by H A CULLEY
My father and I travelled down to Catterick, where the wedding was to take place, on a chilly day in March 762. Hilda came with us, of course, as did the two boys. Octa was now ten and Uuffa nearly eight, so each rode their own steeds. Octa’s was a small mare and Uuffa’s one of the mountain ponies I’d brought back from the Battle of the Eildon Hills. Octa used to tease his brother about the pony until they had a race up in the Cheviot Hills over broken terrain, which the more agile pony had won.
Now they rode side by side chatting about whatever boys their age talk about. Both were big lads, not a family trait. My father and I were short of stature but broad of shoulder. The boys took after their mother in that they were taller and slimmer than either I or Renweard had been as boys. Their colouring was lighter too. I was swarthy with black hair whereas my sons had skin that tanned to a more golden colour in summer and their hair was brown. If their faces hadn’t closely resembled mine I might have been suspicious about their parentage!
I had invited Renweard to come with us but he’d fallen in love at long last. As he was now thirty two he’d left it overlong. His betrothed was the widow of one of my thegns. She was twenty five and had a nine year old son and a six year old daughter. Hilda and I joked that he would find the sudden change from bachelorhood, where he could please himself, to being husband and father a rather greater transition that he imagined.
I had agreed to him becoming the thegn but, as the vill was adjacent to Alnwic, he would stay on as my shire-reeve. He was busy preparing for his own wedding and getting to know the people in his new vill and so I wasn’t too surprised when he declined the invitation.
The settlement of Catterick lay beside a small stream known as the Beck. It was surrounded by rolling countryside consisting of good pastureland, open moorland and a number of large woods. The settlement itself was dominated by a large timber church built on stone foundations.
We continued through the assortment of huts, barns and animal shelters towards the ealdorman’s hall on top of a gentle rise. Unlike the settlement, it was surrounded by a stout square palisade some twenty foot high with towers at each corner and as well as at either side of the main gate. This obviated the need for a platform over the gate itself. I was impressed. With no natural defensive features to utilise, whoever had built this fortress had nevertheless made it difficult to attack.
With the king and his party to accommodate it came as no surprise when the reeve told us, with feigned regret, that the hall was full. He called a name and a boy came running. He was well dressed for a servant, which probably indicated how wealthy his master was. He led us to an area of level ground beside the Beck about two hundred yards from the hall compound. We had the place to ourselves for a while and managed to get the tents up, put out the stakes and ropes for the horse lines and generally settle in before the next group arrived.
When Æthelwold had become king, he had appointed a new ealdorman for Berwicshire. My father had met him but I hadn’t. When he came across to greet my father and to meet Hilda and me, he brought a pretty young wife and small boy of three with him. He was only young himself – in his early twenties I guessed – and was clean shaven; unusual when the fashion was for men to grow a moustache with ends as long as they could manage.
His name was Beadurof, which meant bold in war. I thought it a somewhat pretentious name for his parents to have given their son, but that was none of his doing. He was the younger brother of the Ealdorman of Hawick, although I recalled that some time ago my father had told me that they didn’t get on.
Our servants had prepared a meal and so we invited Beadurof and his wife, Botilda, to join us. Bleddyn gave me an annoyed look and I smiled to myself. The two extra mouths to feed probably meant that the portion that he and Seward had intended for themselves would now have to be given to our guests.
I found him pleasant company and Hilda chatted away happily to Botilda. I was pleased. I would have made myself agreeable to the new lord of Berwic whether I liked him or not - one can never have too many allies – but making a friend of him was a bonus, especially as I didn’t much care for his elder brother.
The weather had been unseasonably warm for our journey down but it changed overnight. I awoke to the sound of rain pattering onto the oiled leather of the tent I shared with Hilda, the boys, Seward and Bleddyn. When I went outside to visit the latrines with my cloak wrapped around me I was surprised that it was cold as well as wet: so cold that I wouldn’t be surprised if the rain turned to sleet or even snow. It was not the weather that the king would have been hoping for.
The street that ran through the settlement had turned from hard baked earth to thick, cloying mud overnight and I was glad that we had decided to ride to the church. Of course, every other noble and their family had done likewise and there were two score of horses outside the entrance to the church. Thankfully the reeve arrived at that moment to try and restore some sort of order. He had brought every groom and stable boy he could find with him and soon the horses were being led away whilst we made our way carefully through the glutinous mud to the church door.
The fifteen year old son of the Ealdorman of Beverley slipped and fell into the stuff, quite ruining the scarlet trousers and blue cloak he was wearing. Octa and Uuffa started to laugh until I cuffed them both around the head.
‘Never laugh at the misfortune of others. It can make you an enemy for life, quite apart from the fact that it’s bad manners,’ I told them quietly.
We made the interior of the church without further incident and stood waiting patiently as it filled up. The floor was made of timber planks suspended across the gap between the stone foundation walls with supports, presumably also stone, at intervals. Not that you’d know it due to the amount of mud deposited on it from shoes and boots. Nevertheless it was superior to the usual floors of beaten earth.
