Chapter Thirteen
Council of Aelle
Earl Harald led us along the road to Eoforwic, then halted in the first settlement we came to: a tiny village with just a couple of dozen hovels clustered around the headman’s hut. One doubled as a rundown alehouse. Here, he allowed us to rest, get a meal, dress our wounds and in many cases grab a few hours’ sleep.
A little later in the day, he came and found Wallace and me in the corner of the ale house. Lilla and Grettir were examining his arm, afraid the traumas of our ordeal had increased the risk of infection - or worse. If it had turned black and begun to rot away there was nothing they could do and Wallace was as good as dead.
When it was unwrapped we could all see the arm was badly swollen and almost black, but that was bruising, for whilst agonisingly stiff it did not smell infected. Relieved, they strapped it up again and Wallace sat back on the bench, leant against the wall and took a long draught of his ale. After some broth and a tankard of beer, Wallace was more alert than he had been since his brutal attack from Samlen.
“How’s the arm, Wallace?” Harald’s face was dark when he sat down opposite Wallace.
“Hurts like buggery, but I’ll live; for now any way,” Wallace said and took another sup at his mug.
“Glad to hear it. Right then, I came to tell you that after Cerdic here told me about that army you had seen in Elmet, I sent out scouts and they confirmed that there is indeed a force of over four hundred spears. They are camped just the other side of the border close to the Roman road.”
“I wonder what he is planning,” Wallace mused as he wiped the bowl with bread, chewed on it and then swilled it down with more ale. He frowned and looked up at Harald. “Is there any news about Owain and where he is?”
Harald shook his head. “Last I heard, he was still in Rheged, but his army is getting bigger each day, all the rumours say, so it can’t be long now.”
“But where ... where will they attack?”
“I have no idea,” Harald shrugged, “but the King might. That is the other thing I came to tell you, he must know of Samlen One Eye’s army as quickly as possible. I was about to head off anyway. Just yesterday, I received a summons to Godnundingham: Aelle is calling a great council. Everyone expects he will call out the Fyrd and then it will be war.”
“We are already at war, Harald,” Wallace said.
Harald grunted and then nodded. He finished off his own tankard and got up to leave.
“Get your men ready, Wallace,” he said. Then, raising his voice so that everyone in the tavern could hear, he added, “We will march within the hour to the King’s hall.”
There was some groaning at the thought of setting out again, from more than one of the company, but a scowl from Wallace silenced them and the men went back to their meals, or muttered curses into their ale.
As a young man, Aelle had conquered the Welsh kingdom of Eboracum including the prize, their capital: the city he would call Eoforwic. Eoforwic was a rich city and probably the most important city in the North. However, Aelle did not rule from there. He held court not far from Wicstun in his halls at Godnundingham. It was to this stronghold that we now marched.
Our road went northeast to Eoforwic and as we marched along it I grew excited with the anticipation of seeing the city at last. I was to be disappointed: before we reached it, Harald led us down a branching road heading east. We would save ten miles and several hours this way, he explained, as it cut off a big loop and saved us going north of the city and back southeast to Godnundingham. I swallowed my disappointment: the King’s summons had been urgent and Harald had no time to permit my sightseeing.
It took the balance of that day and most of the next to reach Wicstun. Harald allowed us to stop there overnight and let the townsfolk go home. As we came close to the town, a shriek of joy rang out from the tannery, which was a couple of hundred yards to the north. Two auburn-hairedgirls of about my own age or younger, rushed out to us and over to their mother and threw themselves at her, hugging her tightly to them. The tanner, himself limping from a wound he had taken defending his family from the raid, joined them and we passed them by and left them to their joy. Then, as if this was an alarm signal to rouse the town, suddenly the road ahead was full of people. They came out of their houses and workshops and walked towards the company, searching the faces of those we brought with us, some expectant, some not daring to hope until they had seen the ones they looked for. Soon enough, the tears of joy and sorrow started. Joy for those we had saved, sorrow for those we had left behind in a foreign land.
Sorrow aside, for the most part, the people of Wicstun wanted to hold a great feast to welcome their families − and us − home. But then, when they were told that the fighting was not yet over and indeed that the war was probably only just beginning, their exuberance subsided, for a while. In the end though, it was if everyone decided to take what happiness they could today, uncertain of what the approaching weeks would bring and soon the ale houses were full and the beer flowing.
