by H A CULLEY
The six warriors fled back up the roadway. At the end they ran through the curious structure that Catinus had installed. It consisted of two very tall tree trunks that looked like ships’ masts with a length of palisade secured in mid-air between the top half of the masts.
What few realised was that the length of palisade was held in place by two stout chains, the lower ends of which ended in two small huts at the base of the masts. These were kept locked in order to conceal the windlasses they contained. Now their doors were open and, as soon as the six men had run past, the windlasses let out the chains slowly and the length of palisade descended until it rested on the roadway.
Secured in place by the two stout masts behind each end, it blocked the exit from the roadway which had now become a killing zone. As the invaders ran into the fortress those in the lead realised the danger, but those behind them, eager to kill, rape and plunder, crowded in until the press of men was a solid mass. Those still trying to get through the outer gates didn’t realise what the delay was and, in their eagerness, they pushed all the harder at their fellows in front of them.
Then the killing began. Arrows, spears and javelins rained down on the trapped men from Frankia and Rheged. Some of the former wore chain mail or thick leather jerkins but few of the latter possessed them. Panic set in as men died and more were crushed to death, unable to move. Then rocks rolled down chutes set at intervals along the wall and the palisade above them, each one pulverising scores to death.
Finally word reached those at the rear about the trap that they’d fallen into and the pressure suddenly eased as the rearmost ranks stopped pushing and fled down the hill. Those still alive inside the killing zone picked their way over the piles of corpses whilst still being bombarded with arrows and spears before they too disappeared back into the darkness.
‘How many dead?’ Catinus asked Eadstan the next morning.
‘Three hundred and seventy two.’
‘And wounded?’
‘None. The throats of those still alive were cut during the night.’
Catinus grimaced. The bodies would have been looted of any armour, weapons, silver arm rings and anything else of value they might have been wearing or carrying. It wasn’t surprising that the wounded would have been killed in the process. No doubt fingers would have been cut off to get at rings too.
The two men walked down to the gate accompanied by Rægenhere, who had been invited along to see if he could identify anyone. The corpses had been dragged outside the gates and laid out along the hillside for the enemy to come and reclaim for burial.
‘Most of the dead are the Franks I think, though it’s difficult to be sure as they’ve been stripped of everything except for tunics and trousers. The Britons of Rheged don’t wear ribbons tied around their lower legs though, and most of these do.’
‘Do you see anyone you recognise?’
‘He was one of the Frankish captains and so was he,’ the priest replied.
‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that Alchfrith is one of the dead?’ Eadstan asked.
‘No, I can’t see him. It’s not his style to be at the forefront of the fighting though. He’d have waited until the fortress was secured before venturing inside.’
Catinus went back inside and climbed back up to the top of the watchtower. He studied the enemy encampment and smiled grimly when he saw most of the Franks were taking down their tents prior to heading back to the ships. They’d evidently had enough. Mercenaries expected to suffer some casualties, but to lose a third of their number in a single night was not what they had signed up for.
As he watched Alchfrith appeared from his tent and appeared to be arguing with one of the Franks, presumably their leader. The man brushed past the erstwhile prince, who stamped his foot in frustration.
Even more encouragingly, the warband and fryd from Rheged also started to dismantle their camp. Catinus wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. The mercenaries could sail back to Frankia, enlist with another leader and be safe from Ecgfrith’s reprisals; not so the Britons from Rheged, unless they too fled abroad.
By mid-afternoon the only sign that Bebbanburg had been under siege was the mud and detritus where the camp had been and the unburied bodies by the main gates. Even Alchfrith and his gesith had fled westwards. Catinus sent four of his best scouts to track them and see where they went whilst he set about organising every available man to dig a deep pit. The bodies were covered in oil and burned and then covered in quick-lime before being covered over with earth.
