by H A CULLEY
Of course his father told him it was merely infatuation but Osfrid knew better. Had they both been a few years older Catinus would have encouraged the match. Not only was her father, Benoc, an ealdorman, but he was also descended from Ida, just as Ecgfrith was, although through another branch of the family.
It had taken five days before the weather had improved sufficiently for everyone to leave Alnwic after the wedding. Ruaidhrí was getting worried by this stage as feeding so many guests for so long had seriously depleted the food he’d stored to see them through the winter, so Catinus proposed a hunt before everyone left.
Rather than leave Osfrid with the women and other children, Catinus decided to take him on the hunt; a decision which made his son’s eyes light up, Godwyna forgotten for the moment.
They split into four parties, each heading in a different direction. As his domain started the other side of the River Aln, Catinus led the hunt going north.
‘Keep close beside me and if we encounter a boar or a stag keep behind me.’
‘Yes, father,’ Osfrid said dutifully.
If he had the opportunity to make a kill he intended to take it, never mind what his father had said. He hefted his spear in his right hand, judging its weight and point of balance.
The going was tough. In some places the drifted snow had yet to thaw and, where it had, it was a morass of mud. The hounds found no scent at all until they entered the woods that ran alongside the river about two miles north of Alnwic. Then they got excited and the huntsmen had to run to keep up with them.
‘Boar, I’ll be bound,’ one of thegns riding beside Catinus said.
Not counting Osfrid, there were six mounted nobles and two huntsmen on foot, each with two hounds. One pair were used to track the quarry and the other pair brought it to bay so that one of the nobles could make the kill. Two boys followed on with pack horses to bring back the kill.
It was evident from the spoor that they were tracking a boar and, as it turned out, a wily one. He led the dogs into a clearing but then circled back through dense undergrowth. The first that Catinus knew of his presence was when the beast erupted from a bush and charged at the thegn riding beside him.
It happened so fast that the man was totally unprepared and the huge boar thrust his pointed tusks into the underbelly of the horse. It fell to its knees and then collapsed onto one side trapping its rider’s right leg underneath it. The man was totally helpless as the boar drew its head back to rip its tusks into the thegn.
Catinus thrust his spear down into the body of the animal but the only effect that had was to enrage it further. Osfrid was immediately behind the thegn and reacted quickly. He jumped down from his horse and aimed the point of his spear at roughly where he thought its heart should be. Thrusting with all his might he pushed the spear point through the hide covered in rough, matted hair and into its flesh. It was much more resistant than he expected and, before he could reach the heart, the boar had twisted round to face him, the thegn forgotten.
Osfrid found himself looking straight into the boar’s small red eyes as the spear was torn from his grasp. He thought he was about to be gored to death as the boar lowered its head and went to impale him on its tusks. He felt the animal’s fetid breath on his face just as he jumped to one side a split second before it reached him.
He rolled and came up crouched ready for the beast’s next attack, drawing his dagger as he did so; but it wasn’t necessary. He had bought the others enough time to react and now the boar was in its death throes with three new spears in its side.
Osfrid felt drained and sick. His father reached him just as he was about to collapse and threw his arms around him, nearly crushing him to death in his relief at the boy’s narrow escape. Catinus knew he should scold him for disobeying him but, had he not acted when he did, the thegn would have died. He returned to Alnwic to be hailed as a hero at the feast held that night. He basked in all the praise but the most important thing to him was the admiration in Godwyna’s eyes. Then his heart sank as he realised that they would both be leaving in the morning and heading their separate ways.
To take his mind off the girl Catinus decided to take his son on a tour of his shire. It comprised an eighth of the original kingdom of Bernicia. It extended from the River Twaid in the north to the Aln in the south and as far west as the mountains called simply the Uplands. This area stretched for over thirty miles from east to west and divided Bernicia from the Caledonian Kingdom of Strathclyde. It was uninhabited except for a few people who recognised no lord.
They departed in early January after the Christmas celebrations were over. Conomultus came with them as did Eadstan and Catinus’ body servant, Drefan. Eadstan wanted to bring all the gesith as escort but Catinus told him that the group was to be kept small. In the end they just took Leofric and Uurad, his two former body servants who were now skilled warriors. The cold spell over Christmas had ended and the weather was comparatively warm for early January. A brisk south easterly wind, coupled with the absence of any rain for over a week, had dried the ground and so travelling was relatively pleasant.
His domain might only comprise twelve vills but they were spread over a vast area. By the time that they returned January had turned into February and the weather had turned much colder with occasional wintery showers. Both father and son were glad to reach Bebbanburg again and made straight for the hearth to warm their chilled bodies.
No sooner had they begun to thaw out than the reeve entered.
‘Morcar, what is it that’s so urgent that it can’t wait until I can feel my fingers again?’
‘Oh it’s not urgent, lord. But I thought that Osfrid would like to see the two gifts that have arrived for him whilst you’ve been away.’
Osfrid opened one package then the other with numbed fingers. The first contained a magnificent seax with a leather hilt inlaid with gold wire and surmounted by a wolf’s head fashioned from gold. The note with it said that it was from the thegn whose life he’d saved.
