by H A CULLEY
By the time that her mother woke the little girl had got rid of the plague, but it had left her very weak. Not only had she had no nourishment but fighting the disease had taken everything out of her. She didn’t even have the energy to move and it would be two months before she returned to normal. During that time the nun and her mother took it in turns to wash her, feed her, take her to the toilet, and get her muscles working again.
By the time that Ælfflaed was able to walk again without assistance, the two women had developed a deep bond and Eanflæd was loathe to leave. If Oswiu hadn’t returned to Whitby at that time to visit her and to check on their daughter’s progress, she might well have decided to become a nun. As it was, she realised that the ordeal she had been through had changed her – and in more ways than one.
Wilfrid was about to return to Ripon now that the epidemic looked as if it was over and came to say farewell to the queen.
‘Your daughter has made an excellent recovery, Síþwíf, thanks be to Almighty God. The recuperative powers of the young never fail to amaze me.’ He smiled at her and she smiled back. ‘I presume that you will be returning to Eoforwīc and the king soon?’
Eanflæd’s bright smile vanished.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Wilfrid. One thing I have learned over the past month or two is that I do love Oswiu, but I also love my daughter. She is even more precious to me since I nearly lost her; and I like the life here. It is so peaceful and I feel contentment in a way that I don’t when I have to play the queen.’
‘What about Ecgfrith? He’s also your child.’
Wilfrid was panicking slightly, though he took care not to show it. He had taken a great deal of trouble to cultivate Eanflæd. As queen, especially once she was back at Oswiu’s side, she would be a most useful ally. Alchfrith was already a strong supporter but he was only Sub-king of Deira and had little real power. Wilfrid was ambitious, not only for himself, but he yearned to replace the Celtic Church in Northumbria with the Roman Church. The odds were heavily stacked against him but Eanflæd had been brought up in Frankia and Kent so she was already in favour of Rome. He knew he needed her help.
‘Ecgfrith?’ She was puzzled for a moment. ‘He’s fourteen now and will soon become a warrior.’
‘Yes, but in the king’s gesith, no doubt. At least you will see him often. You won’t if you become a nun.’
‘So you want me to return to my husband’s side rather than devote the rest of my life to Christ? That’s a strange attitude for a churchman to take, isn’t it?’
Wilfrid had to think quickly. Not only would he lose the queen’s influence if she stayed at Whitby but Oswiu might well blame him for her loss.
‘Síþwíf, I honestly think you can better serve God as Queen of Northumbria than you can as a nun. After all you have a unique position to help the Pope in his struggle to unite the Church in the west, whereas there are many nuns. You are young yet and there will be plenty of time later for you to enter a monastery, if that is what you desire.’
She was not a fool. She knew what Wilfrid was saying. Few kings lived long enough to die of old age, and she was a lot younger than Oswiu. She was not unaware of the struggle between the Celtic Church and the Pope; she had argued enough with Oswiu over the differences in doctrine and other contentious issues, like calculating the date of Easter, to know that the polarisation between Rome in the south and the Celtic monks in the north was unsustainable.
It wasn’t just that either. The Roman Catholic Church was a hierarchy with the Pope as its leader supported by bishops and priests. In the Celtic Church the monastery was the pinnacle on which all else depended. There were bishops and priests, of course, but they had all been monks first and the abbot was seen as superior to the bishop.
Bishops and abbots under Rome were also acquiring secular power and wealth, which was anathema to the Celtic monks. Wilfrid was honest enough to admit to himself that he hated the ascetic lifestyle of Finan and the Celtic monks. He enjoyed luxury, eating well and the other trappings of wealth.
In the end Wilfrid managed to persuade her to return to the arms of her husband. Eanflæd set off on a cold, icy morning in February not altogether sure that the welcome she would get from Oswiu wouldn’t be as frosty as the weather.
CHAPTER SEVEN – PEACE AND RECONCILIATION
659/661 AD
Catinus was euphoric one minute and full of concern the next. Leoflaed had just told him that she was almost sure that she was pregnant again. It certainly explained the sudden bouts of sickness she’d been experiencing lately. For a dreadful moment she thought she might have fallen victim to the plague but it seemed to have passed Bebbanburg by.