The burial of the dead had been unpleasant work and a sombre mood descended on the fortress. The thegn and his people went back to repair the damage done by the invaders to their homes and recover the livestock they had taken up into the hills whilst Leoflaed told the reeve to get the roadway by the gate washed clean of blood. Even so the stench of death seemed to hang over the area until heavy rains completed the job.
Three days after Alchfrith had left Ecgfrith arrived with Alweo and a hundred and fifty mounted warriors.
‘You seem to have managed very well without me, Catinus.’
‘Thank you, Cyning. However, it wasn’t difficult once we realised that there were enemy agents in our midst. I’m most grateful to Rægenhere for making me aware of the plot.’
‘Rægenhere? Wilfrid’s brother? I thought he was Alchfrith’s chaplain.’
‘He was, but he argued with him when he knew he was attempting to seize the throne.’
It was embroidering the truth somewhat but he owed the priest that much at least.
‘I see. Well it seems that I too am in his debt in that case. I’ll have to see what I can do for him as he is presumably now without employment.’
Catinus thought that, like many powerful men, he made promises he fully intended to keep but then forgot. He was therefore pleasantly surprised later on when Rægenhere was given the post of prior at a new monastery that Ecgfrith had decided to pay for at Jarrow.
Four days after the king arrived Catinus’ scouts returned.
‘Cyning, your brother had fled north into Pictland.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘King Drest told us that he had refused him sanctuary and that he’s now sought refuge with Bruide, King of Penntir.’
‘Catinus, you and your man Ruaidhrí know Penntir well. I want you to go there and demand that Bruide sends me Alchfrith’s head.’
‘Cyning, I spent two years on Lindisfarne with Bruide and I was his closest councillor when he became king. He’s ambitious, totally ruthless and reacts badly to threats. If Catinus and I go there to demand your brother’s head, it’ll be ours that Bruide sends back to you.’ Ruaidhrí said before Catinus could respond.
‘What do you suggest then? I cannot rule with the threat that he may repeat his attempt to seize the throne hanging over me.’
‘Offer to pay him for your brother,’ suggested Catinus.
‘Yes, that might work; not that I want Alchfrith back alive, just his head will suffice. It was your suggestion so you can take the offer to Bruide.’
~~~
When he had left four years before, Catinus had hoped that he would never ever see the jetty at Kinneddar again; yet here he was back once more. Uurad, his body servant, viewed the place with mixed feelings. He had been born and spent the first dozen years of his life there. However, his family had fled with the rest of the fisher folk when King Morleo of Ardewr and Ruaidhrí had escaped from Bruide’s clutches.
Morleo had returned with help from King Oswiu and regained his kingdom from Bruide, something that was hardly likely to endear Oswiu’s successor to him.
The place was even more run down than when Ruaidhrí had last seen it. There was one knarr tied up to the jetty and a few fishing boats on the nearby beach but there were few people about, and those that were visible disappeared as soon as the birlinn sailed into the river mouth and moored alongside.
The men he sent out came back to report that there were no horses to be had, only a few po
nies. They would need those to carry equipment, so Catinus was forced to set out on foot for Bruide’s capital at Elgin, six miles upriver. He was saddened to see that the prosperous settlement he had built when he was the regent during Bruide’s minority had turned into the dilapidated ruins he now saw around him. He left the crew behind to guard the birlinn and set out with Uurad and his gesith for Elgin.
They had disembarked just after noon but it was mid-afternoon when they arrived near Elgin to find their progress barred by a warband of some fifty warriors.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ a man standing in front of the Pictish warriors asked in a language that was like Hibernians Gaelic but which wasn’t too dissimilar to the Brythonic tongue spoken in Strathclyde and Rheged.
‘I’m Ealdorman Catinus, emissary of King Ecgfrith of Northumbria. You should remember me, Oengus, from when I ruled here during King Bruide’s minority.’
‘Eorl Catinus? I wouldn’t have recognised you. You look old now, your hair and your beard have turned grey.’
