by H A CULLEY
‘If you can’t behave yourself, you can find somewhere else to live. We don’t want you here,’ a small red-haired boy told him belligerently.
He was nearly as old as Cuthbert but he was a Briton and they tended to be smaller. This boy was short for his age, even by their standards.
Wilfrid made the mistake of thinking the boy was younger than he was; in fact he was only two months younger than Cuthbert. When Wilfrid tried to cuff the red-haired boy, he ducked and punched Wilfrid hard in the stomach. The air left his lungs with a whoosh and he doubled over in pain. Whilst he was incapacitated the other novices grabbed hold of him and threw him out to join his possessions in the mud.
Half-an-hour later they all stood with heads bowed in the presence of Offa.
‘I will not allow brawling in my monastery. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I am particularly displeased that you all ganged up on poor Wilfrid. He is your senior and is entitled to your respect.’
‘Excuse me Father Abbot, but Wilfrid brought this upon himself,’ Cuthbert said, looking the abbot in the eye.
‘I’m especially surprised at you, Cuthbert. You’ve disappointed me.’
‘But Cuthbert didn’t touch Wilfrid,’ the red-haired boy blurted out. ‘It was because of Wilfrid’s high-handed manner in chucking Cuthbert out of his bed space that we all took against him. It was only when he tried to hit me that we threw him out. Cuthbert didn’t play any part in that.’
‘But he didn’t stop you, did he?’
‘He tried to, but we ignored him,’ said another novice.
What Offa had feared had come to pass, just rather more quickly than he’d anticipated.
‘Well, Wilfrid, is this true?’
‘No, of course not. They just ganged up on me for no reason as soon as I walked in the door. They should all be whipped.’
Cuthbert picked up a beautifully illuminated copy of the Bible from the abbot’s desk.
‘Would you please place your hand on this Bible and swear before God that what you have just said is the truth,’ the novice said in a commanding voice that no-one had heard him use before.
‘I don’t need to swear. My father is an eorl and my word is not to be doubted.’
‘Very well. So is my father, but I hereby swear before God, Jesus Christ and all the angels that what you have just said is false.’
Offa took a deep breath. The room was deathly silent. Then the abbot spoke again.
‘Well Wilfrid, Cuthbert, who I have known for nearly two years as an honest, trustworthy and honourable boy, has sworn on the Bible that you are a liar. Will you now take the oath that what you have told me is the truth?’
Wilfrid turned crimson and glared at the abbot and all his fellow novices in turn.
‘You will all regret this,’ he spat at them, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
‘Very well, so be it. Cuthbert, you’d better take over as senior novice. Tell Wilfrid to come and see me when he’s calmed down. Don’t worry he won’t be staying here.’
The next day Wilfrid left carrying a letter for the abbot of a monastery in Frankia. It would be many years before he returned to England but, when he did, he soon made it clear that he’d hadn’t forgotten his promise of retribution.
~~~
Talorgan and Oswiu watched the first part of the army disembark from the fleet of birlinns, pontos, currachs and knarrs that Oswiu had managed to borrow or hire to supplement his own ships. They had ferried several hundred men from the southern shores of the Firth of Forth to the beach on the north shore of the Firth of Tay. Once they had unloaded they would return for the second half of Oswui’s army. He was taking something of a gamble as, in addition to the warbands of Rheged, Goddodin and Bernicia, he had mustered the fyrd from the first two and that of the northern eorldoms of the latter. That would leave both Rheged and Bernicia vulnerable should Penda decide to move against him.
At that moment two of Talorgan’s scouts returned and rode up to where the two kings sat on their horses.
‘Brenin, there are no signs of anything out of the ordinary at Dùn Dè.’
‘Did you see any signs of patrols?’ Talorgan asked.
‘Ten mounted men rode out of the fortress shortly after dawn today but they headed north. Two of our scouts are shadowing them but it looks as if they are heading for the border with Ardewr.’
