by H A CULLEY
He therefore slowed to a trot when he estimated that they had been moving for half an hour. A good half an hour after that they caught up with the king. Catinus dismounted and the king came back to brief him.
‘They’re about a mile ahead of us and seem to be looking for somewhere to camp. My intention is to surround them and attack them at dawn. There appears to be about twenty of them so our numbers are slightly in our favour, as is our superior training.’
‘Cyning, you might like to know that Ansgar survived, although he’s wounded and has taken a severe blow to the head. He’s lost a lot of blood so his survival is still in the balance.’
‘I’m pleased he’s not dead and I’ll pray that he pulls through. He’s been an excellent body servant and I would be loath to lose him, especially as he put himself in the way of an arrow meant for me.’
The Northumbrians settled down for the night tired and hungry. They had never expected to be away for the whole day and had brought few provisions with them. As they settled down for the night, wrapped in the thick woollen cloaks waxed with lanolin that served as their bedding, it began to rain. Although it made his men more uncomfortable, the same would be true of the enemy and, with any luck, it would make their sentries less alert.
Oswiu could have disposed of the sentries first but decided against it. He sent Catinus and half of his men around to the far side of the camp to wait until they heard a single blast on a hunting horn. When the grey clouds in the sky lightened he signalled to one of his men and his horn blared forth.
Immediately the encircling Northumbrians ran forward and overwhelmed the sentries. Seconds later they entered the clearing where they could just make out the men as they awoke from sleep and looked around for their weapons. Only ill-disciplined warriors would sleep without having their weapons to hand. Few got the chance to grab them before they were killed. Those that did were quickly cut down. Within minutes most were dead and the remaining five surrendered.
One had a deep cut to his leg which was bleeding copiously, despite the wadded cloth tied around it. Oswiu had a quiet word with Catinus, who then approached the wounded man.
‘I’m sorry you won’t be able to keep up with us and it is only a matter of time anyway. I’ll save you the agony of a slow death.’
With that he slashed his seax across the man’s neck and he collapsed with a sigh that sounded almost like relief.
Two of the other captives nodded at Catinus in understanding but the two younger ones howled their dismay. They looked to be about fourteen and fifteen and so it was them that Oswiu chose to question first. He nodded towards the youngest and Catinus and Cuthbert pulled him away from the others.
‘Why did you attack us? Are you mercenaries? Who paid you?’
The boy looked at him blankly; it was plain that he didn’t understand English so Catinus tried Brythonic, the language of the native Britons. He didn’t understand that either.
‘He doesn’t speak anything but Oostfreesk,’ the elder boy called out in accented English.
‘Ah, so you are Friesians,’ Oswiu said with a grim smile.
He knew that the collection of islands and settlements along the Germanic coast from Saxony to Frankia was a separate kingdom ruled by a king who lived in the city of Utrecht. The Friesians were mainly engaged as merchants and seafarers who traded far and wide. However, every noble and freeman was obliged to train as a warrior and some hired themselves out as mercenaries.
Oswiu signalled for his men to bring the other youth over,
‘Who hired you to try and kill me?’
‘I don’t know; we only joined our lord’s warband a month ago after we’d finished our training.’
‘Weren’t you told anything?’
‘Only that we had been hired to kill some foreign king.’
‘Meaning me. Didn’t you hear any gossip amongst the older men?’
‘Well.’ The Friesian hesitated.
‘If you tell me all you know I’ll let you go instead of selling you as slaves.’
The elder of the two young warriors turned to his friend and a short conversation in a language that sounded similar to English, but was unintelligible, followed.
‘He agrees. We’ll tell you what we overheard but we don’t want to go back to East Freisia. We’d have real difficulty in explaining how we survived whilst our lord and all the others had disappeared. Could we not serve you instead?’
‘Perhaps. Not in my gesith - my bodyguards have to prove their loyalty and be chosen by me specifically – but perhaps in one of my warbands.’