‘It wasn’t that many years ago, Oengus, but I grant you that my hair is turning white now. I’m no longer an eorl but an ealdorman.’
‘I don’t understand the difference but it’s good to see you again; whether my cousin Bruide will be as pleased to see you is another matter. I take it, as you come here as the representative of Ecgfrith, that it’s about his half-brother Alchfrith?’
‘He is here than?’
‘Yes, worse luck. The man’s a pain. He does nothing but complain about everything. If he doesn’t like the way we Picts live he can piss off somewhere else,’
Catinus laughed and he followed Oengus through Elgin to the king’s hall. The place hadn’t changed much since he was last there. He’d seen pig sties that looked cleaner and smelt better.
However, Oengus’ blunt comment about his aging appearance had troubled him. He was only forty two but he looked much older. His swarthy face was now lined and his cheeks were hollow, something his salt and pepper beard hid to some extent, but the overall impression was of gauntness. He’d lost weight too. His sons were only ten and six and he worried that he might die before one of them was old enough to inherit as Ealdorman of Bebbanburg.
He doubted now that it would be the eldest, Alaric. He made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be a monk. On the other hand Osfrid couldn’t wait until he was old enough to start training as a warrior. If he was to be his father’s heir Catinus would have to live another dozen years.
Bruide’s welcome was less than friendly. He sat on a throne twice as big as he was on a platform raised six feet above the level of the rest of his hall. Access was via steps guarded by four warriors whose visible areas of skin were completely covered in tattoos. Most Pictish men had some, but not in such profusion. The area under the platform was curtained off and Catinus presumed that was the king’s bedchamber.
The place stank of sweat, body odour, urine and stale beer. This was masked to some extent by the smoke from the central hearth which had failed to find an exit through the small hole in the roof.
‘Catinus, I had hoped never to see you again.’
‘Brenin, I come in peace as the emissary of King Ecgfrith. May we speak in private?’
‘No, we may not. I have no secrets from my nobles and warriors.’
‘It’s a rather delicate matter concerning one of those present.’
‘If you mean Alchfrith, say so. No doubt Ecgfrith wants me to kill his brother for him. How much is he prepared to pay?’
Catinus saw Alchfrith tense. He went to say something but evidently changed his mind.
‘I’ve brought a chest of silver with me, Brenin.’
Two of his gesith carried a small chest and put it down at Catinus’ feet.
‘Silver or gold?’
‘Silver,’ Catinus replied surprised.
It was the common precious metal in use; gold was available but its use as currency was rare. It was mainly reserved for jewellery and the ornamentation of other precious artefacts.
‘What weight?’
‘Fifty pounds, Brenin.’
‘Not enough. Two hundred is my price.’
‘I fear that is all I’m authorised to pay you and all I have brought with me.’
‘Then you had better send for more.’
Catinus stood there, uncertain whether the audience was over.
‘Well what are you waiting for? Get out.’
‘Are you not offering us hospitality?’
‘No, why should I? I didn’t invite you here. You can camp outside Elgin, but you had better have left to get the rest of the silver by the time I get up in the morning.’
When Catinus had left Bruide turned to Alchfrith.
‘Don’t worry. When, or perhaps if, he comes back with more silver I’ll up the price again for keeping me waiting.’
Alchfrith smiled wanly, not at all convinced that Bruide wouldn’t sell him to his brother eventually. He was beginning to realise that taking refuge with him had been a bad idea.
That night he got drunk in an effort to forget his problems. Perhaps he should have paid attention to the youth who kept topping up his goblet with more and more ale, but he was too absorbed in thought.
~~~
Uurad helped the drunken Alchfrith to a quiet corner of the hall near the door. It wasn’t a popular spot to sleep because of the draught so they had the area to themselves. He was fifteen now and no one who had known him when he was twelve would have recognised the runt he was then as the brawny youth of today.