Talorgan nodded his thanks and was about to dismiss the scouts when Oswiu suddenly asked them a question.
‘The shipping in the harbour; did there seem to be less craft than usual?’
‘Yes, Brenin. There was hardly any ships tied up alongside.’
‘Thank you, go and get something to eat and some sleep.’
‘Why did you ask him about the harbour?’
‘Because I don’t think Drest is still at Dùn Dè. I think he’s taken his warband up the Firth of Forth into Hyddir to go to the aid of Talorc. You’ll remember the reports two days ago that there was an unusual amount of traffic moving along the far coast of the firth. My guess is that Guret and Domengart have launched their attack against Hyddir early. It isn’t good news for our allies but, if Drest has gone to their aid, it does mean that fewer warriors will be left to guard Dùn Dè and, hopefully, the fyrd that are left will have divided loyalties.’
‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.’
Oswiu glanced at him sharply. He didn’t sound very certain.
The next afternoon all of Oswiu’s men had landed and they camped above the beach for one more night. His scouts had brought in several Picts who lived nearby in case they went to warn the garrison at Dùn Dè, but it was far from certain that others hadn’t evaded the net.
Shortly after dawn the army packed up the camp and the column of sixteen hundred men started to wind its way along the coast. The inhabitants of the first fishing village they came to started to flee, some by boat, some inland and some along the coast. The pontos and currachs of Oswiu’s fleet rounded up the fishing boats and horsemen were waiting to intercept those who had fled on foot.
Talorgan rode up to the sixty or so men, women and children who huddled together, fearing for their lives.
‘Don’t be afraid. I’m King Talorgan come to reclaim my throne. All I ask of you is that you stay in your huts until you are told that it is safe to continue with your daily lives. If you do this no-one will be harmed. I’m leaving a few men behind to make sure you do this.’
‘You don’t need to do that, Brenin. We don’t like Drest and we welcome your return. We will do as you ask.’
‘Very well, but if one of you should disobey me then you will all pay for his or her disobedience. Your men will die and the women and children will be sold into slavery.’
‘We understand Brenin. God speed you in your battle to re-take Dùn Dè.’
‘Leave men to watch the village secretly. If anyone leaves kill them and round the rest up as captives. Kill anyone who resists,’ Talorgan told the leader of his warband.
The man nodded and went to select a few men he could rely on to do what they were told.
By mid-morning the scouts and the vanguard had reached a vantage point overlooking Dùn Dè. The gates to the fortress stood open and carts laden with produce were entering the settlement for the weekly market. Then a knarr arrived from the east bringing wounded men who were unloaded and taken into the fortress on carts.
Oswiu thanked God that he had had the foresight to send his fleet to anchor in a deserted bay further up the coast. The knarr must have sailed along the Firth of Forth from near Stirling, northwards along the coast and thus into the Firth of Tay. Had he left his fleet near where his army was camped to the east of Dùn Dè, the knarr would have reported their presence.
‘They must have come from the fighting around Stirling. I wish we knew how the siege is going.’ Ceadda, the commander of Oswiu’s gesith, said.
‘Perhaps we should send a few scouts to find out?’ Talorgan said to Oswiu.
; ‘Perhaps, though our priority is to recover your kingdom. I’m sure that the combined armies of Strathclyde and Dalriada can cope for now. However, there must have been fifty or so casualties on that knarr. Drest’s men have been badly mauled, which is good news for us.’
They watched the knarr load up supplies, obviously for Drest’s army, and then cast off again before turning around and heading seawards again. As he watched it disappear Talorgan had an idea.
The following day another knarr appeared from the east and about sixty wounded warriors disembarked. This time, though, they were all able to walk. Some had head wounds, others had arms in slings or bandaged limbs. A few were only able to walk with the aid of crutches crudely fashioned from the branches of trees.
