Chapter Fourteen
North
The next day we were woken half an hour before a cold grey dawn, one on which the sun was concealed by deep banks of fog rolling down from the moors. The mist filled me with a sense of foreboding and it seemed that I was not the only one. For, as we gathered around the camp fires, broke our fast and organised our equipment, we all spoke in hushed whispers, each sensing the same tension in the men about us that made us jump in alarm when the noise of a dropped pan or a pair of shields clattering together rang out through the gloom.
It was with a sense of relief that we finally marched out, heading north and west back along the Roman road towards the city of Eoforwic. Prince Aethelric would join us on the road, we were told, but for now Harald was leading us to his city. At last, I was going to get my wish and I would visit the city I had been desperate to go and see throughout my childhood. As we approached and we could see the vastness of it − far bigger than any of the places I had visited before − I could not help but smile, which made me laugh at my childish excitement. I was marching off to war after all − indeed I might die in the battle − and yet, here I was getting excited over seeing a few shops and taverns! Then, we entered the gates and I decided to just enjoy the moment.
A city of many thousands, Eoforwic was the greatest trading hub in the North. A settlement had been here before the Romans, but it was they who made it their northern capital and the base for one of their legions. After they had gone, it was the focus of Welsh resistance to my ancestors’ invasion. The great King, Coel Hen, had made it his city. In many ways it was still Welsh, despite almost twenty years of occupation by Deira, for the Romans had taught the Welsh about living and trading in cities and they had not lost that entirely yet, whereas we Saxons still preferred our villages and market towns.
The road we followed took us along the north bank of the River Ouse and through the stone walls that enclosed the Roman legion fortress on that side of the river. Earl Harald and his warriors ignored the garrison buildings. So too had the Anglo-Saxon traders who had come to make a living in the city. We Deirans, not comfortable with the eerie, tomb-like barracks, had abandoned them to the Eboracii tribesmen to live in; apparently they did not mind them as much as we did.
We passed the command building, which was three stories high; its courtyard lined with stone pillars the width of tree trunks and the height of the tallest oaks. Then we halted at the foot of the stone bridge that crossed the Ouse. Here, Harald let us fall out and rest while we waited for the mustering of his two companies from the city.
Wallace, who seemed to have recovered fully from his ordeal, though his arm was still in a sling, gave us freedom to cross the river and explore. “Just be back here in two hours and don’t get drunk, or I’ll hang you from one of those pillars!” he threatened.
On the far side of the river was the civilian city. That was how the Romans had built it: garrison on the one side and city on the other. Here was row upon row and street upon street of houses, little estates and a vast trading centre, market and workshop district. The scale was overwhelming, but just as we had done in Samlen’s stronghold in the old Roman fort of Calcaria, we could not miss the decay around us. There was hardly a building where the tiles had not fallen off the roof, or where the walls were not cracked. Indeed, there was hardly a street without a house abandoned due to the scale of damage from the storms and winds of two hundred winters or the destruction Aelle’s army had caused seventeen years before. Yet, the Welsh lived on in whatever shelter they could find, whilst the Saxons built new houses of wood in the gaps between the stone buildings or on the land outside the walls. A sudden thought came to me that we were like children playing in our parents’ house whilst they were away: making a bit of a mess, but assuming that they would sort it all out in the end. But, of course, the parents of this city would never come home.
Aedann, Cuthbert, Eduard and I strolled through the maze, taking in the bewildering variety of stalls and trade houses of all kinds. The smell was unbelievable − a heady mix of urine from the tanneries, human waste tossed in the street or down open privy pits, exotic spices traded from across the North Sea and from as far away as the fabled cities of Byzantium and Rome, smoke rising from five hundred fires and forges, the alluring scent of roasting pig or lamb and a thousand other smells I could not place. Our ears were assaulted by a clamour of sounds ranging from the cries of animals being slaughtered, the clanging of hammer on sword, spear, nail and chain in a score of forges; children screaming and crying in unseen alleyways and houses; the call of hawkers and salesman and the constant rumble of human conversation in English and Welsh.
It was still, as I have said, mainly a Welsh city − although ruled by us Deirans − and I became aware as we walked about that we were being watched. Small groups of dark-haired youths followed us as we walked along, or gathered on corners and stared at us with ill-disguised loathing. They whispered to each other in the Welsh tongue, but fell silent if we got close. Nevertheless, Aedann had heard what they were saying.