Oswiu was thinking in terms of the ones recruited in his vassal kingdoms like Rheged or Goddodin. The elder boy nodded.
‘What are your names, by the way?’
‘I’m Clovis and my friend is called Egon.’
‘Very well, tell me what you managed to piece together.’
Suddenly one of the other captives yelled at him in a language Oswiu didn’t understand.
‘What did he say?’ Oswiu demanded.
‘He…’ the boy stopped at looked at the ground. ‘He said he’d cut off both our balls if we told you anything.’
Oswiu turned on his heels and strode over to the captive who’d uttered the threat. He lifted his tunic and ripped away the man’s trews before doing exactly what the man had threatened to do to the boys. The Friesian’s face contorted in agony and he fell to his knees. Oswiu watched for a minute and then drew his seax across the man’s throat, mercifully ending his torment.
Oswiu wiped his blade on the dead man’s tunic and walked back to the two boys, his over-tunic and the inside of his cloak now covered in blood. After that he didn’t have any trouble in making the elder of the two talk.
No names had been mentioned but Egon had apparently overheard one of the men close to their lord asking what the king who was paying them had against his uncle. Oswiu only had two nephews: Talorgan of the Picts and Œthelwald of Deira. It didn’t make sense for Talorgan to plot against him. Œthelwald on the other hand had always been jealous of Oswiu and he knew the man was ambitious. Perhaps he thought that, with Oswiu out of the way, he could become King of Northumbria.
What a Friesian boy may or might not have overheard wasn’t enough for him to charge Œthelwald with treason. However, he would be on his guard now and he’d take steps to court the loyalty of some of his nephew’s eorls, particularly those of Elmet and Eoforwīc, who were the most influential.
~~~
‘Who do you think put Œthelwald up to it?’ Eanflæd asked her husband once they were alone in their chamber off the king’s hall at Yeavering.
It had become Oswiu’s practice to over-winter at Bebbanburg but to base himself at Yeavering in the summer when he wasn’t away visiting Rheged, the Caledonian kingdoms, Goddodin, the more far flung of his Bernician eorldoms and Deira.
‘You don’t think my nephew planned this of his own accord?’
‘No, he may be duplicitous and ambitious, but he wouldn’t have dared to try something like this without encouragement and help.’
‘The pouch of silver that each of them were carrying gave nothing away. There were a few Roman coins amongst the scraps, and even a few of the new ones that the money lenders in Lundenwic are now producing, but they could have come from anyone.’
‘Doesn’t Penda now control Lundenwic,’ asked Eanflæd.
‘Yes, now that Mercia has effectively absorbed the Kingdom of the Middle Saxons, but that’s hardly proof. Perhaps it’s time I visited my nephew?’
‘Won’t that be dangerous if he’s trying to kill you?’
‘He’s not that brave,’ Oswiu laughed. ‘Secretly hiring mercenaries to ambush me is more his style.’
Three days later Oswiu left Yeavering and headed south through the Cheviot Hills. Catinus found himself promoted to captain of the king’s somewhat depleted gesith. He was elated by how far he had risen from his humble beginnings a dozen years ago tending sheep in the hills of Mercia, but he’d had liked
Redwald and he was genuinely sorry that he’d been killed.
Because of the four deaths amongst his bodyguards Oswiu decided to take some of his warband along to make up the numbers. However, they were used to travelling and fighting on foot and few were comfortable riding a horse. To his surprise both of the Friesian boys were good riders and so, somewhat reluctantly, he decided to include them. It would be interesting to see what his nephew’s reaction was.
Oswiu had decided to visit Ledes en route. It was the ancient capital of the former Brythonic Kingdom of Elmet and was now the base for Arthuis, its Eorl. Unlike the rest of Deira, it had been a stronghold of the Britons until it had been conquered by the Angles sixty years previously. Arthuis was the son of an Anglian father and a British mother. He hadn’t forgotten his heritage and, although the ancient royal line of Elmet had been expunged after the conquest by Edwin of Northumbria, he accepted that Elmet was too small to regain its independence in an England that was increasingly moving from a collection of petty kingdoms to a small number of much larger countries, notably Wessex, Northumbria and Mercia.