Like most Picts, few wore armour or a helmet, but they all still had a sword, seax or leant on a spear. As they approached the open gates into the fortress the custos appeared with two monks. The latter were infirmarians who rushed down to help the walking wounded. It wasn’t until one of the monks recognised the leading warrior as a member of Talorgan’s gesith that he came to the belated conclusion that these weren’t members of Drest’s warband. As he went to cry out a warning one of the pseudo walking wounded jabbed him in the stomach with the end of his crutch and then hit him over the head with it as the monk doubled over.
The assault hadn’t been seen by the custos or the guards on the gates as he was hidden from sight by the straggling mass of supposedly injured men. The second monk was new to Dùn Dè and didn’t recognise the Picts as members of the deposed king’s gesith; however, he suddenly realised that the man he went to examine with a bandaged head wasn’t a Pict as soon as he opened his mouth to reply to his questions. The dialect spoken by the men of Rheged, where the warrior hailed from, was somewhat different to that spoken by the Picts – though both were Brythonic languages.
He too was felled before he could shout out, but this time it was seen from the gate.
‘It’s a trick,’ the custos yelled, running back inside the fortress. ‘Shut the damned gates!’
One of the men with a bandage around his upper arm drew back the spear he’d been leaning on and threw it at the retreating custos. It was a long throw but the man had powerful arms. It was too far for him to hit the custos, but the spear struck the ground between his legs and tripped him up. He went sprawling in the middle of the gateway.
The two sentries were struggling to push the gates to. It was a task normally undertaken by three men to a gate. Others were running to help but one of the sentries made the mistake of abandoning his gate in order to help the custos to his feet.
‘Never mind about me, you fool! Get back to the gate.’
The man ran back to it just as another member of the garrison arrived to help him. Two more were now pushing the other gate to and it slammed shut with a bang. Talorgan had been hiding in the midst of the attackers with a bandage around his head but he had run forward to lead his men as soon as their deception had been uncovered. Now he was desperately sprinting towards the gates. If they were barred against him his plan would fail and he’d be trapped between the fortress and the settlement. Oswiu was standing ready with his army to come to his aid but it would take him time to reach him. He had to get inside the fortress and capture it with the men he had with him.
Just as the second gate swung shut, he and several of his men reached it. They flung themselves against it and, before the defenders could lower the bar to lock it in place, they managed to force it open a few inches. Talorgan thrust his sword through the gap and was rewarded by a scream as it bit into the flesh of one of those trying to hold it closed. The pressure against the attackers eased slightly and now more men had arrived to help Talorgan and the first arrivals to push.
Slowly their combined weight inched the gate open but more defenders had now arrived to help close it again. Furthermore defenders had now appeared on the ramparts above them and were starting to loose arrows at them and throw down rocks.
‘Come on, men. One last shove and we’re in,’ Talorgan urged them.
Just as the gate started to inch open again he heard the sound of men yelling as they ran up the road between the settlement and the fortress. He prayed that they were Oswiu’s men and not Drest’s warriors from the settlement.
CHAPTER EIGHT – OVERLORD OF THE NORTH
647 AD
He didn’t have the time to worry about the approaching warriors though; the fight for the gate demanded all Talorgan’s attention. He thrust his sword towards an opponent who was trying to drive his spear past Talorgan’s large circular shield. The spear slid off the shield leaving the man’s bearded face exposed. Suddenly he arched his back just as Talorgan’s sword entered his mouth and penetrated his brain. As the dead man dropped to the ground another wild-eyed Pict took his place.
The exiled King of Prydenn realised that he was a boy no more than twelve years old – too young to be fighting grown men at any rate. However, compassion had no place in a desperate fight like this and Talorgan batted aside the youngster’s feeble attempt to stick his spear into him and knocked him backwards with his shield. As the boy stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, Talorgan brought the bronze rim of his shield down on top the lad’s head, knocking him out cold.
He realised that the few remaining members of the garrison had drawn back to regroup. When his battle rage had receded somewhat he suddenly recalled the men running up the path from the settlement to attack his rear and he turned in alarm. He needn’t have worried. The new arrivals were his former subjects. They had endured heavy taxation and unfair judgements in the time he’d been gone and were only too glad to be rid of Drest’s rule. They thrust their motley assortment of weapons in the air and yelled his name over and over again.
