“My lord king Oswiu wishes to meet you here and has commanded us to await your coming.”
Oswine frowned. The magpie that Cynan had seen several times that morning flapped out of the sky and landed on the matted hair of the central corpse. He recognised the body as the man he had slain with the spear thrust to the neck. The movement of the bird drew the gaze of all those gathered there.
The magpie stared back at them and let out a chattering cry. A scratch of dread ran down Cynan’s spine. He straightened himself in the saddle to cover the shiver that had shaken him.
“And who,” asked Oswine, with a sombre glance at the staked men, “are these unfortunates?”
Before Beobrand could answer, the sound of a large group of cantering horses reached them. Several of Oswine’s retinue dropped their hands onto the pommels of swords or seaxes. They were nervous. Their land had been invaded and now the king of their northern neighbours seemed to have turned against them. The corpses on display had only exacerbated an already delicate situation. Violence was in the air like the stench of a midden. Death could be upon them in moments.
At the same instant both Wulfstan and Beobrand held up their right hands, mirroring each other.
“Easy now,” Beobrand shouted out. “That is the sound of Oswiu approaching.” He shook the branch in his hand. “We meet under the bough of truce. There will be no bloodshed here today.”
Cynan looked at the black of the dried blood on the white skin of the bodies and thought it was too late for such a promise.
Oswine held Beobrand’s gaze for a moment, before raising his voice for all to hear.
“We ride under the branch of peace. No man is to draw his weapon. I would hear from Oswiu himself the reason for his actions before we use the branches of truce to light a bone-fire.”
With a great commotion, Oswiu, Ethelwin and the remaining Bernician warriors rode out from the wooded path and onto the Roman road with a clatter of hooves and jangle of harness. The men streamed out and jostled for position. Horses stamped and blew. Many whinnied in welcome at the newly arrived animals.
Oswiu, Ethelwin and Hunwald rode along the verge of the road, close beneath the gory emblems, to where Beobrand and Cynan waited. Ethelwin flicked a glance at the corpses and his face pulled into a scowl. Oswiu ignored the bloody totems.
Oswiu and Ethelwin reined in their mounts, but Hunwald continued on until he was close to the king of Deira. There he slid from the saddle and dropped to one knee before Oswine.
“My lord king,” he said. “I trust I have done well by you in accepting Oswiu, son of Æthelfrith, ruler of Bernicia, into my hall. I am as ever your oath-sworn man, and I want nothing but peace between our kingdoms, as it has been for generations. You know my wife is of Bernicia, but my loyalty is not split; I am your man, and my sword and life are yours.”
“Arise, good Hunwald,” said Oswine. “I do not doubt your honour or allegiance. It is as it should be that you show hospitality and honour to my ally and brother.”
Hunwald stood. He looked set to respond when Oswiu kicked his horse forward. Beobrand, carrying the bough of truce, followed him without comment. Ethelwin and Cynan joined them a heartbeat later. Wulfstan and a couple of other hard-faced thegns nudged their horses on to stand beside their king. A sharp word from any of them now could beckon death to that joining of paths. Cynan could almost feel Death’s wintry breath on his neck.
“You say I am your ally,” Oswiu said. “But does not an ally come to his friend’s aid in time of need?”
“He does, cousin Oswiu,” Oswine said, reminding the king of Bernicia of their kindred through his marriage to Eanflæd. “And I was on my way north to Bebbanburg when my fyrd was attacked by such a host from the lands of Gwynedd and Powys as has not been seen in this land since the battle of Catrice that the Waelisc still sing of. And like that battle long ago, we put them to flight and there was great slaughter.”
“While you lingered in Deira,” snapped Oswiu, “Bebbanburg burnt!”
Oswine took a deep breath. Colour rose in his cheeks.
“We did not tarry here,” he said, his voice clipped and taut as a bowstring. “We fought and shed our blood against the Waelisc horde. There can be no doubt that Penda meant to destroy us both, or at the very least to separate our forces so that he could attack Bebbanburg. The lord of Mercia knows that we are allies, Oswiu, even if you have forgotten.”