Eduard, Cuthbert and I were drinking ale and eating bread in the ‘Wolves Head’ tavern, whilst we waited for the orders to resume our march, when my father found me. Wallace had sent a message to him about the royal summons.
He rushed over and embraced me. It had been four days since I last saw him: he was moving about much more easily now and although his scars were still ugly, they were beginning to fade. He sat down and asked the question that I had been dreading.
“Mildrith ...?” he asked.
I shook my head and saw the blood drain from his face.
“She’s alive, Father, but Samlen has taken her with him to his army. I tried to find her but ... she was gone, when I got there.”
He stared at me, his mouth moving but no words coming. At last he spoke, “Is she ... I mean, did he touch her?”
I shook my head. “No ... that is, I don’t think so - and I don’t think he will either, not yet at least,” and I told him about Samlen’s boast.
“I’ll find her, Father. I promise.”
He looked into my eyes then nodded, reached out and put his hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “We both will,” he said.
Suddenly his eyes widened in anger and he pushed past me with a roar. The tavern noise ceased in an instant and all eyes turned at the cause of the commotion. Aedann had come into the room, and on seeing him, Father had burst across it and in an instant he had the lad by the neck pinned up against the far wall. Tightening his grip, he reached for his hunting knife and placed the blade against Aedann’s throat.
“Master please ...” Aedann croaked.
“Treacherous snake, I'll slit your throat and feed you to the ravens.”
“Father, I ...”
My father turned a face that was red with fury towards me.
“What are you doing, Cerdic? Sitting on your arse drinking ale, while this piece of horse shit is walking around?” Then he saw that Aedann was wearing a sword and his face grew redder, “Walking about with a sword! Have you lost your senses? This turd betrayed us. Woden’s balls but I am going to rip out his guts, he’s the reason Mildrith is gone.”
I leapt across, grasped his wrist and forced the knife away from Aedann’s throat.
“No, Father, he’s not!” I said, as calmly as I could.
“What crap is this?”
My father’s face was now almost purple and his eyes bulging. I knew how terrible his anger could get and my heart was pounding like the galloping hoofs of the Elmetae cavalry, but I had to try to explain.
“It’s not crap, it’s the truth. Aedann did not betray us, it was ...” I hesitated now, thinking to mention Hussa, but then feeling that this was not the best time. “... it was not Aedann, anyway. No, he left the Villa to find his parents. He rescued us in Elmet. If it was not for him, I would be dead now. That is why I gave him a sword. He earned it.”
“Earned it, are you mad? He’s a slave.”
“No, Father, he’s not. I freed
him.”
At that my father actually let go of Aedann and turned to stare at me.
“You’re making free with my property, boy,” he finally said, with a deep growl, “Cuthwine has not been dead a week and now you go on as if I am dead too.”
I shook my head. I was scared of the old man. He had a ferocious temper, particularly if he felt disrespected. I’d rarely stood up to him before − but I would today.
“No, Father, it’s not like that. Aedann rescued us, he fought with us and helped us free the prisoners and then was a hero when we got away, risking his own life to save ours. He took that sword off a man he killed and it’s his by right. I will obey you in anything you say but,” I gritted my teeth, “... but Aedann remains free.”
He stared at me for a full minute and around me I could hear men shuffling their feet awkwardly. Glancing at them, though, I saw that none of them was looking away and indeed they all were staring at us, fascinated by this exchange. This was the Wicstun Company and I had led them for a day and brought them home. But, I was still a lad and they wanted to know what guts I really had.
“If I agree, if I free him, what will he do? Where will his loyalty be?” Father said, now looking at Aedann.
Aedann said nothing although he seemed to be thinking about the question, but I answered first.
“If you are asking for loyalty, then that is a question for after you free him, not before. Loyalty and fealty can only come from a free man.”
Father thought about that then nodded. “Good answer, I suppose,” he admitted, with grudging respect. “So, you’re a hero, are you, Aedann?”
Aedann shrugged. “Too bloody right I am, my Lord. But what I want is ... I just want to kill that one-eyed bastard. My father is dead because of him and I want revenge.”