“They have heard some rumours that Owain’s army has left Rheged and he is to join with Samlen, but they did not say where,” Aedann muttered to me.
Aedann might not know, but I had a pretty shrewd idea of the name of the place.
“What do they think about that, then?”
Aedann shrugged.
“Most of them have grown up, like me, knowing that once our people ruled his city like most of this land and now we are slaves, or at best second class free men. You Angles rule the city and own the land. Now, they hear that Owain is coming to kill you and drive you into the sea. How do you think they feel?”
I nodded, looking at the nearest group of young men who were now laughing as they looked at us, as if we were sheep soon to the slaughter and they knew who was wielding the knife.
“What about you, Aedann? How do you feel about it?” I asked, with a sidelong glance at my former slave. He looked at the youths and shrugged.
“I made my promise, Master Cerdic; I’m serving your father.”
“But, that takes you to war against your own people.”
He nodded. “Ironic, is it not, that my enemy, Samlen is Welsh so to kill him I must fight with the conquerors of my people.”
Wallace came and found me with Cuthbert and Eduard appraising a bow on a fletcher’s stall. He waved at me and I went over to him. Eduard and Cuthbert stayed at the stall and began haggling for the bow, whilst Aedann wandered off towards one of the groups of Welsh lads. He seemed to be making an effort so that they did not think he was with us and I watched him, wondering what he was doing, until Wallace started talking.
“Ah, Cerdic, I have been meaning to have a word. I have to say that I was impressed − more than impressed in fact − by your conduct in Elmet. You are just a lad and to have done what you did − taking command of my company like that ...”
“I did not intend to, my Lord ... but after Sigmund died...”
He held up his good hand. “There was no one else and you felt like you had to do it. Well done, anyway,” he said, with a nod. “Yes, you did well, but be aware that others might not believe you are up to the task ahead. If anything happens to me, do not be afraid to speak your mind.”
I frowned at that. What did he mean? He seemed to see my confusion.
“Cerdic, I know what your father’s task is. The King spoke to me and said I must ensure that the army stays at Catraeth long enough for Aethelfrith to arrive. If I can’t then you must.”
“Me?” I was startled. “What can I do?”
“Just do not be afraid to say what you believe. There are some here who will try and shout you down and use your youth against you. Ignore them ... the future of our whole people could depend on it.”
I nodded, not sure what to say, the sudden responsibility heavy on my shoulders. Then I wanted to ask about Catraeth, but Wallace glanced at the height of the sun, which was passing midday, and he gathered up Cuthbert an
d Eduard and led us back to where the men were collecting. Aedann turned up a few minutes later and I was going to ask him where he had been, but he went over to his kit, busied himself cleaning his sword and did not talk to me.
I was expecting us to march across the bridge and southwest towards Elmet, back down the road we had traversed only a few days before − then onwards to the war. But after we had crossed the river, we instead left the fortress by the North Gate and up onto Dere Street: the road that went all the way to the Roman Wall and then on even further. I looked back at the smoke over the city, feeling as if each step we took northwards was taking me away from Mildrith, Samlen and my uncle’s sword.
We stopped for the night at a small hamlet, a few miles north of the city and I went to ask Wallace what he knew about where we were going. I found him leaving the camp and riding further up the road.
“My Lord,” I said. He turned to look at me.
“Ah, Cerdic, your feet got blisters, eh?”
“Er, yes a few, my Lord, but …”
“Not now, Cerdic, I am off to scout ahead. I will be back tomorrow.”
“But, my Lord, why are we going this way. Elmet is that way,” I said pointing to the south. “Where are we going?”
“We are not going to Elmet, Cerdic. We are going north: north to Catraeth,” and with that, he galloped away.
Suddenly, instead of the gloom of a week before, or the excitement and desire for revenge of the last few days, I felt nothing but fury and confusion. What in the name of Woden were we doing marching north up this blasted road?
In a whirl of frustration, I turned back to our camp to tell the others. Most of them just told me to calm down and that we would be told in time where we were going. But none of them could calm me and I stomped off to find a place to be alone and sulk.