Arthuis was a widower who had two sons and three daughters. The girls were all married and his eldest son commanded the eorl’s gesith, but the youngest, Galen, had just completed his training as a warrior and was eager to escape his father’s rather suffocating company.
It was obvious that Galen was his father’s favourite son, which did nothing to endear him to his brother. A career as a member of the eorl’s gesith was therefore not an option. An idea began to form in Oswiu’s mind but he said nothing for the moment.
When he related the story of the Friesian ambush he watched Arthuis closely but, unless the man was a consummate actor, he obviously knew nothing about it.
‘I have two youths with me who were part of the Friesian warband,’ he added. ‘Clovis, Egon come here. Tell the eorl what you overheard.’
Clovis spoke to Egon in Oostfreesk and then translated the boy’s reply.
‘He overheard some of the older men in our warband asking each other why a man would pay them to kill his uncle.’
‘I don’t think they were talking about Talorgan and I only have one other nephew,’ Oswiu commented, watching Arthuis closely.
The eorl seemed stunned by the implication of what had just been said and Oswiu relaxed. He nodded at the two Friesian boys, who withdrew.
‘I need to know where your loyalty lies, Arthuis.’
‘You shouldn’t have to ask, Cyning,’ he replied a little stiffly. ‘Œthelwald was appointed by the Witan as king but, as you well know, many have privately acknowledged you as the King of Northumbria. That means I’m loyal to him, but only if he doesn’t come into conflict with you. Of course, I pray that never happens but, if it does and I was forced to choose, I would support you.’
‘Thank you Arthuis. I only hope that all of the eorls of Deira hold the same views.’
‘Some do, some don’t. I’ve heard rumours that your nephew has been busy trying to persuade the Witan to clarify the situation by declaring him free of your control.’
‘By persuade I assume that money is involved?’
Arthuis nodded. ‘I’m not sure where the gold and silver came from, but I have my suspicions.’
‘Penda.’
Arthuis looked Oswiu in the eye but said nothing.
‘I see.’
The conversation moved into more convivial areas but later in the evening Catinus managed to have a quiet word with Oswiu. Both had imbibed but neither were drunk.
‘Cyning, Galen has approached me to ask if there is a place for him amongst your gesith.’
‘Not just my warband; it seems he aims high.’
Catinus shrugged. The gesith were the king’s companions as well as his bodyguards and was made up in the main of the sons of nobles, like Cuthbert. Catinus was an exception and there had been others who had won their place on merit.
‘It would suit my purpose, I suppose,’ Oswiu continued. ‘With Galen at my side he would effectively be a hostage against his father’s good behaviour, especially as his father seems to dote on him. Does Arthuis know of his request?’
‘I get the impression that the lad wanted to know your reaction before raising the matter with his father.’
‘Well, as you know full well, we have a few vacancies at the moment. It might be sensible to tie one or two Deiran eorls to my side by giving their sons a place. Tell Galen to talk to his father; if he’s agreeable then I would welcome him.’
As Catinus went to leave Oswiu grabbed his sleeve.
‘You have earned your place in my gesith but I fear that there has been some discontent since I made you temporary captain. Some of my eorls and thegns have made it clear that they disapprove of a man of low birth in such a cherished position. Even a place in my gesith is normally reserved for nobles and their sons. I fear that I shall have to replace you by a noble when we return to Bernicia, but you deserve better than to be treated so shabbily. I therefore intend to make you the Custos of Babbenburg to replace poor Romand. It’s a more responsible position in many ways, but it is a less sensitive one. Some still won’t like it, but you are an excellent soldier and you have a wise head on your shoulders, so they will have to accept it.’