My musings were interrupted by Æthelwold’s arrival. Unlike many of his brightly coloured nobles, he was dressed in a full length green woollen robe trimmed at collar and cuff with the fur from a brown bear. As these were becoming rare in Northumbria, and even in Scotland where they had been more plentiful, especially in the north, it must have been expensive. He wore the plain gold circlet with which he’d been crowned on his head.
We scarcely had to wait more than a couple of minutes before his bride came to stand by the king’s side. She wore a light blue surcoat over a dark blue under skirt. She had apparently arrived in a carriage with her husband-to-be and the delay had been so that she could be carried to the doorway to prevent the mud splattering the bottom of her skirt. She needn’t have bothered; by the time she reached the altar the mud on the floor of the church had stained the hem brown.
The service and the feast that followed were unremarkable except for something that Beadurof said to me whilst we sat drinking into the small hours.
‘Rumours are beginning to circulate that you and Æthelwold were involved in Oswulf’s murder,’ he murmured into his tankard of ale.
My heart went cold and I sobered up immediately. Had Bleddyn been bragging? It didn’t seem likely. He had a reputation for being taciturn and, even if he had been drinking, he was unlikely to have got so drunk that he became indiscreet. It just wasn’t like him. Nevertheless the rumours must have come from somewhere.
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked. ‘Has someone been telling lies?’
‘Lies? No.’
His voice was slurred and he wasn’t making much sense. What he said next sent a chill down my spine.
‘From what I heard, your son’s servant, Bleddyn, was seen carrying some clothes into Oswulf’s bed chamber. Oswulf’s servant was later found dead in the stables. I suppose someone has just put the two things together and drawn the obvious conclusion.’
His voice was still slurred but what he’d just said made perfect sense, of course.
‘Why has it taken so long for this story to start circulating I wonder? Where did you hear it?’
‘I suspect that the girl who
saw Bleddyn may have been sweet on him and kept quiet. However, she recently got married and told her husband. I gather he’s the one who’s been spreading the tale.’
I had a difficult decision to make. If someone got hold of Bleddyn and questioned him he might talk, especially if he was tortured. He wouldn’t want to betray me but most people will talk if they are in enough pain. It was a risk I couldn’t afford to take. He would have to die or disappear.
‘I’m sure it’s just coincidence,’ I said much more calmly that I was feeling. ‘I’ll have a word with the boy. Who is this girl’s husband, by the way?’
Beadurof shrugged. ‘No idea.’
I changed the subject and after a while we both left the feast; Beadurof for his bed and I to find Bleddyn.
‘Who is this girl? Do you know?’ I asked him after telling him what I’d been told.
He blushed furiously.
‘Perhaps it’s Roswitha. She made it pretty clear that she liked me.’
‘Liked you? You were eleven. How old was she?’
‘Thirteen. We didn’t do anything, well not much. I was too young, but we did kiss and fondle each other. She said she would wait until I was older. She never said anything to me about the king’s death afterwards, not even when I said goodbye to her when I came back to you, though she was very upset.’
‘Well, she continued to carry a torch for you I suppose, at least for the past two years or so; but now the cat is out of the bag.’
‘I thought I could move unnoticed. I’m sorry, lord.’
‘I don’t suppose you could do anything without her eyes being on you if she was in love. It’s not your fault.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘You have to vanish before someone thinks of questioning you. You’d be safe inside Bebbanburg but it would look suspicious if my father failed to hand you over when asked.’
‘Are you going to kill me?’
‘To be honest with you, the thought had crossed my mind, but you’ve served me too well for your death to be on my conscience. No, you can change your name and join one of my father’s knarrs as a ship’s boy.’
He smiled with relief.
‘I think I might enjoy that. Would you like me to kill Roswitha’s husband before I go? He’s a member of the king’s escort.’
‘How would that help? That would just give credence to the story.’
‘I suppose so. When do I leave?’
‘You can depart with us and then travel on to Bebbanburg, but separately from my father. If anyone asks for you I’ll say that you ran away. Does anyone in Lord Ulric’s household know you?’
‘No, I keep myself to myself.’
‘Good, what new name will you choose?’
‘I don’t know. I rather like Bleddyn. Ah, well; perhaps Acwel.’
He grinned at me to let me know he was jesting. It meant killer in English.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be flippant.’
‘No, you bloody well shouldn’t. By all that’s Holy, Bleddyn, your situation is serious, and my good name and the king’s would be in jeopardy if this story was ever given credence.’
‘I know. I apologise, lord. Perhaps Anarawd?
‘What does it mean?’
I knew Bleddyn meant son of the wolf, but my knowledge of the Brythonic languages was limited.
‘Free of shame,’ he replied with a cheeky grin.
I laughed. ‘It suits you, but a more inappropriate name for an assassin would be hard to find.’
When I said goodbye to my father I saw Bleddyn out of the corner of my eye as he slipped away into the trees. He had the horse I’d given him and a few coins together with some rough homespun clothes to change into. A few days later he would appear at the jetty near Bebbanburg on foot with a letter from my father to one of his sea captains. No doubt his horse would find its way home to Alnwic, if it wasn’t stolen en route. He would have to burn the clothes he was wearing now. Henceforth he was Anarawd the ship’s boy.