I was still in a foul mood the following morning when we broke camp and got back on to Dere Street. Our little army must now have been about four hundred men strong. The companies from Eoforwic and the Wolds led the way whilst we trailed along behind. The men in most of these companies were five years and more older than us youngsters and at first they ignored us or treated us as callow children, but Grettir must have spoken to them about the raid into Elmet, as later that day they began to talk to us and discuss the battles they had fought and to listen to our tales.
As we halted for a meal at noon, my spirits lifted a bit when Cuthbert told a poetic version of the gallant fight of the three young heroes, who defeated the hordes of the Welsh to rescue the defenceless women and children. The older men chortled and teased, but they enjoyed the tale and treated us better afterwards. As we set off again, I walked near Cuthbert and asked him where he had learnt to tell a tale that way.
“Oh, from Lilla the bard, Cerdic. I often dreamed of travelling as a wandering poet. You know, going from village to village and learning the tales and stories of the folks along the way. Lilla says there are many things a man can learn by travelling. He has visited the palaces of kings and even gone to Elmet and Rheged.”
Cuthbert’s mention of Elmet darkened my mood again.
“Did Lilla tell you why we would be marching to this Catraeth place, rather than attacking Elmet?” I asked with a sour voice, “I mean, what is so important about this town anyway?”
“I thought I taught you better than that, Master Cerdic,” came the reproachful voice of Grettir from a few ranks behind. “It is not for us to consider or guess why we go thither or what we are asked to do when we are there. King Aelle is our lord and it is enough that he has a purpose in mind.”
“What a load of tripe,” I thought to myself and I fell into another silent sulk, until we broke off the march that night and made camp. I decided that enough was enough. Wallace had said I was second in command of the company. So I was going to ask someone about where we were going, and by chance, Aethelric, Earl Harald and Earl Sabert walked past our part of the camp and wandered over to our fire to warm their hands.
“Sire, can you tell me why we are going to this Catraeth place and not Elmet?”
The company fell silent and all eyes turned to me. Most were curious − all men want to know where they are going. Grettir hissed and told me that I would be told all I needed to know.
“Well spoken, loyal yeoman but … but the men should know something of why we are going to this Catraeth place, don't you think?” said Aethelric.
“My Lord,” started Grettir, “there is no need ...”
“Quite right too! Sire,” Sabert said, his eyebrows bristling. “I said before, he is just a youth. He needs to keep silent and learn that princes do not need to explain what they do.”
Aethelric nodded, but then seeing my downcast expression, seemed to change his mind again.
“Perhaps … but, there are some advantages to being a prince and the son of the King, and since it was he who gave me orders to command this little force, I am in the position of knowing why we are going north.”
“Our captain has gone on ahead, my Lord: the boy is my responsibility. I’m sure he will make a fine warrior and leader one day, but he can be a bit outspoken,” Grettir apologised, glowering in my direction.
“Oh, I already know master, erm … what did you say your name was?” he turned to me, but Grettir answered.
“He is Cerdic, son of Cenred of the Villa, Sire.”
The Prince looked at me more closely and raised his eyebrows. My cheeks flushed red and I said a quiet prayer to Thunor to help me control my speech in the future.
Aethelric nodded, seemed about to speak, but then looked blank and turned to Earl Harald. “Erm ... Harald, can you explain it to the lad?” He spoke vaguely, adding, “You are better at that kind of thing.”
“And possibly he can remember it, as well,” Eduard muttered under his breath, although a few of the company must have heard and seeing the grins on their faces, I thought that more than a few agreed with him. Sabert seemed to hear it as well and looking sharply towards me and Eduard, seemed about to say something, but just then Harald nodded at the Prince and waved at me to come forward.
“Come here, young Cerdic, you seem keen to understand our plans and policies. Let’s see how well you do.”
I nodded and shuffled forward. The company was very quick to move out of the way, I noticed.
Harald pointed at a low hillock just outside the camp, beside the road. “Stand up there and look westward then tell me what you can see,” he ordered.
I did as I was told. To my front I saw fairly flat fields, empty this early in the season. Here and there were scattered copses, but mostly it was open countryside. Beyond the fields I could see the dark shapes of the Pennines forming a barrier from far to the south to way beyond my sight to the north. I commented on this.
“Now then, turn and look behind you,” Harald ordered.
I did as instructed and faced east. A river ran from north to south not far from the road and beyond this were more fields. I could see beyond the fields, dim and distant, the bulky forms of the moors. Not as high as the mountains to the west, but still prominent over the low ground where I stood.