Sensing its rider’s mounting anger, Oswine’s horse shook its head and snorted. The king of Deira patted its neck gently, but his gaze did not leave Oswiu’s.
“We are not allies, it seems,” said Oswiu stubbornly.
Cynan wondered at the king’s words. Why did he suddenly feel such hatred towards the king of Deira?
“We are,” Oswine replied. “I have forever kept faith with you, brother.”
“We are not brothers,” said Oswiu.
“Are we not brothers in Christ?”
“Would a brother in Christ seek to slay me in the darkness? Sending his treacherous curs to stab me in the night?”
“What are you speaking of?” Oswine glanced at the bodies on the stakes. “You mean these men? I know nothing of them. They are not mine.”
“And yet they are in Deira and they sought me out at the place where I had told you I would be waiting. Are you truly going to deny all knowledge of them, brother?” He filled the last word with venom, so that it sounded like an insult.
Oswine looked at the faces of the dead men and shook his head.
“I would swear on the holy book or the bones of Christ himself, I do not know these men.”
“I have seen them before,” said Wulfstan suddenly. Both kings started and turned to him, as if they had forgotten they were not alone. Wulfstan peered at the corpses.
“Well, man, speak,” said Oswine.
“I do not know their names or from whence they came, but I saw them in the fyrd.”
“You are certain?”
Wulfstan nodded.
“They came soon after the messengers went out, but I do not know which lord they served. I remember them because they were always together. They kept themselves apart from the others, but they fought well when it came to the battle. I recall seeing them in the shieldwall. It looked to me as if they had trained together. They were not a rabble, not ceorls with spears, as we so often get sent.”
“You say you do not know whom they served?”
“No, lord. I don’t remember seeing them with any lord. But they clearly had one, for they each bore blades and byrnies.”
Oswine turned to his retinue.
“Do any of you know these men? Do you know their lord?”
Murmurs throughout the gathered men. A few rode forward to look more closely, but all gave the same shake of their head. None knew their names or the man they served. As they each gazed upon the corpses, Oswiu’s face grew darker and his impatience and anger could be sensed in the rigidity of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw.
“Enough of this foolishness,” he snapped at last. Several of the horses started and stamped at his shout. “You say these men were amongst the warriors of your fyrd, Oswine. We have all heard this. So they are your men, and they came upon me in the night with naked blades and death in their hearts.”
“I do not know them,” said Oswine. “None of my men know who they were.”
“Enough! They were your men and you sent them to slay me. For too long you have had your covetous eye on my lands, Oswine. But now you have gone too far.”
“Oswiu,” the king of Deira held his hands with the palms up, “I did not do this thing, and now is not the time to break our alliance. Penda and the Waelisc will make quick work of us if we are not united. Think on it. Perhaps these men were sent by one who wishes to weaken us both. If you were to be killed, Deira would lose an ally and Bernicia would be thrown into chaos at the loss of their king.”
“No!” shouted Oswiu, spittle flying from his lips. Again Cynan was shocked at the s
trength of his loathing towards Oswine. Had it always been there, hidden beneath the surface of the alliance between their kingdoms? “No,” Oswiu repeated, his voice calmer now. “From this moment on we are no longer allies. We are foe-men, you and I. Your actions have brought war between our kingdoms, Oswine.”
“Cousin,” implored Oswine, “do not do this thing. Think!”
“It is done. We will ride from this place in peace, as, unlike you and your treachery, I respect the truce we have between us. But know this, the next time our paths cross, there will be blood.” He pointed up to the five bodies that stared down from their perches. “Those will not be the last Deirans I have placed on stakes.”
Without awaiting a reaction, Oswiu swung his horse’s head around and rode back along the line of Bernicians. Beobrand, Ethelwin and Cynan pushed their horses forward instinctively, to ward off any attack that might be aimed at their king. But none came. Cynan could not believe what he had witnessed. Oswiu must be mad to have thrown away his strongest ally at the time of the kingdom’s greatest need. Gods, would they ever be free of war?
