THE POWER AND THE GLORY: Kings of Northumbria Book 4

by H A CULLEY

‘Look, I know that there are several ships at Kinneddar. Bruide may have abandoned it as his capital but it’s still his major port. When we left there were two birlinns there. It makes more sense to find the major glen that runs north east through Ardewr and up to Kinneddar and steal a ship there. Then we can sail down the east coast to Bebbanburg. I know Catinus will give us shelter.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a better plan than trying to find Prydenn overland.’

  ‘It is without a guide. Can any of your men sail?’

  ‘Several are fishermen so they can row and handle a small sail.’

  ‘Good. I know how to helm. If we stay within sight of the shore but far enough out to avoid the rocks we should be alright.’

  ‘But we still have to get to Kinneddar and steal a ship.’

  ‘Do you know where this big glen is?’

  ‘If we head south east we can hardly miss it.’

  ‘Right. Time for you to tell your men I think.’

  Morleo had been shy and withdrawn as a boy, mainly due to the animosity of his father’s wife. It was only when Fergus recognised him as his heir that he gained some self-confidence. This had been reinforced when he became king but underneath he was still the same introverted, scared little boy. Having to flee for his life had brought his insecurities to the surface again. Now, with the ebullient Ruaidhrí by his side, some of the confidence that he’d had as king returned.

  The young men who had deserted him, despite being oath-sworn to serve him unto death, had done so because he seemed beaten and they lost respect for him. Now the morale of those who were left improved immeasurably.

  The next day they found the big glen and turned north east, keeping to the higher ground. By this stage their provisions had run out and they had to rely on foraging. In the main this meant killing one of the sheep that roamed the hills every day or so. The shepherds and the boys who looked after them wisely didn’t try and challenge a group of well-armed men, but they spread the word and the local thegn rounded up enough men to confront them near a settlement called Aviemore.

  It lay inside Ardewr but was remote from any of the centres of population and so Morleo gambled that word of Bruide’s coup hadn’t reached them yet.

  ‘Greetings,’ he called out to the man who was obviously the leader. ‘It is good to see that you have come out to welcome your king.’

  This was said with a lot more confidence than he was feeling.

  ‘King? King Morleo?’ the thegn asked bewildered.

  He had only met Morleo once, when he’d attended his crowing and pledged his loyalty to him.

  ‘I beg your forgiveness, Brenin, I didn’t recognise you at first. I was told that there was a party of outlaws in the area stealing our sheep,’ he said smoothly.

  ‘I confess that we are the guilty party. I am touring my kingdom but have run short of provisions. I did try and pay for the sheep but your shepherds ran away.’

  The only clue that he wasn’t telling the truth was the rapidly blinking eyes. Ruaidhrí drew in a sharp breath and had to resist the temptation to glance at Morleo. It took skill to deceive so convincingly and he wondered just how far he really trusted his companion.

  If the thegn didn’t entirely believe Morleo’s explanation, he wasn’t about to argue with him, especially as he saw an opportunity to profit from the king’s unexpected arrival.

  ‘Perhaps you would let us off the taxes we owe for this year in exchange, Brenin, would that be acceptable?’ he asked licking his lips, not sure if he was pushing his luck too far.

  ‘Perfectly!’

  Morleo smiled. He had no idea how he’d have paid for the stolen sheep if he’d been asked to. The only one of them who had any money was Ruaidhrí and he wanted to keep that for buying provisions for the voyage south.

  ‘Good. Will you stay tonight, Brenin? We’d like to throw a feast in your honour.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Perhaps I can also talk to you about another matter on my mind?’

  The next morning Morleo, Ruaidhrí and their men woke up with thick heads. Whatever the women of Aviemore brewed it had a powerful kick. After washing in the stream he and Ruaidhrí felt a little better and went to find the thegn, whose eyes were as bloodshot as theirs.

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality last night. I have to confess that I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we arrived. We are having trouble with raids from Penntir and we clashed with a group of them a few days ago. I need to make good my losses and I’m hoping to recruit any of your young men who would like to become warriors.’

