by H A CULLEY
Just as dawn was breaking the two ships sailed in towards the settlement. At first they weren’t spotted but, when a boy emerged from one of the huts to relieve his bladder, something made him look seawards.
‘Saxons!’ he yelled in Welsh. He let his homespun tunic drop back into place and stuck his head inside his hut.
‘Father, Saxon ships entering the bay.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
The boy nodded vehemently and the man swore before kicking the rest of his family awake.
‘Get moving. The bloody Saxons are here. Grab anything of value and follow me.’
The Welsh couldn’t differentiate between the various Germanic tribes who had conquered England and called them all Saxons. He picked up a spear and his son grabbed a small axe they used to chop firewood. By the time that they emerged the rest of the settlement was like a disturbed ants’ nest. They fled, following the stream that led inland and the rest of the families followed them, the single men bringing up the rear intending to delay any pursuit as long as they could.
By now the crew of the birlinn were leaping into the shallows and wading ashore. The Welsh had a good start on them and were just beginning to think that they had escaped when over thirty armed men appeared from the undergrowth that lined both banks of the stream, blocking their escape. Some gave up, resigned to their fate, whilst others raced off to the side, only to find their escape barred by more warriors.
The boy with the hand axe gripped it firmly and ran at the centre of the line of warriors. Several of the braver men followed him.
‘Don’t kill them, knock them out,’ Dunstan called to his men.
He waited until the boy tried to stave in his head with the axe, then batted it aside contemptuously with his shield before bringing the pommel of his sword down on the boy’s head. Seeing his only son fall, his father gave a cry of rage and thrust his spear at Dunstan’s throat. Oswui’s horse master was unprepared for the frenzied attack and only realised the threat when the spear point was inches from his throat. There wasn’t time to bring up his shield and so he ducked. The spear glanced off the top of his helmet and he shoved his shield forward so that the boss collided with the man’s rotund belly. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he collapsed winded. Dunstan brought the edge of his shield down on the man’s forehead, knocking him out.
The rest of the Welshmen who had bravely attacked the raiders had been dealt with by the time that Dunstan looked around. Only one had been killed and that was after he’d managed to wound the youngest warrior in the arm. The lad was only fourteen and had acted instinctively after being wounded.
‘I’m sorry, Dunstan. I didn’t mean to kill him.’
‘Don’t worry, we’re lucky that only one was slain. Go and get that arm bound up by your friends. It’s only a flesh wound and you’ll be getting plenty more of those.’
By now the other crew had joined them and they shepherded their hundred or so captives back to the settlement. Oswiu’s instructions had been clear. He only wanted men and boys old enough to work in the mines. However, Dunstan’s eyes had been drawn to a raven haired girl who looked as if she might be quite pretty under the grime covering her face. He had yet to marry and he decided to take the girl back as his slave, intending to make her his bed companion.
As soon as he singled her out for loading onto the knarr, several other single warriors asked if they could choose a girl as a slave too. He agreed but drew the line at the boy who’d been wounded. His choice looked to be barely eleven and, in any case, the lad needed to live in the warrior’s hall for several more years before he’d be allowed a hut of his own.
The women wailed when all the men except the greybeards were pulled from their families and a few had to be cuffed before they’d let their menfolk go. Dunstan then separated out the boys and inspected them, choosing all those who he thought could be useful, if not as miners, then to lead the ponies and carts once they were laden with ore.
The women fought even harder to keep their sons by their side and a few had to be beaten unconscious before he’d finished his selection. Just as the slaves were being led towards the beached knarr, his other birlinn sailed around the headland and Dunstan was startled to see boys on the prow and up the mast waving frantically. Evidently something was wrong but he couldn’t imagine what.
~~~
Aldfrith struggled to keep his eyes open after the second birlinn and the knarr had disappeared out to sea until Catinus poured half the contents of his water skin over his face.