“On Samlen?”
Aedann nodded.
“That’s a good answer too,” Father mused rubbing his cheek. “Very well then, Aedann son of Caerfydd the Welshman, I release you from slavery. You’re a free man, as these men will witness.”
Aedann nodded and smiled. He then drew his sword and I felt my father tense, expecting a blow. Aedann looked straight into my father’s eyes and then, suddenly, he knelt in front of him and offered up the hilt of his sword.
“I, Aedann son of Caerfydd, swear loyalty to your house and your heirs and offer my sword in your service. I will go where you will ... but I ask to go with Master Cerdic and to go to war.”
Then, he stood up.
“That’s all we need, a bloody Welshman in the army,” Eduard said into his ale, but loud enough for us all to hear. Aedann smiled and suddenly the tavern was full of laughter again.
Harald let the men sleep late the following day but by early afternoon, we set off again, led by Harald and Wallace. Wallace’s arm was still in a sling and he was sitting on his horse a little stiffly, but he was alert and looking better than he had just two days before. Northeast we went, with Father walking with us this time. We spoke of Mother and Sunniva and how worried they were now all the family had left. Father’s voice faltered whenever he mentioned Cuthwine or Mildrith and despite the bright spring day, I too grew mournful and maudlin. I was not sure how to tell him about Hussa’s part in the raid, but I just had to. I took a deep breath.
“Father, you know I told you that Aedann was not the traitor and that it was not him that told Samlen about Mother’s jewellery?”
He looked across at me, as we continued to walk, side by side.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve not told you who did betray us, have I?”
He frowned and then shook his head.
“Well ... I did not mention this in front of the men in the tavern, but we know who betrayed us.”
He stopped walking and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Go on, tell me. Who was it, then?”
“Hussa,” I replied.
He recoiled at the name of his son then he just stared at me, shaking his head.
“No!” he said at last, unable to accept what he was being told.
“Hussa, Father: it was Hussa.”
So, as we resumed the march, I now gave an account of all that occurred in Calcaria. When I had finished, he was silent for many minutes, staring away from me at the fields we passed.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Leave Hussa to me − I will deal with him. He’s my responsibility.”
“We will deal with him together, Father,” I replied.
We arrived at the King’s hall just as it became fully dark. To reach the hall, we passed through a gap in a high rampart and the external ditch that surrounded it, and entered a courtyard beyond. Here there were pens for livestock, a well, numerous outhouses and craftsmen’s workshops. The gateway through the rampart was built from massive logs, reinforced with iron bars and guarded by fierce looking warriors, who questioned Lord Wallace and Earl Harald before permitting us entry.
We could now see the hall itself. Granted it was a Saxon hall and as such made from wood and not built of stone. It was, however, a vast building: rectangular in shape with a tall sloping roof, from the centre of which a swirl of smoke emerged from some fire within. The walls were supported by huge upright posts, perhaps a yard apart, and additional buttresses lay up against the wall. The hall’s vast double doors were, like the main gate, braced inside and out by iron bands: this was a building most definitely built for defence. A couple of hundred men could hold the ramparts for many weeks, if need be. Any assault on this place would be costly in the lives of the attackers.
Wallace halted the company outside the great hall and went within for a few moments. He then emerged and ordered us to go inside and find some food and drink, for the King was inviting all warriors to his tables tonight. The council itself would be tomorrow.
Entering the smoky hall, I was struck by the size of the cavernous interior. Two long tables stretched the length of each wall. At both of these, scores of men were sitting on benches, eating and drinking. Dozens of slaves were busy refilling ale tankards or bringing in more food from doors that exited at the far end, into the kitchens. A roaring fire burnt in a pit in the centre of the hall, its smoke finding escape through a hole in the roof directly above. Opposite the entrance, a third table stood at right angles to the others joining them at the far end. Here again, warriors sat on either side, but these were clearly men of importance, rank and wealth. Earl Harald was taken up to the King’s table, whilst we were waved to spare benches on the side tables, but not before bowing towards the King.
Wallace sat between my father, and Lilla and I opposite them. The rest of the company, Cuthbert and Eduard included, found places where they could. Wallace picked up a chicken leg, bit into it and then used it to point towards the high table.