  Ruaidhrí did his best to hide his surprise at the new story that Morleo had concocted but they had discussed the need for more men to operate a birlinn. Ruaidhrí knew that even the smaller of the two birlinns at Kinneddar required a crew of at least thirty to man it properly. Not counting Morleo, they had sixteen.

  The Thegn pursed his lips before replying.

  ‘I suspected as much, Brenin. Are you still chasing them?’

  ‘No, we lost them two days ago.’

  ‘I see. How many are you hoping to recruit?’

  ‘As many as possible but at least ten.’

  ‘Ten! I doubt that as many as that would want to leave their families, though young men also seem to think that life will be more exciting somewhere else. Besides, I’m not sure I can spare so many. There are a few orphan boys who you are welcome to though.’

  ‘Useful as ships boys,’ Ruaidhrí whispered to Morleo.

  ‘How many boys?’

  ‘Six I think, I can find out. However, they range in age from quite young to nearly old enough to train as warriors.’

  It transpired that there were six orphans from nine to thirteen and all were eager to join Morleo. Another seven unmarried youths also volunteered. That made thirty of them in total, but even the thirteen year old was quite small and so they only had enough men to man twenty two oars. It would have to do.

  The new recruits had few weapons to speak of, just a few poorly made spears and shields that would fall apart after one good blow. Morleo gave the biggest of them the two swords and the two seaxes that Ruaidhrí had taken from the scouts he had slain. All of them, including all but the youngest boy, at least had a dagger of some sort and three had hunting bows.

  Later that day they set off again up the wide glen heading to where they would need to branch right towards a place called Rothes. At least now they had several guides who knew the immediate area through hunting. Morleo and Ruaidhrí relaxed a little. They still had to get around Elgin and steal the birlinn, but the two were more hopeful now.

  However, they were tempting fate. Their new recruits were beginning to suspect that the yarn they had been spun wasn’t entirely true. Why were they heading north east along the border with Penntir for a start? They had expected to be heading north-west towards Loch Ness.

  Furthermore, unbeknownst to them, the rest of Ruaidhrí’s original group hadn’t given up the chase. Their new leader, Lutrin, knew that returning without Morleo’s head would be tantamount to signing their own death warrants. It was pure luck that one of them found a scrap of cloth on the thorns of a bush just where their quarry had exited the stream. Sometime later the faint trail left by Morleo’s men led them to the wide glen.

  It took them a little time to find tracks leading north east but then they cornered a young shepherd in the hills who was only too willing to tell them about the men who had slain his younger brother not two days previously. When asked where they’d gone, the boy pointed towards Aviemore.

  ‘I swear to you that we haven’t seen King Morleo or his men,’ the thegn licked his lips and refused to look his questioner in the eye, a sure sign that he was lying.

  ‘The fugitive Morleo is no longer king,’ Lutrin sneered. ‘King Bruide now rules Ardewr. Now stop lying. Which way did they go?’

  The thegn looked helplessly towards his wife, who was standing a few yards away with their two children, a boy of nine and girl of six. Lutrin nodded his head towards the
three and his men dragged them in front of him.

  ‘You have until I count to ten to start talking or I’ll kill the girl first, then your son and, if you still don’t talk, your wife.’

  ‘Alright, alright.’ The thegn’s shoulders sunk dejectedly. ‘I’ll tell you, just let them go.’

  ‘One, two, three..’

  ‘Stop! Very well. They set off along the glen, heading north east.’

  ‘When?’

  When he hesitated the man started counting again.

  ‘Four, five..’

  ‘Yesterday,’ he said quickly, cold sweat glistening on his forehead. ‘Late morning.’

  ‘So they’ve a day’s start on us,’ Lutrin said to himself.

  Without any warning he thrust his seax into the thegn’s belly and sawed it to and fro. The man collapsed with a shriek, trying to stop his intestines escaping from the slit that had been cut in his body.

  ‘Come on, we’ll need to move fast.’