A movement caught his eye and he readied himself to pull his blade from its scabbard. But it was not an attack. It was Wulfstan, raising his hands and eyebrows questioningly at Beobrand. The lord of Ubbanford shook his head. The meaning was clear: Beobrand had no idea why Oswiu was acting thus.
Backing Sceadugenga away from the Deirans, Beobrand raised his voice.
“Follow the king,” he shouted. “There is nothing more for us here.”
The Deirans watched grim-faced and angry as the Bernicians wheeled their mounts around and rode after their king.
Chapter 41
They returned to Hunwald’s hall, riding in silence back through the dappled sunlight beneath the trees. Ethelwin ordered the men to stand guard in case Oswine decided they were no longer under the protection of truce. Dismounting before the hall, Beobrand nodded to his gesithas to join the others in watching the road.
“I do not think we will remain here for long,” he said to Cynan in a low voice. “Keep the men close and your eyes and ears open.”
He handed Sceadugenga’s reins to Cynan and followed Oswiu, Ethelwin and Reodstan into the shadowed interior of the building. After the warm sunshine of the afternoon, filled with the chirping of birds, the whisper of wind in the high ash and oak, the burble of the brook and the clatter of hooves and chatter of conversations, the hall seemed dark and strangely quiet. The smell of ash, roasted meat and spilt ale lingered in the still air. As the king and thegns entered, Frythegith hurried forward from the rear of the hall to greet them. Her eyes flicked to her brother, who offered her a small nod.
“Hunwald is well. He is with Oswine.”
The lady bowed her head.
“I forget myself,” she said, standing tall once more. “Waes hael once more, lord king.”
Two thralls leapt up from where they had been waiting at the rear of the hall.
“Bring mead,” she said. “And meat.”
The slaves rushed to bring food and drink. The newly arrived men sank onto a bench at the side of the room. Frythegith remained standing awkwardly before them.
They sat in silence for a moment, each wondering what would happen now. Beobrand wanted to scream at Oswiu, to yell that the man was a fool to plunge them into yet another war. Instead, he chewed his lower lip and kept his thoughts to himself. If he had learnt anything these past years it was that shouting your anger was not always the best way to make your opinion known. Also, when a king had made a decision, he would not change it because one of his thegns told him it was a mistake. Kings were perhaps the most stubborn of all men, convinced of their own worth beyond all reason.
The thralls returned with a pitcher of mead and cups. Outside, Beobrand could hear Cynan shouting at the men, giving orders. He smiled thinly to himself. The young Waelisc had learnt much since he had taken him in. Beobrand felt a glow of pride in seeing the man grow beyond a good swordsman and rider into a leader of men. He wished Acennan could have lived to see it.
Frythegith filled their cups.
Oswiu stood up abruptly, sending the lady of the hall and the thralls away with a flick of his hand. He glowered at Beobrand.
“Is something funny?”
Beobrand realised he had still been smiling at the thought of Cynan and how proud Acennan would have been of him. He met Oswiu’s gaze, changing his smirk for a grave scowl.
“No, lord,” he said. “I find nothing to be amused by.”
Oswiu frowned.
“You have something you would like to say to me?” he said, his tone as sharp and as deadly as a stake of ash wood.
For an instant, Beobrand considered telling the king exactly what he thought of his decisions, but he shook his head.
“You are my lord and king,” he said. “It is not for me to question you.”
Oswiu snorted.
“No, it is not. But I can see the judgement on your face as plain as if you had shouted it.” He took a swig of mead. “You think me a fool.”
Beobrand sighed. It seemed Oswiu would have him speak. He hesitated, picking his words carefully.
“I think that Bernicia can scarce afford a war with Deira. Oswine does not want it. Perhaps it would be best to reconsider, lord.”
“What do you know of what Oswine wants?” snapped Oswiu. “If he did not want war with me, he should not have sent murderers to take my life.”
Beobrand regretted having spoken, but now there was no way out of this.
“Oswine says he did not send the men. And I have told you, the killers were sent by Vulmar to murder me. Not you, lord king.”