Catinus whistled when Osfrid showed it him.
‘That must have cost a quarter of his annual income,’ he said, turning the weapon over in his hand.
Not only was the hilt expensive and finely made but the tempered steel blade was engraved with a wolf’s head on both sides near the hilt. The scabbard was equally noteworthy being made of wood encased in red leather dotted with small silver studs. The chape at the end was also made of silver. He doubted if even the king had a weapon as fine.
Osfrid had never seen anything so impressive and he couldn’t take his eyes off it, swishing it through the air and admiring it until his father reminded him he had a second gift to open.
Once he’d done so he forgot all about the magnificent seax. It was simple silver broach to fasten his cloak with but it was special because it was a gift from Godwyna.
‘There’s a note inside the wrapping for you father,’ he said handing it over without taking his eyes off the broach. Godwyna must have had it made especially because it too featured a wolf’s head, the emblem of Bebbanburg.
‘It’s an invitation from Ealdorman Benoc for us to visit his family in Jarrow. Apparently Godwyna won’t shut up about you.’
‘Really? When are we going?’
‘When I’ve thawed out and taken care of all the routine business that will have piled up in my absence.’
‘I can help you with that,’ his son said eagerly.
The reminder that his son had been forced to cope with everything whilst he had shut himself away to mourn Leoflaed saddened him and he determined to travel to Jarrow just as soon as possible.
But it wasn’t to be. Two days later a summons came from Ecgfrith ordering him to muster his men for the invasion of Rheged.
Chapter Seven – The Last Days of Rheged
676 AD
Ecgfrith’s nobles stirred uncomfortably after the king had finished speaking. The Witan was meeting at Loidis the day after the muster of the army was complete. The weather was set fair; th
e sky was uniformly blue, dotted with the odd fluffy white cloud, and for early April it was unseasonably warm. However, the mood inside the church, where the Witan was meeting, could not have been darker.
The uneasy silence was broken by Ælfwine.
‘You make it sound as if you want to exterminate the Britons of Rheged.’
‘You’ve obviously been listening then,’ his brother replied caustically. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. Our forefathers drove the Britons out of Bernicia, Deira and Elmet and now we must do the same to the faithless inhabitants of Rheged.’
‘Cyning, I know that they supported your brother’s claim to the throne but isn’t what you propose a little extreme?’ Beornheth, the Eorl of Lothian, asked. ‘After all the Goddodin are a British tribe who inhabit Lothian and we co-exist peacefully with them.’
‘But they are loyal and have been part of Lothian since before my uncle Oswald was king. They are integrated into Northumbria and many Angles have settled there, even some Saxons, and they’ve intermarried so that now they are one people. That isn’t true of Rheged. They lived under the rule of an Anglian eorl appointed by Oswiu to represent him but they murdered him, his family and his gesith before joining Alchfrith’s revolt. It’s not the same as Lothian.’
‘What will you do when you have driven out or enslaved the Britons of Rheged?’ Bishop Wilfrid asked.
‘Divide it into two shires, each ruled by a Northumbrian ealdorman, and new Anglo-Saxon settlers will be given the land.’
‘Then I hope that you will consider establishing new monasteries following the Roman rule to replace the Celtic ones at Caer Luel and Heysham, Cyning’
‘Perhaps, but if so I won’t be appointing you as abbot, Wilfrid.’
The bishop tried to look affronted at the suggestion but the laughter of the other members of Witan indicated that the king’s barbed remark had hit home. Wilfrid was already abbot of three monasteries and was said to be much richer than even the king in consequence.
A few more nobles and several churchmen spoke against the king’s strategy, but in the end the Witan acquiesced to his plan.
~~~
Catinus had debated what to do about Osfrid. Unsurprisingly the boy had wanted to go with him but he was now nearly twelve, the age when Catinus had arranged for him to go to Lindisfarne to be educated alongside the novice monks. Osfrid was less than keen, especially as the Master of Novices was his brother. Alaric was young, at sixteen, to be chosen for such an important role but he had already made a name for himself as a scholar and got on well with the novices. He was both liked and respected, two qualities that didn’t always go hand in hand.
Abbot Eata had wanted to send him to Rome or to Frankia to improve his education further but Prior Cuthbert was concerned that the other candidates for the task were less well suited. They either had a tendency to bully their juniors or they were poorly educated themselves. In the end Eata gave way in return for a promise from Cuthbert that Alaric would be allowed to travel to the Continent once an acceptable candidate to take over the novices was available.
‘But father, if I can’t go with you, I should stay here and manage the fortress and the shire, as I’ve done before.’
Catinus had winced at the reminder of the months he’d shut himself away from the world.
‘I’m sorry, Osfrid, but you need to learn more about the scriptures and how to read and write better. Besides you’ll be with boys your own age; it’s time you were allowed to grow up more slowly than hitherto.’
‘Huh! They’ll think like children. I’m passed that stage.’
‘More’s the pity. No, it’s no good continuing to plead with me. My mind’s made up.’
‘Then who will be in charge here?’ Osfrid asked, thinking he’d played his trump card.
‘Your uncle, Conomultus. Don’t forget he’s been a bishop and is a very able administrator.’