But it wasn’t the plague that bothered him. Oswiu was making a tour of the north of his kingdom and planned to stay at Bebbanburg for several days. It wasn’t the presence of the king that bothered Catinus; it was the size of his entourage and, to add to his problems, that of the queen who would be accompanying him.
The days when Oswiu would travel around with just his chaplain, his gesith and a few servants were gone. Now he was accompanied by several nobles and their retinues, a horde of administrators and clerks, several priests in addition to his chaplain, Conomultus, and Abbot Wilfrid, who seemed to have attached himself to the king like a leech. Furthermore, the queen would be accompanied by her chaplain and her own servants.
All in all he would have to find accommodation for some one hundred and twenty people in addition to the seventy who normally lived there. Even if he only housed the king, his gesith, his servants and the queen and hers in the fortress, he would have to move most of his own people out. They and the rest of the court would have to camp elsewhere. However, there was no source of fresh water nearby for the camp. The fortress had a well, as did the vill, but the latter was some distance from the flat land near the fortress that was otherwise the most suitable for a camp. The nearest fresh running water was a couple of miles away.
It was Leoflaed who came up with the solution. The northern section of the palisade was built around the high ground where his hall and the warriors’ hall were located. She suggested that they extended the fortress to encompass the area to the north. It consisted of two reasonably flat areas divided by a slope. They would build a large hall of wattle and daub with a thatched roof fairly quickly on the nearest area of flat ground, which they would occupy with their family and gesith pro tem. The king and queen would be housed in their hall, which was the old king’s hall in any case, and his gesith and some servants would be accommodated in the warriors’ hall. The clerks and the rest of the entourage would have to camp in the lower of the two flat areas inside the fortress.
It would, of course, be expensive but Catinus decided that he had little choice. When he had the time and more money he would extend the palisade to enclose the new buildings and improve them as suitable guest accommodation for the next royal visit.
Oswiu was surprised at the new extension and told Catinus that he hadn’t expected him to have to move out. He added that he would have been happy to camp to the west of the fortress.
‘But there’s no water there, Cyning.’
‘No, but it would have been far cheaper for you to get your cooper to make some water barrels and hire some carts.’
As it was, the well inside the fortress had problems coping with the demand and Catinus still had to resort to buying a few barrels and hiring carts to bring water in from the river a few miles away.
The following morning Oswiu left with Conomultus and six of his gesith to travel to Lindisfarne. Wilfrid had asked to accompany the king but he had told him in no uncertain terms that to do so wouldn’t be appropriate. He wanted a private conversation with Finan and Wilfrid’s presence would have made that impossible. He did, however, invite Catinus to accompany him.
It was a fine day, sunny with a gentle breeze off the sea, which put everyone in a good mood. Apart from the noise of the horses in motion, the only sounds were the distant bleating of sheep on a distant
hillside and the cry of seagulls.
‘I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for sorting out the situation in Strathclyde for me,’ the king told him as they rode along, side by side.
‘Thank you, Cyning, but it was more luck than anything, especially running across Lethlobar.’
‘Sneaking into the fortress and capturing the main gate wasn’t luck. It was clever and bold.’
‘Perhaps. Hopefully Elfin will now remain an ally and rule for some time.’
‘Have you heard that Domangart of Dalriada is ill?’
‘Yes; I gather he is likely to die. Who will succeed him?’
‘Domangart’s only son died last year so I suspect it will one of the two sons of Connal; either Máel Dúin or Domnall Dhu. Neither are likely to prove friendly considering that Oswald and I helped to depose and kill their father.’
‘Where will that leave King Eochaid and his son Lethlobar? They are still allied to Dalriada, even if they are no longer subject to the high king.’
Oswiu looked at Catinus in surprise.
‘Are you a mind reader? I want you to go to Ulster and sound out your friend Lethlobar for me. Eochaid is in his late fifties now and somewhat frail. His son is the real ruler of the Ulaidh.’
