by H A CULLEY
‘I give you my word that I’ll guide you true, Brenin,’ the fourteen year old said, sounding highly offended that he wasn’t trusted.
Oswiu was suprised to be address as Brenin, which meant king in most of the Brythonic languages. The boy wasn’t entirely an ignoramus it seemed.
What’s your name boy?’
‘Catinus, my brother is called Conomultus.’
‘Well, Catinus, I believe you. Lead on.’
Nevertheless he kept the younger boy by his side.
Their young guide led the way up beside a stream which trickled down the hillside. The going was soft, but not dangerously so. Once they reached the top Oswiu saw a large plateau stretching in front of them. It was covered with bare patches of black peat, clumps of heather and the occasional outcrop of rock. The boy jumped down into a deep trench that wound its way through the peat bog. The bottom was of gravel with a couple of inches of water running through it.
‘We call these groughs,’ his brother helpfully confided to Oswiu.
The grough twisted and turned and it took them two hours to traverse the boggy wasteland, but then they descended the hill to cross a small river before climbing up again. This happened once more and then they emerged at a point where the stream they were following flowed over the edge and down a rocky course to the valley below. Their horses picked their way down the escarpment carefully whilst the boy leading them on foot kept stopping impatiently and waiting for them to catch up.
Eventually they reached the valley floor through which a larger river ran.
‘This is the River Ashop. It’ll be dark soon so we can camp here tonight, Brenin,’ the guide told them. ‘Tomorrow we climb up there.’ He pointed to the top of the steep escarpment facing them. ‘Then it’s no more than two or three miles through the last area of bog before we descend to the valley below. That’s the start of the inhabited country but I’ve never been further than that.’
The next day dawned dank and chilly. Oswiu looked up at the escarpment but the top of it was lost in low cloud. This part of the country was bad enough in fine weather; it was going to be a miserable day.
‘Can you find your way across in this murk?’ he asked Catinus when he appeared chewing a piece of cheese.
The boy looked up, swallowed his mouthful and grinned.
‘It’s a plateau, Brinin. You can hear the waterfall that drops over the cliffs to the west and there’s a river below us to the east so, as long as we can see a green valley below us with low hills beyond when get out of the cloud, we’ll be fine.’
And so it proved. Oswiu was hoping that the cloud would lift but in fact the weather deteriorated as the day wore on and the valley they sought was barely discernible through the rain as they descended. The one good thing was the poor visibility hid them from the two settlements in the valley.
Raulf put an arrow through a solitary sheep that was lost and bleating piteously and so at least they would have fresh meat that night. Catinus and Conomultus proved their worth by skinning and expertly butchering the animal ready for the spit once they found a copse with a stream in which to camp. Oswiu thought that they were probably now no more than forty miles from Tamworth – a day and half’s ride if they knew where they were going, but they didn’t. All Oswiu knew was that they were due north of their destination.
His problem now was what to do about the two boys. To Ceadda the solution was simple.
‘We cut their throats so they can’t tell anyone we were here and bury them in this copse.’
‘Yes, that is an option but they have done what they said they’d do and I don’t like to reward good service with death.’
‘Well, we can’t take them with us. They’ll slow us down. You could just cut out their tongues I suppose? I doubt if either of them can write, so they couldn’t tell anyone about us.’
‘I agree that’s the sensible course, but they could be useful to us when we get to Maserfield. They could enquire amongst the local Welsh as to the whereabouts of my poor brother’s limbs.’
‘I suppose so but, now we are in open country again, we need to move fast.’
‘They can double up with the servants leading the packhorses. If we change them round every couple of hours that shouldn’t tire the horses too much. It isn’t as if they weigh much. I suspect that they’ve eaten better since they joined us than they do normally.’
‘If you say so, Oswiu, but I still say we should cut out their tongues.’
~~~
Aidan and his two monks disembarked at Dùn Dè from the currach that had brought them north from Lindisfarne to be greeted by Talorgan. The bishop had been surprised that the King of Prydenn found it necessary to be accompanied by fifteen warriors for the journey back up to his fortress, and said so.
‘Bishop, you obviously don’t know King Talorc. He gave me Prydenn to buy me off when I threatened to topple him from his throne, but he doesn’t expect me to keep it. He’s already made two attempts on my life, an ambush in the streets of my own capital and an assassin who managed to reach my bedchamber. On both occasions I was lucky. I don’t intend to give him a third chance.’
‘I see. Well, let’s hope I can convert your people before he succeeds.’
He gave the startled king a smile to indicate that he was in jest, before they continued their journey in silence. Later, when they were alone, Aidan wasted no time in coming straight to the point.
‘What is it exactly that you want of me?’
‘Most of the other Pictish kingdoms have followed Christ, thanks to your missionary work amongst the Picts years ago, but Prydenn wasn’t included. My mother was a Christian, as was my father - for a time. I am too, as is my wife, but my people aren’t. I hope that you can convert the people here and give us a bishop to carry on the good work in the rest of the kingdom.’
‘Well that’s direct enough. I suggest that I start with the warriors in the fortress and we’ll see how that is received.’
‘Excellent. By the way I had expected to see Ròidh with you.’