‘They’ll whip you, if not worse, if you fall asleep when you’re on guard duty,’ he whispered to his friend as the other boy spluttered and cursed. ‘Shut up for Heaven’s sake. Haven’t they taught you anything yet?’
‘Sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘It had better not. You fall asleep when it matters and men will die because of you.’
‘I said I’m sorry, now belt up. You watch inland and I’ll watch the sea.’
Catinus could see across the sea to the shadowy mountains of Gwynedd as the sun slowly illuminated the earth. At first he couldn’t make out any detail as everything seemed to coloured in shades of grey but, as the sun cleared the tops of the mountains to the east, he thought he saw something moving far out from the shore. He nudged Aldfrith and pointed to where three small dark shapes sat on the lighter grey of the sea.
‘Shit, they look like boats of some sort. If they are, then they’ve probably either come from the northern shore of Gwynedd or from the estuary of the Mersey. Either way, they’re not friends. We’d better tell the rest,’ Aldfrith said.
‘You go. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them. If you want me to come down to the beach jump up and down.’
‘Jump up and down? Oh, I see. Very funny. Quit trying to make me look like an idiot. I’ll wave.’
Catinus sniggered. They were good friends but they were always trying to score points off one another. He watched Oswui’s bastard son keep low until he was below the skyline and then get up and run towards the beached birlinn before he looked back towards the three ships. The light was improving all the time now that the sun was well above the horizon. He shaded his eyes and studied the three shapes. He could see that they all had a large square sail and were heading on a north westerly course, then the sail was quickly furled and they started to row due west against the wind. He couldn’t make the oars out but he could see the occasional splash as the blade entered or left the water. He could also see the white bow waves quite clearly now.
He tried to estimate the number of oars on each galley and had just come to the conclusion that two had ten oars a side and the other twelve when he noticed Aldfrith waving frantically. He climbed down the rocks and ran towards his friend, who was now helping the sailors and the other boys push the birlinn back into the water. He added his meagre weight to their efforts but the birlinn wouldn’t budge.
‘Did you manage to make out any more?’ the steersman asked him as soon as they took a break.
‘Three galleys of some sort, either birlinns or perhaps large currachs. I think two had twenty oars and the other twenty four.’
‘Probably small birlinns or perhaps one or more pontus. How long before they get here?’
Catinus thought carefully. ‘They are well over the horizon but we can’t see them from here yet. So more than three miles away. From up there we could see perhaps ten miles to the horizon and they appeared to be over half that distance away, so perhaps six miles away, but they’ll be nearer now.’
‘So we have less than an hour before they arrive. Right, Catinus, you’re our best swimmer. Although this beach is sandy, there are rocks here and there. I’m hoping that there are some further out behind our birlinn. Swim out and dive down and see if you can find one. Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, strip off and go and find me the most substantial underwater rock you can.’
‘And when I have?’ asked the puzzled ship’s boy.
‘Come back for a
rope and go and secure it to the rock. Maybe, with all our weight aft we can pull her off.’
Catinus had never swum until he arrived at Lindisfarne but one thing that that all novices were taught was how to swim. He had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water and had learned to dive to harvest the oysters from the offshore beds. The sea off Ynys Môn was crystal clear and he found what he was looking for on his third dive. There was an outcrop of rock about a hundred yards out with a projection pointing away from the shore. It was ideal as an anchor point. Twenty minutes later the rope had been secured and he clambered back on board, dripping water and with chattering teeth in the cold offshore breeze. However, there was no time to dry himself and warm up.
The crew had put the rope around the mast and they pulled with all their might to try and pull the bows off the sand.
‘Move further towards the stern,’ the steersman told them after the first failed attempt.
They did so and then one of the younger boys spotted a sail on the horizon.
‘Come on heave, put your backs into it lads.’
Just when they thought they’d fail and the steersman was considering abandoning the ship and fleeing down the coast on foot to warn Dunstan, Catinus felt the birlinn move slightly as an incoming wave lifted the bows before setting it back down again on the sand.