Catinus’ heart sank. He had hoped to remain at Bebbanburg, at least until his second child was born. However, there was nothing to be done about it. He owed everything to Oswiu and he would just have to put a brave face on it.
‘At least I don’t have to worry about the south for now,’ Oswiu went on. ‘You know that Wessex have pushed the Britons back across the River Sabrina?’
‘Yes, at last they seem to have a defensible border with the Welsh.’
‘Quite; but that hasn’t pleased Wulfhere. He is obviously worried that Cenwahl of Wessex is becoming too powerful.’
‘Won’t you have to support King Cenwahl if it comes to war?’
‘No, I promised Wulfhere I would no longer come to the aid of Wessex when we reached the agreement by which he became King of Mercia. Cenwahl is aware, of course, even if he doesn’t like it much. However, I’ve arranged a betrothal between my son Ecgfrith and Audrey, Anna’s daughter. I want East Anglia as an ally in the east as insurance just in case Mercia ever thinks of invading Northumbria again.’
At that moment they arrived at the beginning of the strand that separated Lindisfarne from the mainland. The tide was halfway out but coming in fast. This didn’t deter Oswiu and he galloped across the sands with his escort trailing behind him. By the time he reached the far side and climbed up into the dunes his horse’s hooves were splashing in the incoming waves. Catinus looked at his king with disbelief. Such recklessness in a youth he could understand, but not in a mature, almost elderly, man. Oswiu’s face shone with pleasure at beating the tide and Catinus realised that here was a man who delighted in taking risks and winning, even now when he was in his late forties. He looked quizzically at his brother who just shrugged and grinned. He was used to Oswiu’s sudden whims and nothing the king did surprised him now. By the time that the last man had struggled to safety the sea was fetlock deep.
They rode across the island to the monastery where Abbot Finan awaited them, together with the prior, a monk called Colman. As it was such a warm day, Finan suggested that he and the king should take a walk as they chatted. Catinus, Conomultus and Colman followed them out of earshot.
‘Do you know why the king has come?’ the prior asked them.
Catinus shrugged, eager to avoid such a loaded question from a man he didn’t know. However, after an uncomfortable silence Conomultus answered him.
‘Only that he seeks Finan’s advice.’
He paused, then decided to answer more fully. After all, the Prior of Lindisfarne could prove to a valuable ally.
‘My guess would be that, having become reconciled with the queen, he is troubled by the fact that he was brought up on Iona and espouses the faith preached by the Celtic Church whilst his wife resolutely follows Rome. The situation is not helped by the influence of Abbot Wilfrid of Ripon. He has recently converted the king’s son, Alchfrith, to the Roman Church.’
‘Wilfrid! That snake in the grass!’
‘You know him?’
‘When I arrived as a novice the year after you left I was told of the problems that you and Eata had with him.’
Conomultus only grunted but Catinus replied for him.
‘My brother probably wants to forget him. I heard that Wilfrid ended up at Cantwareburg before forging a reputation for himself as something of a scholar in Frankia and in Rome. I seem to remember also that he was the ill-fated Eorl of Hexham’s son.’
‘Yes, Oswiu may have forgotten, but Wilfrid has no cause to love him after what happened to his father,’ Conomultus replied.
‘He was banished to Iona wasn’t he?’ Catinus asked.
‘Yes. His other son, Rægenhere, is a monk here on Lindisfarne. Thankfully he’s nothing like either his father or his brother,’ Colman replied.
‘You seem to think that this Wilfrid is likely to pose a problem for the king?’ Catinus asked his brother.
‘He has every reason to hate Oswiu, and his influence with the queen and with Alchfrith of Deira means that he’s in a position to tear the family apart if he wanted too. However, he is a vain and ambitious man so he may have some other goal in mind.’
~~~
Cuthbert was rather surprised when Eata told him that Wilfrid had asked for him to move to Ripon as his guest-master. Melrose had its fair share of passing travellers but Ripon was rapidly becoming a much more important monastery and, being just off the old Roman road to the north, it was now a major staging post for travelling nobles and merchants. Somehow Wilfrid had heard of Cuthbert and, as a man who always wanted the best, he’d evidently decided that he had to have him. No doubt being an eorl’s son helped.