‘He was ill when I left but hopefully he’ll recover soon.’
‘I hope so too. I understand that he was a Pictish prince at one stage?’
‘Yes, but that was when he was fourteen. A lot of water has passed down the river since then. I believe that his brother is now King of Ardewr?’
‘Yes, they are my neighbours to the north-west. I know that I have no right to ask this, as Ròidh has been your companion for so long, but I can’t help but think that he would make an excellent Bishop of Prydenn.’
‘Ah! So it wasn’t me you wanted, but my assistant.’
‘I’m sorry, but yes. Ròidh is a Pict and moreover of royal blood. That will be a great help to him as a missionary here.’
‘Very well. I’ll return to Lindisfarne and send Brother Ròidh to you as soon as he is well enough.’
‘No, please don’t go. I can see that I’ve offended you and for that I apologise. I hope that you’ll stay a few weeks so that you can see something of my kingdom. It is, of course, all new to me as well. I was born in Fortriu, where the high king now has his main fortress.’
‘I can see why, as it borders both Strathclyde and Dalriada.’
Talorgan nodded. ‘And Goddodin near Stirling, if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, it’s wild country for the most part, except around Stirling. Its fortress is near on impregnable and its position dominates many of the routes into the rest of Pictland.’
‘Much as I’d like to see something of your kingdom, I fear I should get back to Lindisfarne. I’m concerned about Ròidh, and about Lady Acha, who is increasingly frail. I’m also anxious about King Oswald’s foray into Mercia. However, provided you’ll allow me to make a start on converting the people here in your capital, I’d like to stay for a week or two before facing journey back by sea.’
It was two weeks later, just as Aidan was thinking about returning to Lindisfarne, that a small birlinn arrived from Bebbanburg. The news o
f the death of both Oswald and Acha shocked Aidan and even Talorgan was worried.
‘I’m sorry about the death of Oswald, - and his mother, of course - but I’m now concerned about my own position. Power is a dangerous game and one of the reasons Talorc was wary of me was the fact that Oswald was my uncle. Perhaps I indicated to the high king that Oswald was friendlier towards me than he was in reality, but now he needn’t fear any interference from Northumbria.’
‘Why not? Oswiu is also your uncle and he has more influence up here as King of Rheged and conqueror of Goddodin than Oswald had?’
‘Perhaps, but now his attention will be directed southwards, as Oswald’s was. After Maserfield, Mercia is the most powerful of all the English kingdoms and there is no guarantee that Oswiu will be able to resist them. I’m sure that his northern border is the least of his concerns at the moment.’
‘All the more reason for me to sail south today. Oswiu will need my support. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten my promise to ask Ròidh if he’d be willing to become your bishop.’
When he reached Lindisfarne he found Ròidh completely recovered but Oswiu, having failed to secure the throne of Deira, had disappeared with his gesith and no-one knew where he was.
CHAPTER THREE – SAINTLY REMAINS
Autumn 642 AD
‘Now, you’re quite clear what I want you to do?’
Oswiu looked the two boys in the eye. He was risking a lot in trusting the two young Britons. Ceadda clearly thought his king was mad.
Catinus and Conomultus both nodded earnestly. They were extremely nervous and, given the fact that the captain of Oswiu’s gesith had promised to cut out their tongue and castrate them if they failed, that wasn’t surprising. However, they had little option but to carry out the task that Oswiu had given them, dangerous as it was. They had effectively thrown in their lot with the Bernician king and their fate lay in his hands. They had nowhere else to go now.
‘Right. God be with you then. Off you go.’
The two boys set out along the path that let out of the woods where Oswiu and his gesith were hiding and across the cultivated land that lay between them and the gates of Tamworth. Even at this distance they could see the rotting head of King Oswald sitting on top of a stake near the gates. Their task was made even more difficult by the fact that the stake wasn’t more than ten yards from the four sentries who were stopping all those entering Penda’s capital to levy a tax on all those who’d brought produce to sell at the weekly market.
The two boys joined the queue waiting to enter and a boy sitting on the back of the cart in front of them grinned at them and threw them an apple, which Catinus deftly caught. He took a couple of bites out of it and passed it on to his brother.
‘Thanks,’
‘You’re welcome. Those arseholes on the gates will pinch a few anyway, in addition to charging us to enter. You on your own then?’
The two boys saw that a man and a youth sat on the seat at the front of the ox-drawn cart and assumed they were the boy’s father and elder brother.
‘Yes, we’re orphans,’ Conomultus volunteered.
He would have said more but at that moment the cart moved forward in the queue and a man leading a cow and a calf came up behind them followed by two more carts full of produce.
‘We’re not here to make friends. Don’t tell anyone anything you don’t have to,’ his brother whispered quietly in his ear. ‘Now get that sack ready.’
A few minutes later they moved forward again. The cart in front of them was being inspected by two of the sentries and, as the apple grower’s son had predicted, they helped themselves to a couple of apples each. The grisly head was now only a few feet away and, when the two sentries moved back towards the gate, Catinus seized his chance.