Oswiu looked up at the soot-draped rafters in exasperation.
“By Christ’s teeth, man,” he shouted, “you are nobody! Those men came to slay a king, not a lowly thegn.”
Beobrand took a deep breath. He could feel his anger straining at its fetters within him. He gripped his cup tightly and took a long draught, vowing to himself to remain silent in future. No good could come from talking to Oswiu.
Perhaps sensing Beobrand’s mounting rage, Ethelwin stood and joined Oswiu in his nervous pacing.
“None of that matters now, lord,” he said. “We cannot stay here. We must return to Bebbanburg. There we can begin to make preparations for the coming war.” Ethelwin’s expression was grim. Beobrand knew there was nothing to be gained from arguing further with Oswiu. Nothing would dissuade the king, so they would need to ready themselves for more fighting, more death.
Shouts from outside. The door to the hall swung open. Cynan was there, shadowed against the golden late afternoon brightness.
“Lord Hunwald has returned,” he said.
Moments later, Hunwald strode into the hall. He approached Oswiu and dropped to one knee before him.
“Lord king,” he said, “I pray to the Almighty in Heaven that you will still consider me a friend of yours and of Bernicia.”
Oswiu took hold of the man’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet.
“Of course, man,” he said. “I understand that you have given your oath to Oswine. And a man’s oath is all, is it not, Beobrand?”
Beobrand frowned, and Oswiu laughed.
“Tell me, Hunwald,” he said, “what will Oswine do now?”
“I cannot say for sure,” Hunwald said, his nervousness making his words jump and start like fat on a griddle. “But he does not wish to fight the might of Bernicia. His thegns and ealdormen are angry at your words, but have little appetite for battle after facing the Waelisc with such losses.”
Oswiu nodded.
“Good, good.”
Beobrand watched the two men talking. What game was Oswiu playing? And where did Hunwald fit into it? What piece was this Deiran lord on the great tafl board of kings?
“So he will hold to the truce?” Oswiu asked.
“I believe so, lord king,” Hunwald replied. “He will let you ride from here in peace.”
“Then we shoul
d leave before he changes his mind,” growled Reodstan, his face even redder than usual. Beobrand met his gaze and could see that the man, like him, wanted to be far from this place. Perhaps he too was biting his tongue to keep from shouting out his dismay at Oswiu’s actions.
“We will rest one more night here in your fine hall,” Oswiu said to Hunwald.
Hunwald was pale, whether from the fear that he was harbouring his oath-sworn king’s enemy, or the thought of having to provide food and drink again for sixty hungry men, Beobrand could not tell. Perhaps he was unnerved and anxious about both things.
After the briefest hesitation, Hunwald clapped his hands. Frythegith came from the shadows at the rear of the hall.
“Husband?” she said, bowing before them. “I give you joy at your return.”
“See that food and drink is prepared for our guests.”
The woman’s face was impassive as she bowed once more and bustled away, giving orders to the thralls and servants.
“You have a good woman there, Hunwald,” said Oswiu. “I thank you both for your hospitality.” He clasped Hunwald’s shoulder. “I will not forget it.”
The king said no more, but the implication was clear: one day, he would repay Hunwald for his aid.
“Thank you, lord,” Hunwald stammered. “I just pray that tonight will be less eventful than yestereve.”
Oswiu drained the contents of his cup.
“I too pray that we should get some rest this night.” He held out his cup, and after a signal from Hunwald, one of the thralls scurried over and refilled it. “But such a thing cannot go unpunished.”
A scratch of unease prickled the back of Beobrand’s neck. Was death to the would-be killers and a war with Deira not punishment enough?
As if he could imagine Beobrand’s thoughts, Oswiu turned his attention to the Cantware thegn.
“God demands an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.”
“We killed the men who attacked us,” Beobrand said. “That is five teeth for one.”
“Those men were nithings. They were not lords, not men of worth, with halls and thralls of their own. Even their king did not know of their names. No. Their deaths are nothing when compared against the killing of my trusted servant, Fordraed.”
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