by H A CULLEY
Oswiu got to his feet at that.
‘As you well know, the only reason he was defeated and killed was because he was betrayed by Eowa’s men. He and his gesith gave their lives to allow the men of Deira to escape. It was the act of a hero and a martyr and Deira is in his debt.’
‘Oswiu, sit down at once! I’ll not allow this Witan to degenerate into a slanging match,’ Hrotha thundered.
He had remained seated and he waved his hands at the other eorls who had sprung to their feet to indicate that they too should resume their seats.
‘We are all aware of your brother’s brave death and the sacrifice he made. Nevertheless it was the men of Deira who paid the price for his conflict with Penda; Bernicia wasn’t present at the battle.’
‘No, they were with me defeating Penda’s son and the Middle Anglians. May I point out that, because of the losses they suffered that day, they won’t be in a position to threaten Deira, Elmet or Lindsey for some time.’
Hrotha nodded to accept the truth of that and Oswiu sat down, still smouldering with anger.
‘As I was saying,’ Oswine continued smoothly, ‘we should not interfere with Mercia. It would be better for us to agree a mutual policy of non-aggression with Penda. Then we can concentrate on making Deira a prosperous and peaceful kingdom once more.’
With that he sat down and Hrotha opened the meeting to questions from the eorls. The first to speak was Rand, the Eorl of Elmet, a previously independent kingdom before it was absorbed into Deira.
‘We would, of course, welcome peace with Mercia as we border it on two sides; however, Penda’s invasion with Cadwallon ten years ago was unprovoked. I don’t think a policy of appeasement, as advocated by Oswine, would give us security. I prefer to be able to defend ourselves and, for me, that means electing Oswiu.’
‘I disagree,’ another eorl, this time from the north of the kingdom, bordering Bernicia, said. ‘When one king ruled both Bernicia and Deira he didn’t stop raids across the River Tees to steal our livestock. I say we want a king who can defend us against Bernicia. My choice is Oswine.’
The debate continued in like vein for a while then, when it became apparent that nothing new was being said, Hrotha opened the discussion to the rest of the Witan.
‘Bernicia is a Christian kingdom, as is Deira,’ James the Deacon said. ‘However, Bishop Aidan is from Iona and the rest of England now follows the Roman Church. The Celts do not observe the correct date for Easter and much of what they teach is false. Furthermore, Aidan is now in the Land of the Picts and we are neglected. I believe that we need to re-establish Deira as an independent kingdom which acknowledges the Pope in Rome as our spiritual leader.’
Most of the thegns who spoke seemed to favour Oswine and Oswiu was already resigned to defeat when the vote was called. The majority of the eorls selected Oswiu but two thirds of the thegns voted for Oswine. Œthelwald secured five votes and he stomped out of the hall in disgust, not staying to swear fealty to Oswine. It wasn’t until he’d cooled down outside that he wondered what he was now going to do. He had burned his boats with Oswine and he couldn’t see his uncle giving him any responsibility. He was without a place in the world.
Oswiu approached Oswine and congratulated him.
‘I hope we can work together as allies, cousin,’ he told him.
Cousin was stretching it a bit. They were in reality second cousins.
‘I hope so too, Oswiu, but I won’t be entering into any alliances against the Mercians.’
‘There may come a day when you’ll bitterly regret that decision. Goodbye Oswine.’
Outside he found Œthelwald pacing up and down in indecision.
‘What will you do now, nephew? I hope you’re not expecting me to offer you a position. You and I have never been friends and, to put it bluntly, I don’t trust you.’
‘I wouldn’t accept if you did offer me a post,’ he replied fiercely. ‘I’ll take my father’s birlinn and recruit a crew from amongst my friends and sail for Ulster. I always liked Eochaid. I’ll learn to be a great warrior there, like my father did.’
‘You’ll never be like your father, boy. You couldn’t be more different. I wish you well though, and I won’t contest your right to take the Holy Saviour. I have enough birlinns without it. Give my regards to King Eochaid.’