As soon as the hall grew quiet, except for the inevitable night time sounds made by a dormitory of single men, Uurad cautiously unsheathed his dagger. He’d already undone Alchfrith’s fancy short cloak and laid it between them. If the prince felt the dagger’s point as it entered his throat, he gave no sign. Uurad had sharpened it especially and it took less than a second to cut through one of his carotid arteries and his windpipe.
Alchfrith made no sound and Uurad used the cloak to soak up the sudden outrush of blood from his neck. It soon ceased when his heart stopped. It took him a lot longer to cut surreptitiously through the spine, sinews, muscles and other blood vessels in the neck but eventually the head rolled clear of the torso.
Uurad wrapped it in the blood stained cloak and made for the door. Luckily no one stirred as he opened it and slipped outside.
The two sentries outside turned as he emerged between them.
‘Gonna puke,’ Uurad told them in a slurred voice as he staggered down the steps.
One of the sentries sniffed the air as he passed them.
‘What’s that smell,’ he asked.
‘Smells sort of metallic,’ the other replied.
‘It’s blood!’
By then it was too late. The boy had disappeared into the darkness. They thought of chasing after him but they would be whipped if they left their post, so they did nothing. It was a decision that would cost them their lives in the morning when Bruide found out what had happened.
‘Who’s there?’ the sentry outside Catinus’ camp challenged him.
‘Me, Uurad. I’ve got a little present for the ealdorman.’
‘What are you doing out of the camp?’
‘Making sure we don’t go back empty handed.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Lord, wake up.’
‘What is it? Oh, it’s you Uurad. What do you mean by rousing me in the middle of the night?’
‘We need to get out of here, and quickly.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
The boy didn’t reply but unwrapped the bundle he was carrying.
Catinus stared at the gory head with its matted hair and sightless eyes uncomprehendingly for a second or to, then leapt to his feet.
‘Alchfrith’s head! How did you get that?’
‘Cut it from his body,’ Uurad replied, grinning.
‘Well done, lad. You can tell me about it later but, you’re right, we need to get movi
ng back to Kinneddar. Go and tell Eadstan to get the men ready to depart, silently mind.’
‘What about the tents and the supplies?’
‘We’ll have to leave them behind. The ponies too. Tell the men to bank up the fires at bit. I want it to look as if we are still here. It’s five hours until dawn; by then we should be back on board the birlinn.’
When Bruide found out what had happened he was apoplectic with rage and swore to have his revenge on Catinus and Ecgfrith.
Chapter Two – The Battle of the Two Rivers
671 AD
Catinus and Leoflaed were visiting Alweo and their daughter, Hereswith for the baptism of the latter’s first child and the former’s first grandchild when the summons from Ecgfrith arrived. The baby boy had just been named Æthelbald and was being dipped into the river by Alweo’s chaplain when the messenger rode up. The letter he carried was for Alweo as Catinus’ would have gone to Bebbanburg.
Greetings,
I have dire tidings from north of the River Twaid. It seems that Drest, High King of the Picts, has played me false. Despite re-assuring me that he recognised my title to the Kingdom of Prydenn, he has invaded and slaughtered my vice regulus, Eorl Hunwald, and his warband at Dùn Dè. At the same time he, or perhaps Bruide, has invaded Ardewr and I’m reliably informed that they have killed its king, Morleo.
As if that was not bad enough, it seems that Drest and Bruide have embarked on a deliberate campaign to murder all Anglo-Saxons living in Pictland. I gather that Conomultus, Bishop of Abernethy, was only spared because he was a Briton by birth.
This means that between them these two now rule most of the Land of the Picts. They are strong enough now to threaten both Lothian across the Firth of Forth and also Strathclyde. I have written to King Elfin asking him to mobilise the men of Strathclyde and to meet me and our army at Stirling, which thankfully my garrison still holds.
My priority this summer had been to teach Rheged a lesson for supporting my brother Alchfrith against me, but that will have to wait. The Picts take priority.