“That is King Aelle, Cerdic,” he said, indicating a man in his sixties sitting in the exact centre, on a raised chair. He appeared rather frail, which surprised me after all the tales I had heard. I said this to my father and Wallace.
“Ah boy, but fate grants us all a span of years. You should have seen him leading our armies almost twenty years ago into Eoforwic. He was tall and strong then. If he appears weak now, remember all that he achieved in taking command of a few scattered settlements when he was just a youth, barely older than you, and forging Deira from them. That was forty years ago now, when I was just a child,” Wallace said looking admiringly at the older man.
Wallace went on to point out other men of worth, including those who would no doubt command the companies of our army, if war was really to come.
“Him you know, of course,” he said, pointing to the overweight and unimpressive man sitting to the right of the King. “Prince Aethelric, the King’s eldest son, at least of those that live. Did you know that Firebrand’s real name was Aethelric also?”
I had not known that. So Aethelric had been the name of Firebrand of Bernicia − the old king and father to their current king, Aethelfrith. It seemed odd that Bernicia and Deira should hav
e princes and kings of the same name. I mentioned this.
“Not really, Cerdic, Ric is a common name and Aethel is, of course, a noble title. It means nobly born − the nobly born Ric if you like,” Wallace explained, amiably.
Next to him, Wallace told me, sat Herecic, Aethelric’s son, who was perhaps ten years old. One place further along, I could see a boy who was about the same age, or perhaps slightly older.
“That is Prince Edwin. He is Aelle’s youngest son and from what I have heard as strong-willed a lad as you would want to meet. Coming on well in his studies of fighting too,” Wallace added. I looked at Edwin for a moment and then away. I suppose when you consider how long he and I were to spend together in just a few years, fate should have given me a sign that he would be of importance to me and indeed all of Northumbria. However, it did not and instead I found myself gazing at an attractive, dark-haired and finely dressed lady of about eighteen years, who was pouring wine into Aelle’s goblet.
“Yes, she is pretty eh, Cerdic?” said Wallace slyly. Cuthbert and Eduard heard this and sniggered and my father grinned at me.
“I see you are growing up, boy,” he said, “but such ladies are not for farmers’ sons. Tell the boy who she is, Wallace.”
“That is the Princess Acha, Aelle’s only daughter, Cerdic, and well beyond your hopes. Mind you, I approve of your tastes.”
“Who is the man to the left of the King?” I asked, mainly to change the subject. I pointed at a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose once blond hair was touched by silver and grey. He was looking around the room with a serious, even critical expression, as if the King’s warriors were treating life a bit too lightly.
“Earl Sabert. He has lands east along the coasts and brings two companies from the Wolds and Moors,” Wallace frowned, “be careful round him, Cerdic, he does not suffer fools gladly and has little tolerance for youth.”
I shrugged and drank some more ale. I didn’t see that I had any reason to have dealings with the Earl of the Eastern Marches.
We ate and drank into the early hours and then found a corner of the hall to sleep in. After the horrors of the last few days, the drink and warmth allowed me to drift into a pleasant sleep.
The following morning, I woke with a horrendous pain in my head and a sour taste in my mouth. Around me, groans and curses suggested that not a few others felt as I did. I dragged myself to my feet, pulled on my tunic, boots and cloak and went out into the cold dawn to breathe some fresh air and to have a piss.
Soon others stirred and we began to gather in small groups and talk of war and, in the case of many from the Wicstun Company, revenge on Elmet. A little later that morning, the warriors still inside the great hall were evicted and the lords gathered to discuss the situation. My father and Wallace attended, but the rest of us from Wicstun along with most of the other warriors who had been there when we had arrived last night, were left outside.
Grettir decided that we might as well practice with our arms and indeed, with companies from elsewhere in Deira present to drill with, we were able to assemble for the first time as a larger army. We practised moving in a close formation of three hundred or more men in three ranks. Those boys like Cuthbert, who had proven more adept with bow or sling, were selected for this role in battle and they would try running forward, hitting mock targets and then scuttling back to shelter behind us.
Towards noon, Lilla came and found me.
“Gods, but you look a mess,” Lilla said.
“Thanks: so do you,” I lied. Lilla always looked immaculate, even after a battle.