~~~
Oswiu and his mother had often been at odds but her death saddened him. Having always been a member of a large family, he didn’t like being almost alone. He was therefore glad to find his younger brother Offa waiting for him at Bebbanburg. Offa was two years younger and they had played together as boys; however, they were never close – not in the way that he and Oswald had been close.
He was devout but even he found Offa’s piety a little too much. Nevertheless, he readily accepted his offer to become his chaplain. The two of them travelled to Coldingham for the funeral and, for this occasion, Æbbe had lifted the ban on men entering the monastery.
‘It’s good to see you both, it seems a very long time since were all together as children at Dùn Add.’
‘It must be all of sixteen years; a long time as you say. You’re looking well, sister.’
‘Yes, I think the sea air and tranquillity of this place suit me,’ she said with a smile.
‘It’s what I loved about Lindisfarne too,’ Offa said.
‘Do you miss it, now that you’re our brother’s chaplain I mean?’
‘Yes, very much. But I know that I am doing God’s bidding and so I am content.’
‘I’m sorry that you didn’t inherit all of Oswald’s domain,’ she said to Oswiu.
‘So am I, but I will be King of all Northumbria in the end. However, my first priority, after we bury our mother, is to recover the rest of Oswald’s body.’
‘Do you know where they are?’
‘His head is on a spike outside the gates of Tamworth and one arm is reportedly hanging from a tree near the battlefield. Until I have recovered these we shan’t bury him. Meanwhile his torso is at Bebbanburg preserved in a cask of mead.’
‘Where will he be interred?’
‘On Lindisfarne. It’s the centre of Christianity in the north and it’s a fitting place for his shrine.’
The group fell silent for a moment thinking of Oswald’s untimely death and what else he might have achieved had he lived. Then Æbbe broke their reverie.
‘It’s time we went in for the service. Mother will be buried beside the altar.’
So saying, she went into the church followed by her brothers. Ròidh was present with a small contingent from Lindisfarne, as were two eorls and several thegns. After the internment, Oswiu and Offa headed back to Bebbanburg. On the morrow the king would leave to recover what he could of Oswald.
When he got back to Bebbanburg he found two boys waiting for him. He’d almost forgotten that he’d sent Raulf with a few mounted members of his warband to collect them. Alweo was the son of Eowa, Penda’s brother and Oswald’s ally who’d been murdered by his own men at Maserfield, and Wigmund was his cousin. Both were Penda’s nephews but he knew they’d be useless as hostages. To be truthful, he wasn’t quite sure why he’d rescued them. Penda had little regard for anyone other than himself and he’d have killed the two boys out of hand because of Eowa’s betrayal of him.
‘Did you have any trouble?’ he asked Raulf.
‘No, Cyning. I just told the custos that Eowa had sent for them. Luckily word of the defeat at Maserfield and Eowa’s death hadn’t reached them yet.’
‘Good. I wouldn’t want to be in the custos’ shoes when Penda finds out.’
‘Er, what shall I do with them?’
‘How old are you?’ Oswiu asked, turning to the two boys, the younger of whom looked both miserable and fearful at the same time whilst the other glared at him defiantly.
‘I’m nearly thirteen and Wigmund is twelve,’ Alweo answered without a trace of deference in his voice.
‘Confident little sod, aren’t you,’ Oswiu told him
with a grin. ‘I like that; you’ll make a good warrior one day. I can’t say the same about the shrinking violet beside you though.’
‘Wigmund’s alright, but you’re correct, he’s not warrior material.’
At this Wigmund glared at his cousin and kicked him hard in the shin, causing the other boy to grunt in pain.’
‘Ah! He has got some spirit then. Good. Now what am I going to do with you?’
At that moment Offa appeared.
‘Excellent timing. Do you think Aidan could do with some more novices?’
‘Always, he can never have enough monks to help with his work. You mean these two?’
‘What’s a novice?’ Alweo asked curiously.
‘A monk in training; not that I’m suggesting you should become one, though the life might suit Wigmund. No, I’m sending you to Lindisfarne to be educated and turned from a little pagan into a civilised Christian. If you behave, I’ll admit you into my warband for training as a warrior. Wigmund can decide what he wants to do after two years there.’