“Finally, look north and tell me what you see there.”
“The countryside is less open,” I said, observing that the scattered copses were denser and the flat fields gave way to rising ground as it climbed towards the numerous hills I could see running east to the moors and west to the Pennines. The river snaked from the northwest towards the southeast on the far side of the road: the flat, straight Roman road.
I described all this, and Harald nodded at me.
“Up ahead in those hills and copses is Catraeth. It sits on this road on either side of a stone bridge that crosses the river as it comes down from the mountains. Beyond the river − not far beyond mind you − the road divides. Dere Street continues to the North, through the valley of the River Tees and up towards Bernicia. The branch runs west through the Pennines to Rheged. Between the branches a few miles away from here − in the an
gle as it were − stands an old earthen fort, what we call Stanwick Camp,” he paused and then he raised his eyebrows, “Have you heard of it?”
I shook my head.
“I have, my Lord, but I have never been there,” Grettir said behind me.
“Splendid, well done,” piped in Aethelric, evidently eager to be involved.
Grettir bowed to the Prince, who apparently had nothing further to add, as he then nodded at Harald to go on. Sabert tapped his foot impatiently.
“Sire, we need to leave this nonsense and get on with our counsel. We are wasting our time,” the earl moaned.
“I don’t think so,” said Harald. “The lad wants to understand and I think that is fine. Anyway,” he said, ignoring Sabert’s affronted grunt and continuing, “this was of old a garrison to defend the pathways and has again been turned into such. All the land ahead of us was Welsh − the Kingdom of the Pennines. During the last wars a few years ago, we took advantage of the weakness of the Welsh and their inability to respond and captured this land, just as we did with Eoforwic.”
He walked up to join me at the top of the small mound and put his hand on my shoulder.
“We have heard from our spies and agents that the Welsh have recovered from their defeats under Bernicia. Their strength has grown and they are determined to strike back at us. You have all heard rumours of armies training, equipping and gathering. Their great kings make talk of war. Their bards Taliesin and Aneirin sing of heroes of the past and urge their warriors onto greater deeds. And … we hear mention of a word.”
He took his hand away from my shoulder and pointed north, “The word is ‘Catraeth’. You see Cerdic, Catraeth lies in a very important location. It sits on the main road from Deira to Bernicia through this valley between the mountains and the moors. It also sits on the main road from Rheged to what was once the Kingdom of the Pennines. Whoever holds Catraeth, dominates this region. If the Welsh of Elmet, Srathclyde, Rheged and Manau Goddodin can take it, they would divide Bernicia from Deira again. Once more, they would become the most powerful lords in the North and they would be a threat to us. We would not be safe in our land: not with our fertile plains and our valleys full of grain to tempt them south, to reclaim what they believe is theirs.”
“But, my Lord, what of Elmet?” I asked.
“Ah yes, what of Elmet? Of course, that is the only Welsh land east of the mountains now. It is also a threat, as you know only too well.” He looked at me and gave a smile of acknowledgement. And it seemed to me that he was aware of the common man’s difficulties as well as moving in the counsels of kings. What a king he could have made, had he been prince and not Aethelric.
He went on, “Elmet has kept within its borders until recently. But now they attack us without warning and with a fairly small force: one hundred men or so. A heavy raid no doubt, but hardly a threat. Surely they know we would attack them in return. But, that is the point. We think it was a mistake. We think that Samlen raided the Villa and Wicstun because of greed and without the blessing of Ceredig”
My eyes widened and in my mind I saw my mother’s jewellery and a picture of Hussa taunting me with that earring. Harald seemed to read my thoughts.
“Yes Cerdic, Elmet is part of the northern Welsh alliance. No doubt Elmet has been promised lands in Deira in return for its part in the war. Samlen was already assembling the army and was kicking his heels at Calcaria, itching to attack us. It did not take much of an excuse: just the tales of a traitor babbling about ‘amber treasure,’ to save his own skin or line his own pockets. Just that and he was over that border in a flash.”
Harald paused and looked at the Prince, as if to see if he wanted to add anything, but Aethelric was smiling and nodding inanely, so he turned back to me.