“Come on,” he said, holding out a clean tunic then tussling a hand through my hair and dragging it into some shape. “Put this on; the King wants to see you.”
I froze in the act of straightening my clothes.
“What?”
“You heard me, seems he wants to hear from the hero of Calcaria,” Lilla said, biting into an apple.
“Why does he think I’m a hero?”
“Oh, that would be because I told him,” he mumbled, around a mouthful of apple.
I stared at the bard, but he just held up his hands.
“It’s what I do, Cerdic ... you know, tell stories. That’s why I came to Elmet − I did tell you.”
“Huh! Very well, but what does he want to know?”
“What you know about One Eye, Elmet’s army, that kind of thing.”
So there I was − summoned into the council of Aelle. The hall had been cleared of the debris of the previous night’s feast. All the tables had been moved to the sides of the hall and chairs brought out for the lords to sit on, in two lines down each side. They stared at me as I walked in, so I searched the room for friendly faces. There was Lord Harald nodding at me in recognition and Lord Wallace, looking alert and attentive. Next to him sat my father. There were thirty other lords or masters of lands, both large and small. Some wore chain armour as if they had already decided that war was coming. Sabert was an exception. He did not wear armour, but sat with a dull, dark green cloak wrapped round him. He studied me with a sceptical expression as I approached the King.
I looked now towards the other end of the hall. Aelle was there, sitting in a high-backed chair and to his right stood Aethelric, his head bent as he whispered in his father’s ear. When he saw me he gave that vague smile that a man gives when he feels he ought to recognise someone, but can’t quite recall where they met. He said something to his father and now Aelle looked up at me. His body was indeed frail, but in his eyes was an intensity like the glow from a blacksmith’s forge. I could well imagine how he had once inspired a nation. One day soon, alas, the fire would die, but having seen him in his dotage I felt somehow sad that I had not known him when he was young.
Lilla and I stopped in front of him and we both bowed.
“Sire, this is Cerdic, son of Cenred of the Villa,” Lilla introduced me.
Aelle nodded.
“I knew your uncle, lad. He was a fine man and maybe the bravest warrior I ever knew ...” he said and as his voice trailed off, the light in his eyes dimmed for a moment and he seemed to be looking somewhere else – to another time perhaps, when he had been younger. Suddenly, they snapped back into focus and he continued to speak. “So then, Cerdic, Lilla has already sung your praises.”
I coloured at that and glanced at the bard.
“But now, please tell me in your own words what you saw in Elmet.”
So I did. I told of going to Elmet and of the capture of the company. I told of meeting One Eye, the treachery of Hussa – but without mentioning he was my brother - and the courage of Aedann; of how I had felt despair about Mildrith and finally, I described the army I had seen from afar.
They all listened to me in silence, but all the while I spoke, Aelle kept those burning eyes on me, not commenting and not giving any indication if he approved or disapproved. After I had finished he nodded once, then at last he spoke.
“It is a pity you did not kill that Hussa when you saw him.”
“I could not, Sire: but I will the next time.”
I noticed my father’s expression as I said these words. He was uncomfortable. Was he thinking about Hussa’s mother? Was he realising that one of his sons might soon have to fight – and kill - the other one?
I was dismissed at that point, but as I walked towards the door, I paid close attention to what was said next.
“I ... I think it is a trap,” stuttered Aethelric. “Samlen’s army is a trick. He is trying to draw us away north. We should march on Loidis, like we planned to.”
“Catraeth, my son, you are forgetting Catraeth. Every indication is that Samlen is going there. That is where the danger is.”
Now, a new voice spoke, dripping with scepticism.
“Sire, you place a lot on the words of a mere boy. Dare we commit our army on some wild goose chase on the back of what this youth might have seen?”
I turned at the doorway and glanced towards the voice. The speaker was Earl Sabert. He
was facing the King but his arm was stretched out and pointing at me. Then, the doors slammed shut leaving me standing outside, feeling angry and ridiculed. More than that, it left me wondering where and what Catraeth was.
At midday, a meal of bread and dried meat was provided and then, in the afternoon, we held a wrestling competition. Cuthbert was beaten in the first round, but Eduard and I were able to win several bouts. In the end, a great brute from the Wolds, named Alfred, defeated Eduard and won.