I would miss him and my sons would do so even more so. They didn’t believe me when I said that he’d run away until I explained that he was wanted for theft. What I didn’t ever tell them was that the thing he’d stolen was the previous king’s life.
~~~
Two years later Æthelwold had a son and heir. It should have been the cause for celebration but instead the king was heartbroken. His wife, Æthelthryth, had died from loss of blood shortly after her son was safely delivered. He mourned her for six months then he sent out a summons for the Witan to meet at Bebbanburg.
When I arrived there to help my father and his reeve to prepare to host the gathering I was greeted by devastating news. My father had died in his sleep the previous night. My son Octa had come with me as he was due to travel on to Lindisfarne to start his education there now that he was twelve. Hilda and Uuffa had stayed at Alnwic, as had my brother, so it fell to Octa to comfort me and to help me to cope. Apart from the meeting of the Witan, there was now a funeral to arrange.
I’m not sure how I got through the next two weeks. It all seems like a blur now. Octa was magnificent. He might have only been twelve but he got on with things. He would come to me for decisions and then get whatever I decided carried out. I think he grew from boyhood to manhood over those two weeks and I was immensely proud of him.
The funeral was held on the first day of October. It was a sunny day with barely a cloud in the sky, but the wind off the sea was bitterly cold. I had intended to ask for him to be buried on Lindisfarne but he had left instructions that he was to be laid to rest in the graveyard below the fortress beside my mother. At least the bulk of the rock on which the stronghold stood shielded us from the worst of the wind.
Once we had sent my father off with all due ceremony, Octa and I turned our attention to the meeting of the Witan the following week. One of my ancestors had built a separate hall to accommodate the king and his family on his infrequent visits so at least Octa and I wouldn’t have to vacate the lord’s hall. The warriors’ hall would be full to overflowing though with the men who’d come with me, the Bebbanburg warband and the king’s escort.
The rest of the Witan – the ealdormen, the bishops and the abbots, plus their various entourages – would have to camp outside the walls. The problem, as ever, would be water. There was a well inside the stronghold and another in the settlement, but that could only cope with the inhabitants’ requirements. Extra barrels of water would have be carted up to the fortress to cope with the extra numbers living there as it was and then there were the hundreds camping outside.
There was no river near Bebbanburg, not even a stream, so the visitors’ encampment would have to be sited several miles away on the far side of Budle Bay, upstream of where the Belford Burn ran into the sea. Either that or my men would have to cart water in barrels from there to wherever the encampment was sited.
Octa suggested that that was just too much extra trouble and I agreed with him. The nobles and the churchmen wouldn’t be happy making a five mile journey to and from the fortress every day, but they would just have to make the best of it. With any luck, they might dislike the arrangements enough that this would be the last time that the Witan met at Bebbanburg.
To add to everyone’s’ discomfort the day of the meeting dawned with the sun hidden behind clouds and the sea the colour of iron. Rain was in the air, but it was so cold that when it inevitably arrived it turned out to be a mixture of sleet alternating with short bouts of hail. This did not make for a comfortable ride from the camp the far side of Budle Bay and everyone arrived in a foul mood.
Archbishop Ecgbert entered my hall first and I greeted him with Octa at my side. Benches had been arranged in rows in the body of the hall with three chairs on the low dais at the far end. The other sixteen ealdormen, three bishops and a dozen abbots followed him and joined him at the central heath, where they tried to restore some feeling to their cold limbs. I took my seat on the dais with Octa sitting on my left.
I had no i
dea what the king’s plans for Bebbanburg and Alnwic were but I had assumed that I would inherit the former and my son was there to represent the latter. Æthelwold Moll entered grim faced and everyone stood in silence until he’d seated himself on my right. Ever since the death of his wife he’d worn nothing but a black robe but today he had chosen to put on the same green one he’d worn for his wedding. The circlet of gold on his head glinted, reflecting the dancing flames of the fire.
‘This is a sad day,’ he began. ‘Seofon, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be here for the funeral of my foster-brother but I feel his death keenly. I shall miss him and I mourn for him.’
I think that most of those present had either forgotten, or were too young, to know that he and my father had been brought up together as boys. I felt proud of the association and was grateful for his kind words.
‘Thank you, Cyning. His demise was untimely and I know that Northumbria will be all the poorer for it.’
‘Which brings me to the matter of his replacement. I am well aware that King Eadbehrt had intended to combine the shires of Alnwic and Bebbanburg to better defend the east coast of Bernicia and to make you the ealdorman after Ulfric was gone. I see no reason not to proceed with that plan, provided the Witan have no objection.’
He looked around the hall, fixing every man there with his eyes, before nodded his satisfaction.
‘So be it. Congratulations Seofon. I suggest that the combined shire should be named Islandshire as it includes Lindisfarne and the other offshore isles.’
‘Thank you, Cyning. I am most grateful.’
My head was full of what this now meant for my family and I also wondered what to do about the hall at Alnwic. However, there would be time for that later. I was meant to be presiding, but I had no idea why Æthelwold had called the meeting. His next words dumbfounded me and everyone else present. The only people who knew, it seemed, were Ecgbert and Cynewulf of Lindisfarne.