  His men got ready to leave but one called out ‘shouldn’t we fire the settlement? They’re traitors.’

  ‘No time. Get moving.’

  But he took the time to chop of the head of the thegn’s young son before he left.

  ‘Boys grow up into vengeful men,’ he muttered, almost in apology to the distraught mother.

  Meanwhile Morleo’s group were moving at a much more leisurely pace. When they stopped at a stream to drink and chew on some of the hard bread they had brought with them from the settlement, two of the new recruits who had been acting as scouts approached him nervously.

  ‘Brenin, where are we going? Do you seek another settlement to recruit more men? If so, we are going in the wrong direction. If we carry on we’ll soon be in Penntir.’

  The speaker shuffled from one foot to the other as Morleo glanced at Ruaidhrí. He seemed to be depending more and more on the Irish youth as time went on. The latter nodded back, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Gather round, I need to tell you something.’

  He swallowed, took a deep breath and then spoke briefly about Bruide’s invasion and confessed that they were making for a port in Penntir where they would be able to steal a ship to take them south into Northumbria. To his delight the new members of the group seemed to think it was all a big adventure and were quite excited, chatting amongst themselves. He had worried needlessly about how they would take the news. What no-one noticed was that one of the group seemed less enthusiastic than the rest.

  ‘One of the new men has gone,’ Ruaidhrí told him the next morning.

  ‘Gone? You mean deserted?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. He will have high tailed it back to his settlement no doubt.’ He shrugged. ‘Probably good riddance.’

  The young man felt he’d been cheated and, in any case, he was missing the girl he’d bedded recently. He’d tossed and turned, wracked with indecision the previous night, and then made his mind up to desert. He’d waited until it was his turn on guard and then slipped away. It was mid-morning before he ran into the men chasing Morleo. He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings but it was raining hard and he had his cowl over his head, trying to keep as much water from running down his neck as possible.

  ‘Describe the leader to me,’ Lutrin asked brusquely.

  ‘Uh, the thegn said it was King Morleo.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘Er, yes. That’s what Ruaidhrí called him. The others addressed him as Brenin.’

  ‘Ruaidhrí! So he has turned traitor. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when we drag him back to face King Bruide.’

  His men laughed dutifully, but the truth was most of them had liked Ruaidhrí. Not that it mattered much, they were scared to death of Bruide.

  ‘Now, make yourself useful and guide us back to where you left the bastard Morleo and his men. Don’t try any tricks or I’ll cut off your manhood.’

  ~~~

  King Oswiu was less than pleased when he heard that Wilfrid had returned to Northumbria and was claiming that the Pope himself had ordained him a bishop and appointed him to the diocese of Northumbria. Bishop Chad was equally upset.

  ‘What does the man think he’s playing at? I agreed to change the way we calculate Easter and other matters to coincide with the way the Romans do things, but I didn’t acknowledge the supremacy of the Pope.’

  His voice rasped. Eanflæd made haste to soothe him. He had complained of chest pains a few weeks ago and, for a time, he’d lost the use of his left arm, his face had fallen on that side and his speech had become slurred. He was a lot better than he was but the peculiar sound of his voice and his constant irritability didn’t seem to be improving.

  What he did next was an indicator of how much he’d changed since his collapse. Wilfrid had returned to Ripon pending his installation as Bishop of Northumbria so he was surprised to find Ealdorman Alweo at his gates one morning demanding to see him. Alweo was not alone. He had brought his twenty-five strong gesith with him. However, only Alweo was allowed into Wilfrid’s presence.

  ‘Brother Wilfrid,’ Alweo began without preamble, ‘the king has decreed that you are to leave Northumbria.’ This was said with a certain amount of relish. The two men had never liked each other.

  The other man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not Brother Wilfrid. You must have the wrong man.’

  ‘The king has deprived you of your monasteries here and at Hexham; how else should I address you?’

  ‘I am an ordained priest but, more importantly the Pope himself has consecrated me as a bishop.’

  ‘Well, then. As he’s the Bishop of Rome I suppose I should address you as bishop, but I’m not sure of where. Certainly not Northumbria; that post is more than adequately filled by Bishop Chad.’

  Wilfrid drew himself up. ‘Not any more. Pope Vitalianus has deposed him.’

  ‘Vitalianus doesn’t rule here, Oswiu does. You are to go into exile; the king doesn’t much care where.’ Alweo tried to keep the sneer out of his voice and almost succeeded.

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Then I am to arrest you and take you back to Eoforwīc where you will be imprisoned.’

  Wilfrid was soft and enjoyed the good things of life. He shuddered at the thought of being incarcerated in a cell with only the rats for company.

  ‘Very well. You may escort me to Mercia. I’m sure that King Wulfhere will welcome me.’

  Alweo scowled at the arrogance in his voice. He was tempted to punch him in his fat belly.

  ‘Be ready to leave in an hour.’

  With that he stalked out of the gates.

  It was only much later that Oswiu heard that Wulfhere had indeed welcomed him; not only that, he’d given him land on which to build a new monastery.

  ‘He’s welcome to him,’ Oswiu grunted. ‘He’ll soon find out that he’s harbouring a viper in his bosom.’