‘Thank you, Cyning. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then say nothing. You’ve more than earned it.’
When the king’s party left Ledes the next day Galen went with them. Catinus had already left on his way north to take charge of the fortress that stood high on the coast; a fortress than even Penda had failed to take. Being custos was a great responsibility and he was nervous. Equally he was determined not to let Oswiu down.
~~~
Now that she was recovered Alchflaed dreaded Paeda’s return to her bed but he left her alone for some time. It was only later that she discovered that he had a new mistress. But eventually the poor girl managed to escape his less than tender attentions by killing herself. Her sad death seemed make little impression on Peada and the following night he staggered into the queen’s room. He beat her quite badly during his repeated assaults on her body and afterwards, as was his custom, he yelled for a slave to bring him a flagon of ale.
The boy who appeared with it had been enamoured of Alchflaed for some time and he hated what Paeda did to her. He was therefore more than willing to do what she had asked of him. Of course, she didn’t tell him that the powder she had given him was a slow acting poison. As far as he knew it was merely a sleeping draught so that her husband would leave her alone for the rest of the night.
Paeda drank the ale and then, mercifully passed out. When he awoke the next morning, unusually still in his wife’s bed, he felt unwell but he put that down to his excessive drinking the night before. Once more he called for some ale and once again the same slave brought it to him.
Usually he recovered quickly from his hangovers but this time he felt increasingly ill as the morning wore on and he had to be helped to his own chamber. There his solicitous wife took it upon herself to nurse him, helped by the same slave who had brought him the ale. As time wore on Paeda was unable to leave his bed and was only able to eat broth. However, in time he couldn’t even keep that down. When blood appeared in the vomit the wise woman was summoned but all she did was to give Alchflaed more of the white powder.
When the summons came for Peada to join his father with his warband he was a pale, shrunken version of his former self. He sent his men under the command of one of his eorls, explaining that he was too ill to come himself.
That was the first that his father had heard of his son’s ailment and he immediately grew concerned. Peada was never ill.
‘Father, you can’t just abandon your plans because my brother has some minor malady,’ Wulfhere told him. ‘The East Anglians have mobilised to support us and you’ve bought off Wessex and the rest of the Saxon kingdoms.’
Penda looked at his son suspiciously.
‘It would suit you if Peada died wouldn’t
it? Then you’d inherit. Well, think again. Peada is twice the man you are.’
The sneer affected Wulfhere deeply. He knew that he would make a better king than Peada ever would. His elder brother had poor judgement and relied on his father’s advice far too much. As King of Middle Anglia he was little more than their father’s puppet in his opinion. Wulfhere was a clever young man and saw war as just one option to get what he wanted.
To avoid telling his father exactly what he thought of both him and his brother he bowed and left the room. He knew exactly what torment Peada was putting his child wife through and he suspected that she was slowly poisoning him as the only avenue of escape open to her. He wished her well.
~~~
Catinus rode up to the south gates of Bebbanburg and the two sentries, knowing him well, greeted him and let him pass without challenging him. With the court away the two senior persons present were the reeve who ran the household and the commander of the garrison, who was responsible for its defence. Both were elderly and somewhat conscious of their dignity. They were therefore affronted to be sent for by a member of the king’s gesith. If he had a message for them from the king it would have been proper for him to have asked for a meeting with them. They were therefore in a belligerent mood when first one and then the other entered the king’s hall. Catinus’ first words did little to mollify them.
‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’ The smile that accompanied his words was not returned. ‘As you may have heard, both Redwald and Romand were killed three weeks ago by Friesian mercenaries in a cowardly ambush.’
The gasps of surprise told Catinus that he had evidently beaten the tidings back to the fortress.
‘Is the king alright…?’ ‘What happened …?’
Both men spoke at once until Catinus held up a hand.
‘Thankfully the king is unharmed and the mercenaries are dead or captured.’