The head was just out of reach and so he jumped up and pushed it upwards with his fist. For a moment he thought it wasn’t going to budge, but then it toppled off the spike and Conomultus caught it deftly in the open sack. For an instant everyone was caught by surprise and the two boys were able to turn and start to run away before anyone reacted. A second later uproar broke out and the men manning the gate came running to see what the matter was.
Two of them started to run after the boys whilst the other two ran back to the gate. One remained at his post, telling everyone to clear the gateway, whilst the other ran towards the king’s hall to raise the alarm. He desperately hoped that his fellow sentries caught the thieves; Penda had a nasty habit of killing those who let him down.
The boys were a hundred yards clear of their pursuers and, although the latter’s longer legs meant that they were gaining on them, they were hampered by their spears and helmets and so they discarded them. One was wearing a leather jerkin but the other was wearing no more than a thick woollen over-tunic. Now they were gaining on the boys, who were no more than fifty yards in front of them.
Undoubtedly they would have caught them before they reached the trees but, just as they were about to overtake their quarry some sixty feet short of the woods, several arrows hit them in the chest and they fell, one dead and the other seriously wounded.
As the boys reached safety a few men ran forward, slit the throat of the surviving sentry, and carried the bodies into the trees. Oswiu hoped that there would be a delay before someone could organise further pursuit. The dead Mercians were bundled into a depression in the ground and covered with fallen leaves. Penda would certainly know by now that his grisly trophy had been stolen but he wouldn’t know who’d taken it or why. The use of Britons to steal it might confuse things for a while, or so he hoped.
He led his horse forward to the edge of the woods and looked towards Tamworth. The carts waiting to enter had blocked further pursuit for a few precious minutes. Now he could see a group of horsemen starting towards him. They would reach him in a couple of minutes so, pausing only to congratulate the boys and take the sack from them, he mounted and led his men deep into the trees following an animal track. It had been made by large animals, perhaps deer, and was just wide enough to allow men on horseback to traverse it slowly, pushing overhanging branches out of the way as they went. The two boys ran on, leaving footprints in the muddy road until they turned and made their way, with some difficulty, through the dense undergrowth to join up with the animal track that Oswiu and his gesith had taken.
For a moment Catinus thought that Oswiu had abandoned them but half a mile along the track they found Raulf waiting for them with Nerian. Catinus grasped Raulf’s hand and he pulled the boy up behind him whilst Nerian did the same for his brother, then they set off after the rest.
The Mercian horsemen pounded along the road until the man in command spotted where the boys had taken to the undergrowth. There was no way that they could follow on horseback, so they dismounted and used their swords and seaxes to cut their way into the mass of shrubs and brambles. They followed the boys’ trail, which was all too evident because of broken twigs, trampled vegetation and the like, but they couldn’t take their horses with them without cutting back the undergrowth.
They eventually emerged onto the trail that Oswiu and the others had taken but, by the time someone had gone back to bring the horses along the main trail, whoever they were chasing had a good head start. Nevertheless, the man in charge of the pursuit knew that he daren’t go back without the head, so the Mercians set off in pursuit.
~~~
‘You do know that they’ll keep on after us, Oswiu?’
‘Yes Ceadda, I’m not a fool. How many of them would you say there are?’
‘Perhaps twenty?’
‘We need to slow them down. Who would you say are our best archers?’
‘Raulf and Edmund. They’re not the fastest to get the second and third arrows away but they are the most accurate.’
‘Good. I want them to kill the leader of our pursuers. That will cause confusion and, hopefully, the rest will be a lot more cautious.’
The two warriors climbed up into the lower branches of two oak t
rees, one either side of the trail. Catinus and his brother waited a hundred yards further along, around a bend and out of sight, holding the archers’ two horses.
The undergrowth was dense and the trail narrow but the trees were bare of leaves, therefore the two men knew that they would be spotted as soon as the Mercians appeared. They would have barely a second or two to strike before they would have to jump down and run.
They waited nervously, their bows strung and the arrows nocked but they would have to wait until the first rider appeared before drawing the bow and letting fly. The arrows were tipped with iron and had no barb. At close range they would have enough power to force their way through the links of chain mail, tear through the clothing underneath and, with any luck, penetrate the torso underneath. Both prayed to God that the first man to appear would be the leader. If he’d sent a scout ahead the ploy would fail.
The trail wasn’t wide enough for two men to ride abreast so the Mercians would be in single file; that would work to the archers’ advantage. Suddenly they heard the sound of twigs snapping and a few seconds later the first Mercian appeared. He was about fifty yards away and well dressed – wearing a well-polished byrnie over a leather liner, red trousers tied with yellow ribbons up to the knee and leather shoes stained black. His saddle was made of leather with two horns at front, both decorated with silver, and his helmet dangled from the right hand front one. His shield hung on his back and he had a sword and seax hanging from the studded leather belt around his waist.
Raulf took all of this in during the second or so it took for him to draw his bow and loose an arrow. However, the Mercian captain had seen him as soon as he rounded the bend in the trail and he’d hauled back on the horse’s reins so that it had started to rear up on its hind legs by the time that the arrow arrived. Instead of hitting the leader in his chest it hit his mount in the neck.