  ~~~

  Morleo and the rest of the group had settled down for the night by the time that Lutrin’s forward scouts found them. They were not as adept at moving silently at night as the two who Ruaidhrí had killed and one of the sentries heard them on the far side of the stream. Puzzled, he waited, wondering who or what was making the noise. At first he thought it might be a large animal, but then he heard another twig snap ten yards away from the first just as he discerned at stealthy movement in the region of the first noise.

  It had been raining earlier but now only the occasional drop of water descending from a leaf to the ground remained as a reminder. The clouds were still that dark grey colour that indicates further rain to come however, and so the darkness was all but complete. It had been too wet to light fires and so they had eaten a cold meal before lying down to sleep so not even the embers of a campfire illuminated the gloom. Nevertheless the sentry was certain that there were two shadows that were slightly darker than the background.

  He cautiously withdrew from his position and tried to find Morleo. However, he found Ruaidhrí first and whispered in his ear what he’d heard
and seen. The Irish youth tapped the sentry on the arm and gestured for him to return quietly to his original post. He silently drew his seax and sword from their scabbards and disappeared into the darkness.

  His big problem was not in finding the two scouts but in crossing the stream quietly. In the end he decided that brazenness was the best policy. He walked openly up to the stream’s bank and unloaded the contents of his bladder into it. As soon as the splashing sound started he stepped into the stream and, whilst still pissing, moved to the far bank. Once safely across he waited without moving to see if the scouts gave any indication that they knew he was now on their side of the stream.

  After a minute or two he detected a very faint whisper, then silence. He cautiously made his way towards where he thought the sound had come from and circled around behind it. He knew how disorientating the silence of a pitch black night could be and, for just a moment, he thought he had miscalculated; then he heard a faint movement near where he was.

  He waited, his mouth dry, trying to hear any sound from the other man the sentry had reported. He had just decided that they had gone when a man rose from the ground not five yards in front of him. He very nearly moved in for the kill but he needed to know where the other scout was. It was nearly his undoing.

  A sixth sense warned him just in time and he jabbed at the shadow behind him. He felt his sword enter somewhere on the body of the scout, but he didn’t have time to find out what damage it might have inflicted. The second man cut at him with his sword; it was a mistake. Had he thrust instead he would have beaten Ruaidhrí’s defences. As it was, he was able to let go of his sword and bring his seax up to meet the descending blade.

  The other man wasn’t expecting it and he lost his balance. As he stumbled, Ruaidhrí kicked him hard in the groin. The man doubled over in agony and Ruaidhrí slashed his seax across his throat. With a soft gurgling sound the scout fell to the ground and lay still.

  Ruaidhrí was about to relax when he heard a movement behind him. He instinctively ducked and a blade whistled over his head. He’d made the mistake of thinking that the first scout was incapacitated. However, the effort was too much for the wounded man and he stood there in pain, trying to recover.