‘Thank you, I suppose.’
‘What for saving your miserable lives?’
‘Oh yes, that too.’
‘Offa, will you take them up the coast and hand them over to Brother Ròidh? Come straight back though, I want you to come with me when we leave tomorrow.’
CHAPTER TWO – DEEP INTO ENEMY TERRITORY
October 642 AD
Oswiu knew it was a stupid risk but he would not be dissuaded. He was determined to recover his brother’s head, which was on a spike outside the gates of Tamworth and the one limb he knew about, which had reportedly been thrown up into a tree near the battlefield. The only reason he knew about the latter was because a peddler had told Fianna of a miracle he’d heard about at a nearby tavern when he was selling her some cloth for a new tunic.
The innkeeper’s niece, so the story went, was paralysed from the waist down but, when she was laid down under the tree where some of the blood from the arm had drained into the soil, she was cured and walked back to the tavern.
‘You don’t believe it do you?’ Sigbert asked him when Oswiu relayed the story to him.
‘You don’t?’ Oswiu asked.
‘Well, it seems a little implausible to me. I’ve heard of the relics of saints performing miracles in the name of Our Lord but King Oswald isn’t a saint and this was supposedly performed by earth on which a drop or two of his blood may or may not have fallen.’
‘Our brother may not be a saint yet,’ Offa said quietly, ‘but he most assuredly is a martyr. He was slain most foully by a pagan.’
‘You think Oswald may become a saint?’ Oswiu asked, surprised.
‘I believe so, yes. He was a devout believer and spread Christianity throughout Northumbria, with Bishop Aidan’s help of course, and now his remains are performing miracles.’
Oswiu thought that his brother was being a little naïve, but he could see the political advantage of proclaiming Oswald a saint. It would harden every Christian’s heart against Penda.
‘I must consult Aidan about this when he returns; in the meantime I’ll travel to Lindisfarne tomorrow to discuss it with Brother Ròidh. Now, we were discussing my plans for recovering the head and this miraculous arm. Taking the warband, or even part of it, is not practical. I’m not seeking confrontation with Penda, or the blasted Welsh, at this stage. We need a small party who can ride fast and fight well, and that means my gesith. It’s now thirty strong, which is large enough to protect me against anyone we are likely to meet accidentally, but not so big as to be impossible to hide.’
‘Very well, will Father Offa be coming along?’
‘Offa was about to say no when Oswiu surprised him.
‘Yes, of course. I don’t want to go anywhere without my chaplain. If I should be killed I don’t want to die unshriven. I’ll also take Nerian; and I suppose the gesith will want to take some servants too. Three should suffice. No tents or unnecessary baggage, only what can be carried on the horses. The servants can each lead a spare horse, just in case we lose any. Now, any questions?’
‘Provisions?’
‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’
Oswiu was annoyed with himself for overlooking something so basic but his mind was totally focused on recovering what he could of his beloved brother.
‘Each man is to take a water skin and some cheese, bread and apples – enough to last two days’ he continued. We’ll have to find isolated farmsteads or shepherd’s huts to raid and those who have bows better take them. Nerian’s quite good at tickling trout too.’
‘If we raid even isolated places won’t word get around about us?’
‘Not if we kill everyone and bury the bodies where they won’t be found easily,’ Sigbert replied with a grin.
‘Oh, how barbaric!’
‘No, you’re wrong Offa. It would be barbaric if it was wanton killing. In this case it is necessary to save our own lives.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s still a sin. Warn me, please, so I don’t have to be a witness to such brutality.’
It was at times like this that Oswiu was reminded what a sheltered life his brother had led up until now.
After the other two had left, Oswiu’s mind turned back to Fianna, who had brought the peddler to him. She was a widow now but she was the mother of his eldest son, Aldfrith. The boy was back living with her and, in addition, she was looking after his two children by Rhieinmelth with the help of a wet nurse. She hadn’t said so directly, but it was obvious she entertained hopes that they might resume their old relationship now that his wife was dead.
