that of Strathclyde from halfway along the Roman Wall in the south to where the river flows into the Firth of Forth, near Stirling in the north. In my foolishness, I imagined that you might welcome an ally threatening your ancient enemy.’
Domnall opened his mouth to yell at Oswald again for being sarcastic, but then the import of what the man had said sunk in. If he forbade him to leave, he might just go anyway, with or without his blessing. In the unlikely event that he succeeded in winning back Northumbria, he didn’t want him as a friend to Strathclyde. Under the right king, Northumbria had the potential to be far more powerful than either Dal Riada or Strathclyde.
‘If I agree, and I’m far from convinced that I should do so, how many warriors would you expect to take with you?’
‘If the reports are correct, Cadwallon has over two hundred men with him. However, they are a long way from home and some will slip away back to Gwynedd with their ill-gotten plunder. The number of desertions will increase as winter approaches. Penda’s whereabouts are uncertain. There are some stories that Mercians attacked Bebbanburg and were repulsed, but it’s not clear whether Penda was with them. Others say he is still in Mercia. So my priority is to defeat Cadwallon first and then move against Penda if I have to.’
‘All very interesting and it shows that you have both good information and a plan, but I asked you about the numbers you are hoping to take with you.’
‘Yes, I was coming to that, but I thought it important that you appreciate why I need the numbers I do. To move overland would advertise my strategy and might give the two kings time to unite their forces to oppose me. I therefore propose to take ship to Caer Luel in Rheged and then move along the Roman Wall into Bernicia.’
‘But I thought that Cadwallon was in Eoforwīc?’
‘He is, or was. But from the Roman Wall I can strike either north or south and the ruined fortifications along it will protect us as we advance.’
‘So the numbers you take will be limited by the number of birlinns you have?’
‘Yes, Lord King. At the moment Eochaid and I have four, so enough to carry some one hundred and fifty warriors, plus helmsmen, ships boys and so on.’
‘Do you have a hundred and fifty men who are willing to risk their lives on this mad venture?’
‘Yes, Lord. Over two hundred, so I can pick who I want.’
‘I see.’
Domnall looked at Oswald thoughtfully for a moment, before the silence was interrupted by Fergus of Islay, who was visiting and who had sat quietly by Domnall’s side up to that point.
‘You’ll need more than a hundred and fifty, laddie. If Domnall doesn’t object, I’ll pledge a hundred warriors and two birlinns until you wear the crown – or are dead. In either event, they are then to return home.’
Domnall gave him an annoyed look for forcing his hand.
‘What about your elder brother and Oswin?’
‘Half-brother. They are hardly friends, so Northumbria will remain divided whilst they rule. I don’t expect either of them to be able to defeat Penda and Cadwallon on their own. If they are still alive by the time I arrive, I will deal with them after ridding my kingdom of the wretched Welsh and the Mercians.’
‘Very well, you may go in the spring. But if there is little prospect of your succeeding, you are to return here. Understood?’
~~~
Oswald was beginning to think that things might be going his way. He hadn’t been back on Arran for more than a month when Aidan and Ròidh arrived. They had travelled down Loch Fyne from Fibach in the Land of the Picts and had managed to get a fisherman to take them from Cowal to Brodick. They were making their way back to Iona, so Oswald took them the rest of the way himself.
He was still there visiting his brothers when tidings came of Osric’s death. Furthermore, it now seemed certain that reports of Penda’s return to Northumbria were false. It appeared that he was still in Mercia, though some of his men had apparently joined Cadwallon in order to plunder the country. It was much later that he heard about the fate of Eanfrith.
Both Osguid and Oslac were keen to go with him and the three went to see Abbot Ségéne mac Fiachnaíhe.
‘So you believe that you can become the King of Northumbria, do you, Oswald?’
‘With God’s help, Father Abbot, yes.’
‘Then I believe that the community of Iona must support you against the apostate Eanfrith.’
‘Apostate?’
‘Yes. Having been converted by Brother Aidan years ago, he has now renounced his Christian faith and become a pagan once more, perhaps to curry favour with Penda. If so, it hasn’t done him much good. The pagan Penda is back in Mercia and Cadwallon is a Christian, though he doesn’t seem to act like one half the time. He’s gone into winter quarters at Corbridge, I understand, presumably waiting until spring before continuing his rampage across the kingdom. The last I
heard, your half-brother, Eanfrith, was seeking ways of avoiding war.’
Oswald sniffed to indicate what he thought of that. Eanfrith didn’t have the strong character that he and Oswiu had. When he was elected by the Witan of Bernicia, it was far from a unanimous decision. Many nobles and thegns had been in favour of Oswald, but when Eanfrith arrived and no-one had yet been in contact with Oswald, the vote swung in his favour. Now it appeared he was seeking to make peace with Cadwallon. Oswald was certain that the only peace that Cadwallon would agree to was complete submission. He could then get Eanfrith to pay him a hefty tribute annually at no cost to himself. Oswald struggled to stop thinking about his half-brother and concentrate on what the abbot was saying.
‘We have a few islanders who are trained as warriors who would like to go with you. Of course, I’m happy for Osguid and Oslac to accompany you, to look after your spiritual welfare.’
Oswald smiled. He had known that Offa wouldn’t want to leave Iona, where he lived as a hermit in a beehive cell on the far side of the small island. His other brother, Oslaph, had died of a fever the previous year.
Oslaph’s death had hit Acha hard. She hadn’t seen him for years and now she never would. She became deeply depressed when she heard the news. Soon four of her sons would set out on an extremely hazardous venture and she was concerned about their survival; perhaps she’d never see them again, either. The fact that Æbbe, now seventeen, had recently left her to become a novice nun had increased her loneliness and depression.
It was Keeva and Fianna who had lifted her out of her black mood. They started to bring their children round to see their grandmother almost every day and Eochaid’s wife, Dervla, also became a frequent visitor with her two children. Of course, Acha knew why she was getting this sudden attention and she was touched. She had never approved of Oswald’s relationship with Keeva and she had been just as angry when Oswiu, scarcely more than a boy at the time, had brought the elfin Fianna back with him from Bute. Dervla was different. Firstly she was an Irish princess and therefore a member of the same class, and secondly she was married to Eochaid, not a concubine. From the start, the two women had got on well.