‘I’m not sure I should go, father abbot.’
‘I loathe Wilfrid but Melrose is a mere daughter house of Lindisfarne and a poor one at that. Ripon is Oswiu’s foundation and boasts a stone church built in the fashion of the grand churches of Frankia and Italia, or will do when it is eventually complete. It will be important in due course and this is a real opportunity for you, Cuthbert.’
‘Father Abbot, you know very well that I detest grandeur and pomp. There is nothing that I’ve heard about Wilfrid that makes me admire him, except perhaps his scholarship.’
‘That is the reason I think you should accept. You will learn much more from him than you ever will from me.’
‘But I don’t seek to become a theologian. I merely want to serve Our Lord to the best of my ability.’
‘And do you think you can do that better here than at Ripon.’
Cuthbert thought for a moment. Eata’s encouragement for him, an aesthetic Celtic monk, to join the haughty and ambitious Roman cleric at Ripon had puzzled him and first; now he understood why.
‘You want a friend at court?’
Eata laughed. ‘I can’t fool you, can I? Yes, Wilfrid is a real threat to the authority of the Celtic Church in the north. Oswiu is under pressure from his wife and son as well as the odious Wilfrid to accept the supremacy of Rome. Only Bishop Finan and his confessor, Conomultus, are on our side. This isn’t a battle in the sense that you understand it, but it is a fight nevertheless. I’m thankful that Deusdedit of Cantwareburg is busy consolidating his own position in the south as the first Anglo-Saxon archbishop to be overly concerned with us. I thought that the absence abroad of Rome’s greatest advocate in the North, James the Deacon, might have led to a respite in the struggle between the two churches in Northumbria, but Wilfrid is proving to be an even more formidable foe.’
‘And that’s how you regard him, as our enemy?’
‘Yes, Jesus never intended us to be powerful in the secular sense or to be rich. We are the servants of even the poorest in the land, but Roman clerics seem to covet the trappings of the nobility. The Pope is their monarch and the bishops their
princes. It’s wrong.’
‘So what is it you expect of me, Eata? Am I to be your spy at Ripon? I don’t think I would be very comfortable with that.’
‘No. You should know me better than to think I would ask that of you. I do hope, though, that you can use your influence to keep the monks there true to their calling.’
‘I see. You want me to earn their respect and persuade them to follow a life of poverty and devotion only to God and to eschew the lures of Mammon?’
‘Precisely. You will have an ally in the prior – a man called Sebbi - but he is not a strong enough character to resist Wilfrid. Fortunately the latter is rarely there; he is too busy currying favour with and seeking funds from his royal patrons.’
‘And you think I’m the man to lead them in resisting their abbot?’
‘I wouldn’t have put it like that exactly but, yes; I think you have the force of personality to lead the monks along the right path.’
A fortnight later Cuthbert arrived at the new monastery at Ripon to find Wilfrid was still away – once again staying with King Alchfrith at Loidis. He soon realised that Alchfrith’s advocacy of the Roman Church posed a far greater danger than the disloyalty of the monks to their Celtic heritage. Almost universally they wore the Celtic tonsure and followed the Celtic rites, including the celebration of Easter on the date of the Jewish Passover. Diplomatically they also celebrated it on the date laid down by the Roman Church - that is the first Sunday after the first full moon following the Vernal Equinox. Wilfrid had tried to forbid their observance of the Celtic Easter but they had ignored him.
Cuthbert first met his new abbot after he had been at Ripon for three weeks. He rode into the courtyard in front of the new church that had now reached the stage where the timber rafters were being placed on the top of the side walls. Wilfrid was mounted on a horse that was more suited to a noble than a cleric and was dressed in a soft woollen habit died a light brown, quite a contrast to the rough homespun ones worn by the rest of the monks. Over this he wore an oiled red cloak pinned at the neck by a gold broach fashioned as an intricate pattern of intertwined snakes.