Oswiu had no intention of doing that. He needed to find a wife who would strengthen his position and that meant someone of royal blood, not a villein’s daughter from Bute. He had no intention of following Oswald’s example and to keep a wife and a mistress. In any case, no-one else would be as understanding as Cyneburga had been. That was another problem. She and Keeva were still living in the fortress. He had spoken to Cyneburga briefly and she had expressed a desire to become a nun. If her brother agreed, that might be the best solution. He thought that Keeva would probably want to go with her. He’d have to talk to his sister as soon as he got back, but he was certain that Æbbe would accept them at Coldingham.
He went to bed wondering who he might approach with a marriage proposal. He couldn’t sleep and so he ran the possibilities over in his mind. When he’d thought about it at length he came to the conclusion that the obvious choice was Eanflæd of Kent. Aside from Wessex and East Anglia, Kent was the most important of the southern kingdoms. It was founded by the Jutes, who were jealous of the growing power of the West Saxons and therefore keen to make allies.
In addition to being the cousin of King Eorcenberht, she was the daughter of Oswiu’s uncle, Edwin of Northumbria, who had usurped the throne when Oswiu’s father had been killed. Marrying her would placate those who had been loyal to Edwin as well as reinforcing the friendly relations Northumbria had forged with Kent. Of course she might look like the back end of a cow, but her mother had been accounted a beauty in her day.
Satisfied with his decision he drifted off to sleep.
~~~
Raulf was talking to Nerian when Oswiu and Ceadda emerged and mounted their horses. Raulf and Nerian had become, if not comrades, then at least friends. Nerian admired Raulf and the older youth felt a bond with the boy as he too had been Oswiu’s body slave in the past. The rest of the gesith were mounted already and Raulf hastened to do the same. Nerian mounted his pony and, leading the packhorse carrying his and the king’s gear, he moved to join the other servants in the middle of the column.
The early morning dew clung to the grass as they swept out of the gates of Bebbanburg heading south towards Hexham. Oswine might be King of Deira instead of Oswiu, but he didn’t anticipate any problems travelling down through Elmet to the Mercian border. He’d decided to head for Tamworth first to recover his brother’s head before seeking the severed arm near Maserfield. From there it wasn’t
more than a two day ride north into Rheged.
The first part of the journey went without incident. Oswine might be their king but no-one in Elmet was going to challenge the mounted party of thirty experienced warriors. They paid for what provisions they needed instead of foraging and that earned them the co-operation of everyone they encountered. Oswiu’s one worry was that word of their passing might reach Penda, but they were travelling so rapidly that it seemed unlikely.
The northern boundary of Mercian territory was marked by several rivers, from the Mersey and the Weaver in the west to part of the Aire in the east. Between them lay a large area of boggy upland called the High Peak where practically no-one lived. Oswiu decided that this was his best route into Mercia. From the southern edge of the peaty morass it was still fifty miles to Tamworth through more populated country but he hoped that, by avoiding settlements, he could cover this undetected.
The black peat hills looked impassable at first glance.
‘Are you sure there’s a way through this?’ he asked Ceadda.
‘So these two boys assure me.’
The scouts had found two brothers of fourteen and twelve looking after a flock of sheep in the valley through which a river called the Derwent ran. They seemed to find the prospect of leaving their boring task in exchange for a bit of an adventure attractive and went with the scouts willingly, once they’d been promised that no harm would come to them. The scouts weren’t great proponents of personal hygiene but even they found that the stink given off by the two young shepherds was overpowering and they gave them a good wash in the Derwent before they continued. Now they nodded eagerly when asked whether they knew their way through the black hills facing them.
Oswiu still looked sceptical. ‘Let the elder act as guide and keep the younger boy close. If the guide doesn’t do what he’s promised or gets us lost, cut his brother’s throat.’
He repeated what he’d said in Brythonic as the boys didn’t understand English. They apparently had no idea whether they lived in Mercia or not – indeed they claimed not to have heard of it. They were Britons, part of the original population before the coming of the Anglo-Saxons.