‘Wait for the next incoming wave then pull for all you’re worth.’
This time the ship moved a foot backwards and then, after the next wave had lifted the bows again, they were afloat.
‘Quick, man a couple of oars and back paddle to get us clear.’
As four of them did so they heard a splash as Catinus dived overboard.
‘Release the sail to push us further backwards,’ the steersman yelled, grasping the steering oar to keep the ship going in the right direction and looking over the side for Catinus.
Suddenly the boy’s head bobbed up with a knife between his teeth. He held up the severed rope in one hand and the man realised that he had gone to save the rope. Once they were far enough away from the beach he pushed the steering oar away from him and slowly it turned until it was heading south east. The sail, which had been pressed back against the mast, went slack and then filled with a sudden crack which shook the mast. Slowly it began to pick up speed. Then he remembered Catinus. He cursed and brought the birlinn head to wind.
‘Quick, pull Catinus aboard.’
A few minutes later the shivering boy was back aboard spewing up seawater.
‘I thought you’d forgotten me,’ he spluttered.
‘I left you there to teach you not to be so stupid in future. Believe it or not, you’re slightly more valuable than a length of bloody rope,’ the man told him whilst pushing the steering oar over again. For a minute nothing happened, then slowly the prow turned and the sail caught the wind.
Catinus rubbed himself dry with his tunic and then dressed in his damp clothing.
‘Boy, you need to think before you act in future. Because of you we were delayed and those Mercians, or whoever they are, are only a mile away.’
Catinus looked and saw the three ships were heading to intercept them.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered almost inaudibly.
‘So you should be. Now get up that mast and keep an eye out for our other ships.’
They were relying on wind power alone whilst the other three ships had rowers as well; consequently they were closing fast.
By the time they reached the bay in which Dunstan’s birlinn and knarr were beached the three ships, whose sails Catinus could now see displayed the Mercian wyvern - a mythical winged two-legged dragon with a barbed tail - were barely half a mile away. As they came in sight of the settlement everyone on board started to wave frantically to grab the attention of the warriors on the beach.
~~~
It took Dunstan less than two seconds to realise what the sudden arrival of his birlinn meant.
‘Ten of you stay here to get the rest of the slaves aboard. Kill anyone who tries to interfere or to run. The rest of you, come with me. Lorcan, get your birlinn back afloat. Quickly now. There must be Mercian or Welsh ships chasing my birlinn.’
Catinus’ ship headed into the bay and ran towards the other birlinn, which had just backed off the beach and was now turning to row out of the bay. The two birlinns came alongside each other a few minutes later and Dunstan and his crew piled aboard their ship. By the time that the leading Mercian birlinn had rounded the headland both Bernician birlinns were being rowed towards it. Dunstan and Lorcan had decided not to use sails, although the wind was in their favour, as birlinns were more manoeuvrable when rowed.
The leading Mercian obviously didn’t know what to do. By the time the other Mercian ships caught up with him, the two ships rowing towards him could have boarded him and, as they were larger and had many more warriors on board, they would have plenty of time to kill him and his crew. The leader decided to seek the protection of his other two ships and started to turn about.
He was too slow. By the time he was facing the other way and starting to get underway the other two birlinns were fast approaching. In his panic he forgot to order his rowers to bring their oars inboard in time and the two Bernician ships ran down both sides, sheering off the enemy’s oars as they went. The inboard end of the oars were wrenched out of the rowers’ hands and struck the back of the man in front with great force, smashing spines, breaking bones and crushing skulls. The Mercian ship was left in their wake, drifting helplessly with most of the crew out of action.
Now the advantage lay with the Bernicians. They sped towards the other two Mercian craft and, although the rowers were beginning to tire from keeping up the relentless pace, the prospect of capturing the two Mercians fired them up.