His gesith and his other warriors pushed their way into the fortress and quickly surrounded the sixteen survivors of Drest’s garrison. Sensibly they surrendered and were tied up ready to be sold as slaves later. At that moment Oswiu arrived with his mounted gesith.
‘I see that you managed without me,’ he said, grinning down at his sweat and blood covered nephew.
‘Just as well since you took your time.’
Oswiu laughed then the expression on his face changed to one of alarm and he pressed the point of his spear into the nape of the neck of the boy who Talorgan had knocked out.
‘Careful, boy. Let go of the spear and get to your feet very slowly.’
The lad did so and stood looking at the ground.
‘What’s your name and why were you fighting alongside this scum?’ Talorgan wanted to know.
‘I’m Eógan, Brenin, my father forced me to fight alongside him.’
‘Who’s your father?’
Eógan pointed to dead warrior lying a few feet away.
‘He was Drest’s custos.’
Talorgan nodded as Oswiu dismounted.
‘And do you support Drest?
The boy shook his head vehemently.
‘My mother was ever loyal to you, Brenin, and scolded my father for turning traitor. He beat her for that and when I tried to intervene, he knocked me out. When I awoke my mother was dead. I never forgave him and he made me a kitchen boy to teach me a lesson. Then when we were attacked he sent a warrior to fetch me and told me that I was to protect his back. I didn’t. I thrust my spear into him just before you struck him. When you knocked my spear aside, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was pulling it out of my murdering father’s back.’
Talorgan nodded. His instinct was to send the boy to be sold with the other captives, but he hesitated. The lad’s tale rang true; it wasn’t the sort of story a twelve year old would make up.
‘Very well. Do you have any other relatives?’
The boy shook his head sadly.
‘Just a distant cousin but he’s in Drest’s warband now and I don’t know where they’ve gone.’
‘Why don’t you hand him over to Bishop Ròidh when he arrives? I’m sure he could use another novice.’
Talorgan nodded but Ròidh never did arrive. Two days later most of the priests and monks who had fled with Ròidh reached Prydenn to take up their old positions, but the bishop wasn’t with them. The senior priest told Talorgan that Ròidh sent his regrets but he had decided to stay with his mother and brother and become the Bishop of Ardewr. A few of his priests had elected to stay as well. Talorgan sighed. He had liked Ròidh and had got on well with him. Now he would have to write to Aidan and ask for a replacement. It was a problem he could have done without.
Two days later he bade Oswiu and his army farewell as they sailed away heading for the Firth of Forth and Stirling. Eógan stood by him holding his helmet. Far from being a novice, he was now Talorgan’s new body servant.
~~~
The Kings of Dalriada and Strathclyde were both feeling frustrated and each had started to blame the other for their failure to make much progress with the siege of Talorc’s fortress at Stirling. Guret and Domangart might be allies, but that didn’t mean that they were friends, or even that they trusted one another. Both wanted the stronghold of Stirling for themselves. It would give whoever occupied it control over the valley of the River Forth to the west as well as over the four major routes through the mountains that surrounded it – to the south into Strathclyde, to the north west into Dalriada, to the north east into Cait and to the south east into Goddodin.
Talorc had taken refuge inside the fortress with his warband, leaving the rest of his kingdom of Hyddir to be ravaged by the invaders. Uuynidd had remained neutral and Pobla was busy dealing with raids from Ardewr, but Drest of Prydenn had come to his aid. A battle to the south-east of Stirling between some of the besiegers and the Picts had proved inconclusive but the Picts had withdrawn to the east as darkness descended. It was Drest’s wounded from this battle which Oswiu and Talorgan had seen arrive back at Dùn Dè.
‘We should deal with the Picts from Pryden before renewing the attack on Stirling,’ Guret told Domangart the day after the battle.