“Actually this Hussa has done us a favour you know, Cerdic,” then seeing my frown, he held up his hand. “Oh, I don’t mean I approve. It’s just that had it not been for the raid and as a result Wallace taking this company into Elmet, we would not have seen that army heading north. We would not have known to send scouts to follow it. Therefore, we would not have realised it was heading towards Catraeth. That knowledge confirms to us all the suspicions we already had. Hussa, in effect, has tipped the Welsh hand.”
Then he frowned. “Still, it will be a hard battle,” and dropping his voice added, “I hope your father will succeed in his mission ....” Again addressing all the company, he added; “Now we must press on. The Prince and I await Wallace’s return to plan the battle. The battle may have already begun and it will be desperate. Tomorrow, we march to Catraeth!”
I watched him walk away with Aethelric and Sabert towards the Prince’s tent. I then turned to look at the company and saw that some important facts were sinking in. We were not just attacking Elmet and facing its five hundred men, but a much larger force. The company did not know it was two thousand strong, but they were not stupid and knew the task ahead was going to be hard. Some of them glared at me, perhaps wishing they could have been left in ignorance a few hours longer.
“You had to ask, didn’t you?” said Eduard, as I moved down the mound and came to stand beside him. Cuthbert, ashen-faced, said nothing but just swallowed hard.
The following day we continued on our way. Grettir had told us earlier what Harald had repeated: that we were now beyond the borders of what, before a few years ago was Deira and within the old Kingdom of Pennine. The local folk kept away from us, but those I saw had the dark hair of the Welsh. Wallace galloped into the camp that night and went straight in to see Harald, Sabert and Aethelric.
I wished I could eavesdrop on that conversation, perhaps overhear some words of comfort to share with everyone, but Cuthbert and I were given guard duty on the road a few hundred yards from the camp. Just before midnight, he pointed out to me a small patrol of warriors, armed with bows and spears, standing on a hill half a mile from us. They observed the camp for a few moments and then disappeared into the gloom.
I stayed at the hill, but I told Cuthbert to run to Harald and report what we had seen. While he was gone it grew darker and sounds of the animals of the night came to me across the fields. I felt exposed and very alone. The trees and bushes grew shadows and their shapes distorted and became in my mind sentinels of Samlen’s army lurking out there, waiting to attack and drag me away to him. It was a relief when a few minutes later, Cuthbert, Harald, Aethelric and Wallace joined me. I pointed out where the warriors had been observing us. As I did, we noticed that two of of them had returned. Making no attempt to hide themselves they came towards us and as they got closer we saw they were each leading a horse. These then were not the warriors we thought we had seen. They walked down the hill, holding their hands away from their sides to show they were no threat.
“They’re ours,” Harald muttered and motioned them forward.
When they came up, we saw they were indeed Angles, who then bowed in respect to Aethelric. One of them then spoke.
“My Prince, I come from Stanwick Camp. I am asked to urge you to hurry on as quickly as you can. Our enemy has come with many men and my Lord believes that an assault on his fortress is imminent. Indeed, I fear it may already have fallen.”
“How long ago did you leave the fortress?” Wallace asked.
“We left when the sun was sinking in the sky, perhaps three hours ago. We have ridden hard without stopping,” said the messenger.
“Then even at a fast march it will take us the best part of a day to reach the camp,” Wallace calculated.
“My Lord begs you to come fast,” urged the messenger once more.
Aethelric looked at the messenger and then back to our camp.
“I … I don’t know. I … think the men need to sleep.”
He looked at Harald and seemed to be pleading for advice.
Harald thought for a moment. “I suggest, Sire, that we wake the army just before dawn, in about four hours. We will march straight away thereafter. If we push on without rest we can reach Stanwick camp
by some time in the afternoon.”
Aethelric nodded.
“That sounds fair to me.”
Harald bit his lip. He seemed to be struggling not to shout at the Prince to be more decisive, but instead he turned to me. Cuthbert and I were sent to get some rest and Eduard and Aedann were woken and went off grumbling, to watch the road. I found it difficult to sleep at first. Images of Samlen One Eye wielding my uncle’s sword, or holding the amber treasure or … caressing Mildrith came into my mind and tormented me. But, sleep I did and I felt oddly refreshed when Cuthbert shook my shoulder. It was still dark, but in the east there was a faint red glow: the dawn was coming. Just as before, I wondered if I or any of us would see the sun set at Calcaria this day.