This time the Mercian captains both shipped oars before the Bernician birlinns came alongside. Grappling irons snaked out from both of Dunstan’s ships and they hooked onto the smaller birlinns. With the drag of the other ship the Bernician ships lost way rapidly but the effect on the Mercians was more dramatic. The sudden loss of forward momentum had caused some on board to lose their footing, causing chaos.
Before they’d recovered, the Bernician warriors were jumping aboard and a fierce but one-sided fight followed. The Mercians were outnumbered, dismayed by what had happened to the leading ship, and disorganised. For the loss of two men from Rheged, Dunstan’s warriors had killed or incapacitated twenty two Mercians and captured the remaining twenty eight. They then returned to accept the surrender of the other Mercian birlinn.
Dunstan put the captives in chains with the slaves on the knarr and two days later he sailed into the Solway Firth and up to Caer Luel with a knarr full of slaves and three more birlinns than he had started out with.
CHAPTER SIX – RETURN TO ARDEWR
646 AD
Oswiu gazed down at his new daughter and smiled.
‘What shall we call her?’
‘I’d thought of Osthryth,’ Eanflaed replied, smiling back at him.
‘Strength of God? Yes, it’s a good name. Osthryth it is.’
It had been a difficult birth and, although her women had assured him that she would quickly recover, given time to rest, he was worried about her. Since the raid on Ynys Môn and the capture of the three Mercian birlinns, things had been quiet. Too quiet. He’d tried to find out what Penda was up to but all he could find out was that the Mercians were having trouble holding onto Wessex. There had been a series of small uprisings which had been put down with brutal force, but that just seemed to make the West Saxons even more determined to throw off the Mercian yoke.
Oswiu had a strong feeling that, were Cenwalh to return to lead his people, he could regain his kingdom fairly easily. However, the King of Wessex seemed content to hide in East Anglia. Of more immediate concern was the situation in the north. Talorgan and Bishop Ròidh had been forced out of Dùn Dè by Talorc, the High King of the Picts. Talorgan had made the mistake of releasing the large warband he’d assembled to ma
ke Talorc recognise him as King of Prydenn; something that the former hadn’t been slow to take advantage of, despite his treaty with Talorgan.
There were rumours that they had fled north into Cait in the far north where the High King’s influence was minimal. Now Talorc was making raids into both Strathclyde and Dalriada.
‘Talorc is either mad or he has an ego the size of the German Ocean,’ Oswiu told his Witan two days later. ‘We have agreements for mutual protection with King Guret of Strathclyde and Domangart of Dalriada, not to mention my nephew, Talorgan. Admittedly King Oswald and I had made the treaties more to keep the peace in the north so we could concentrate on our enemies in the south than with any expectation that we would become involved in a war, but I will not be foresworn.’
‘What do you intent to do, Cyning?’ Eorl Kenric asked.
‘Go to their support.’
‘How? As soon as you take your army north surely Penda will take advantage of the situation and invade Bernicia?’ Iuwine, Eorl of Hexham and father of the obnoxious novice Wilfrid, asked, a trifle too smugly Oswiu thought.
‘Not with his current preoccupation with Wessex,’ Oswiu retorted rather more tersely than he had intended.
‘Which will you tackle first? The restoration of Talorgan to the throne of Prydenn or attack Talorc’s own kingdom of Hyddir?’
‘Thank you, Ceadda. A good question. My own preference is to find Talorgan first and restore him to his kingdom. Then we can use his men to help us to besiege Talorc’s stronghold at Stirling. However, I’m open to suggestions.’
‘I think that’s sensible, Oswiu. Perhaps we can use the time it takes to find Talorgan to ascertain the exact situation in Mercia and Wessex,’ Kenric said.
‘Yes, though I’m not sure we’ll find out any more than we know already.’
‘Perhaps Oswine knows more?’ Iuwine put in, seemingly not at all put out by Oswiu’s brusqueness earlier.
‘If he does I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me, Iuwine. Are you on friendly terms with him? Perhaps you could ask him?’