Finally, as dusk approached, the news came that a decision to call out the Fyrd had been reached. All the men were called to order and instructed to be ready to march at dawn. Little detail was given beyond that. Wallace and my father were still inside the hall, but Lilla found me and told me that my father and he, along with a dozen other men, were being sent out east on fast horses to call in the Fyrd from the outlying settlements along the Humber and up in moors. That came as a shock. I had assumed that I would be travelling with them both, but now we were going our separate ways.
That night, the food was simpler and less ale was served. I saw my father briefly as he came to get his weapons and equipment. He looked anxious, but he would not at first speak of why, saying only that he had to leave at once. He clasped me to him, wished me luck and turned away, but then stopped and glanced back at me.
“Cerdic, I am going away tonight with Lilla, to the East.”
“I know, Father − to call in the Fyrd.”
He shook his head. “No − well, at least we will do that on the way.”
“The way where?”
“To the coast son, we are to get to Scearburgh by dawn and find a fast ship. Then, we are to sail north, to Bernicia. I hope to reach it tomorrow night.”
“Bernicia, that means ... Aethelfrith?”
He nodded.
“The King told me I was injured and could not fight, but could serve him best by persuading Aethelfrith to come to our aid.”
Confused now, I frowned at that news.
“You’re not to tell anyone, but the rumour that Owain is assembling a vast army is true. The biggest in a lifetime: two thousand spears at least.”
I gasped and Eduard, sitting at a fire nearby, looked over at me anxiously.
“Two thousand: but that’s impossible!” I whispered.
“Aelle does not think so. His spies tell him this army is huge and it is coming, Cerdic. It is coming within a few days and Deira cannot beat it alone. I have to persuade Aethelfrith that we Angles must unite or die separately.”
I nodded.
“Be careful, Father.”
“I will. Besides − I have Lilla. He knows Aethelfrith and will help. Probably bore me with tales of Cerdic the hero, as well.”
I smiled at that, but then noticed my father was still looking worried.
“There is another thing. Aelle is too old to lead the army. He is giving command to Aethelric.”
My heart sank at that news. Hesitant, vague, forgetful Aethelric was in charge of the army!
“Aethelric!” I hissed the word and saw men turning to look at me, suspiciously. I turned away from them and whispered, “Aethelric? Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so, Cerdic. I’m anxious that even if I can persuade Aethelfrith to march, it will still take us a few days to come. What worries me is that the Prince will,” now he also whispered, but even softer than me, “... lose his nerve. If he considers a retreat, you must try to help Wallace persuade him to stay on. I will come, Cerdic. I WILL COME. Do you understand? Aethelric must wait for me and keep the army at Catraeth.”
Catraeth: there was that word again. Where was it? Was it in Elmet? I was not sure of that. Although of course I had seen Samlen’s five hundred men there. Was that part of the army heading to Catraeth? Why was it so damned important? I opened my mouth to ask my father, but just then, Lilla came across riding one horse and leading another.
My father mounted it and glanced down at me.
“I’m coming back, son: be careful!”
Then, he spurred his horse and they were away, galloping even before they left the gate and riding out into the dark.
I yawned and went and found a place beside Eduard. He offered me his jug of ale and I took a swig and passed it back. The flames in the camp fire drew my gaze and I was struck at how bright they were. Like the fire within Aelle. The old King saw something, knew something and as a result we were marching in the morning to Catraeth.
What was Catraeth? What would we find there? I had headed to Elmet expecting to find Mildrith, to confront a traitor and kill Samlen, to take back the amber treasure and my uncle’s sword. I had achieved none of that. Mildrith was gone with Samlen, who had my uncle’s sword and the traitor was with them still. Not Aedann, as I had thought, but Hussa: Hussa who carried some of the amber treasure as reward for the betrayal of his country.
So, in the morning, were we heading back to Elmet? I wondered if perhaps I would find them all there. Would there be one huge battle to decide the future of the North? Would the Welsh or the Angles triumph? Would my people be swept into the sea?
Would I find Mildrith, Samlen, Hussa, the treasure and the sword at the same place ...
... at a place called Catraeth.?
The Amber Treasure Page 16