‘Oh, won’t you want him to go with you?’
‘Normally yes, of course, but he can serve me better by remaining here.’
Whilst the last of his men were travelling to the muster point for the shire at Yeavering, Catinus and Conomultus rode to Lindisfarne with a sulky Osfrid and Drefan. The fact that the servant boy was excited about going to war with his father made Osfrid even more irritable.
‘I’d advise you to snap out of your current mood before we arrive at the monastery. The first impression you make on your fellows is important. Unless, of course, you want to be friendless and miserable for the next two years,’ Conomultus told him sternly.
‘Don’t care.’
‘You’re behaving like a spoiled brat instead of the mature youth I know you can be,’ Catinus added. ‘We’re stopping here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I know that Drefan is getting on your nerves with his exuberance and both of you need to be taught a lesson. Now get off your horses.’
Puzzled, the two boys did as they were told. The two men did likewise and Conomultus took the reins of the horses.
‘Now you are to wrestle until one of you has pinned the other to the ground. Best of three. Now go.’
The two boys looked at each other dubiously. Drefan was a year younger than Osfrid and smaller, but he was wiry and could move quickly. The problem was that he was a servant and his opponent was his master’s son. His natural deference made him hesitant.
Osfrid was well aware of that and his innate sense of fairness prevented him from taking advantage. They circled each other but made no move to get to grips. Exasperated, Catinus kicked his son hard on the bottom, sending him cannoning into Drefan. The other boy hadn’t seen the kick and thought that he had made his move. He sidestepped and stuck his leg out so that the older boy tripped and went sprawling in the dirt.
Now furious, Osfrid got up and rushed at Drefan. When the latter went to try the same trick again Osfrid was ready and moved the same way, throwing his arms around Drefan and pushing him to the ground. Once on top of him, Osfrid thought it would be easy to pin Drefan’s two shoulders to the ground, but the boy wriggled like a snake. Suddenly he heaved his body upwards, taking Osfrid unaware, and the boy rose into the air enough for Drefan to get his head under his opponent’s chest. He head butted him, driving the air out of his lungs. Winded, Osfrid was unable to do anything for a moment or two and Drefan flipped him over and pinned his shoulders to the ground.
Osfrid looked up at the boy sitting on his heaving chest grinning down at him with his knees pinning his shoulders. Suddenly he thrust his groin in the air and the surprised boy sailed over his head to crash onto the earth. Now it was Osfrid’s turn to pin his opponent and he used his additional weight to immobilise the dazed Drefan.
Osfrid got up and pulled Drefan to his feet.
‘No need for another bout I think, father. It would be better to end this with honours even.’
Catinus nodded. ‘Well done both of you. We might as well stop here to eat before we cross the sands to Lindisfarne.’
He and his brother smiled at one another. The wrestling bout had restored Osfrid’s good humour and taken the cocky Drefan down a peg or two. Not only that, but they chatted away like friends until they reached the monastery. They might be at opposite ends of the social spectrum, but by the time that they reached the island they had discovered that they liked and respected each other.
~~~
Ecgfrith’s strategy was simple. He divided his army into three columns and advanced westwards towards the main inhabited settlements at Caer Luel in the north, along the old Roman roads through the mountains to Heysham on the coast, and south west to Mamucium and thence to Wigan. Each column was to follow a scorched earth policy, driving the Britons ever westward to the coast of the Irish Sea.
The king commanded the southernmost column, mainly as it was operating in territory bordering Mercia. Ælfwine was tasked to capture Caer Luel with Octa to guide him and Beornheth, Prior Cuthbert’s younger brother and Eorl of Lothian, led the centre.
‘Catinus, you and your horsemen will act as scouts for Beornheth. Ruaidhrí you are to come with me with half your men and the other half are to scout for Ælfwine,’ Ecgfrith told them at the war council before the three columns went their separate ways. ‘Remember, I want the Britons driven out. We need to move fast before they have time to organise any resistance to us. That means we don’t take slaves. Those that flee up into the hills can be rounded up later. Clear? Good, may God be with you.’
Catinus paused as he crested the saddle on the road from Isurium Brigantum near Ripon to the old Roman fort at Verbeia. They had now entered the territory of an ancient British tribe called the Brigantes. Rheged might be disunited and leaderless but the Brigantes were different. They were led by chieftains, one of whom they called their king – or brenin in their language.
The road was overgrown with weeds and many of the cobbles that had paved it had become dislodged, but it was still a much better surface to march on than tracks that were muddy when wet and dusty when dry which served as roads in most of Northumbria.
Catinus had sent twenty of his mounted warband out as a screen, half to the front and the rest to either flank. He was halfway down the hillside into the valley of the River Ribble when two of his lead scouts came riding back.
‘Lord, the Brigantes are blocking the road ahead.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘You can’t see them from here but they’re just over the shoulder of the hill on the left. They’re stretched right across the valley between the hills and the south bank of the river.’
‘How many did you count?’
‘About fourteen hundred. All are armed with spears and oval shields, a few had helmets but only one or two had a byrnie. There are a few bowmen and about a hundred boys with slings as well.’