Then, our company rose and each man drank a little ale or water. Some chewed on salted meat or smoked cheese. I ate an apple I had picked from an orchard we had passed the previous day. Soon we assembled on the road and Aethelric, now mounted again, waved us on north.
We marched on, while the sun rose to our right over the dark moors, reached its zenith then rolled slowly round to our rear.
After we had crossed the narrow stone bridge at Catraeth, our guides led us along the road a little further until it branched. We turned northwest, towards the mountains. After a mile or two, we left the Roman road and veered off it to the right. Eventually the track we were following climbed a gentle slope and levelled out. Harald halted the army a little way down the slope and the captains of the company, along with their seconds, went up to take a look.
It was then that I got my first sight of Stanwick Camp. The ancient fortress was indeed huge. It was surrounded by a deep ditch. The earth from the ditch had been thrown up to create a bank perhaps eight feet tall. On top of the bank, a wooden palisade had been built to shelter the defenders. The outer perimeter was lozenge-shaped and ran for some five miles around. It was a good mile across from bank to bank and surrounded − for its entire perimeter − by a continuous wall, which had sturdy gates to block entry via the roads if the defenders so desired to deny it. Beyond the gates, the smoke from a least fifty cook fires was rising from as many huts. In the centre was a very large lords’ hall. Milling around inside the fortress we could just make out scores of men and women. The walls were manned by several hundred warriors, their battle standards fluttering in the early summer breeze.
Impressive though the camp might be, the spectacle to the west of it was even more magnificent. For, lined up about one hundred paces west of the embankment was a large body of men. There appeared to be six companies of spear-armed foot soldiers from Rheged and a couple from Strathclyde beyond them. In all, they had about eight hundred warriors formed up in a formation facing east, towards Stanwick Camp, with yet more companies in reserve. Scattered here and there, a little ahead of the main body, there were groups of skirmishers armed with bows or slings for the most part, although I could see at least ten men with a handful of short javelins and one fellow with a curious wooden device I had never seen before but I later heard was called a crossbow.
I then spotted more Welsh, this time immediately in front of us and only a few hundred paces distant. There were about five hundred of them and they were lined up, facing away from us, towards the southern walls of the camp. Even though they faced away from us, there was no mistaking their nationality from their dress and the banners that flapped about above their heads: these were Elmetae. Right there, a long bow shot away, was Samlen’s army: the army I had come to find.
I searched back and forth amongst the enemy for a sight of One Eye, Hussa or Mildrith, but could see none of them. Were they here? If so: where?
The Welsh had arrived at Catraeth and were about to launch their attack. In Stanwick Camp, there were perhaps five hundred English warriors at most. In a few minutes the enemy assault would hit the embankment and with numbers in their favour, the Welsh would win.
Our army was back down the slope, to keep it out of view of the enemy. Then, Aethelric sent for the captains and Wallace took me along. Immediately our captains began to argue. One of them, who commanded a company from the moors, was all for marching east to come at the camp from the eastern side and reinforce it. Wallace and Harald were in favour of attacking now, straight into the back of the Elmetae and taking them by surprise.
“That’s lunacy and suicide. In fact, this whole battle is. I say we pull back and hold the bridge at Catraeth,” Sabert said.
“No, we must attack,” I responded vehemently. Sabert spun round and glared at me.
“Silence boy!” he hissed.
“I will not be quiet,” I replied and Wallace smiled behind Sabert’s back, encouraging me to carry on. “We have to buy time for my father and Aethelfrith to come.”
“Aethelfrith is not coming. He’s no fool. He knows the stories of this army’s size. There is no help on the way − we must pull back and defend the bridge.”
While the arguments and advice flowed, I glanced west towards the mountains and then north beyond the Welsh companies. I was surprised to see a glint of sunlight glancing off metal some miles away. I looked again, thinking I may have imagined the sight. But again I saw it. Beyond the open ground there were some woods. I was now certain that troops were hiding there. I was just about to try and get someone’s attention, when Harald barked out some orders and Aethelric nodded helplessly.
Harald and Wallace had got their way. Sabert threw a dark look at me and stomped back to his men. Wallace gave me a pat on the shoulder and then he and I went jogging back towards the company.
“Ready lads!” he shouted. “Here we go!”
The Amber Treasure Page 17
