The Fall of the House of Æthelfrith: Kings of Northumbria Book 5

by H A CULLEY

  Behrt looked around the tent and then spat on the ground.

  ‘Very well. I am disappointed in your lack of courage. You are letting a golden opportunity to teach the Picts a serious lesson pass you by and I shall make my views clear to the king when I report to him. Perhaps he’ll be able to find a fresh set of nobles who know their duty better.’

  The threat impressed no-one. Northumbrian nobility had only just recovered from the losses suffered amongst its ranks thirteen years before.

  The fyrd was disbanded and a disgruntled Behrt led six hundred and fifty warriors over the bridge across the River Forth under the noses of the Picts in Stirling. Evidently the man in charge of the fortress didn’t feel strong enough to contest the crossing and the remnants of the Pictish raiders had continued their retreat northwards along Allan Water rather than join up with the garrison to confront the Northumbrians.

  If the undefended bridge had increased Osfrid’s misgivings, the continuing lack of any opposition made him almost certain that they were courting disaster. The actions of the Picts made no tactical sense unless, as he suspected, they were deliberately leading the Northumbrians on, but Behrt wouldn’t listen.

  At least Behrt hadn’t continued his headlong pursuit of the Picts but had sent out parties to loot and burn the local farmsteads and slaughter the people. He succeeded in the former but the locals had vanished with their livestock. Even the grain stores had been emptied and the contents carted away. This frustrated the Northumbrians’ desire for retribution but, more seriously, food was now in short supply.

  When one of the foraging parties discovered a small settlement which was still inhabited it did them no good. The Picts and their livestock had taken refuge in a large roundhouse built of stone. There were no windows, though it was presumably open to the air at the top, and the small entrance was barred by a stout wooden door to which a number of overlapping iron reinforcing plates had been nailed.

  The hungry warriors were driven mad by the sound of bleating sheep, lowing cattle and squealing pigs coming from inside the stone building but, when they tried to batter the door down using a tree trunk, the Picts threw rocks, spears and oil down from the top. This was followed by a couple of flaming torches which set light to the oil. Six men were set on fire and those that survived begged to be killed so as to end their agony. No-one had any heart for a further assault on what they later found out was called a broch.

  The incident dented everyone’s enthusiasm for continuing the incursion; even the eorl agreed that the time had come to withdraw. However, when they came to the bridge over the River Forth near Stirling they found the way across was blocked by a force of two thousand Picts.

  ~~~

  Aldfrith had become a father for the second time toward the end of 697 and now his wife had just told him that she was pregnant once again and the baby was expected in the autumn. He was delighted; his queen less so. Otta’s birth had been long and difficult. Indeed the wise woman who had supervised the birth had told her that she had been lucky to survive. She had lost a lot of blood and had needed significant stitching.

  She had explained this to Aldfrith, but he seemed to think that it wouldn’t happen again and insisted on sleeping with her as soon as she had healed up. Cuthburh’s initial liking for Aldfrith – she wouldn’t call it love – had changed over the years. Initially he had been gentle with her but, as time went on, he had become rougher and more demanding. Evidently he was making up for all those years of celibacy. Now she was frightened of giving birth again. There was nothing she could do about it now but, as soon as the baby was born, she would tell Aldfrith that she wanted to become a nun.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ she asked her husband as she saw his body servant packing.

  ‘I’m going to visit Bede at Yarrow for a few days.’

  ‘Again? You spent a week with him last month.’

  In fact she wasn’t displeased by the thought that she wouldn’t have to spend the next few nights sharing a bed with him.

  ‘I want to see how his research into his Ecclesiastical History of the English People is progressing. The monks have also just started work on the Codex Amiatinus, the bible in Latin that I intend to send as a gift to the Pope, and I need to discuss the details with Abbot Coelfrid. Besides, the mint at Wearmouth has just started to produce the new sceattas and I want to make sure they’ve got the design correct.’

  Coins up to that point had only been produced by the money lenders, most of whom were based in Lundenwic. These were gold thrymas in the main, which were impractical for everyday usage and really only suited to large scale transactions. For the first time the new lower denomination coins were to be produced with the king’s name inscribed on them, together with Aldfrith’s symbol, a lion with an upraised tail.

  ‘I won’t be back for some time though as I want to travel north to Lindisfarne after that to see how Eadfrith’s gospels are progressing and to look at a new work that his calligrapher had just started, the Echternach Gospels. I’m told that they won’t rival Eadfrith’s own gospels in terms of artistry and richness of illumination but I’d like to see them for myself all the same.’

  Not for the first time Cuthburh thought that Aldfrith would have been much happier had he stayed a scholar, rather than being forced to assume the throne. She didn’t suppose for one minute that he’d given any thought to the conflict with the Picts on his northern border. Any of his predecessors would have been there commanding the army, but Aldfrith was content to leave such matters to Behrt.

  Two days after he’d left an exhausted messenger arrived with tidings of the war. What he had to say caused her to send another messenger racing after Aldfrith.

  ~~~

  Behrt hastily summoned his ealdormen to his side and, still sitting astride their horses, they hotly debated what to do. One or two blamed the eorl for walking into the trap but Osfrid, who had been the loudest to voice his concerns, shouted above the hubbub that recriminations could wait. The important thing now was how to get back across the River Forth.

  ‘Suggestions?’ Behrt asked.

  His confidence had been visibly shaken by the turn of events. Never before had he asked for proposals; his form of consultation was to put his plan forward and dare anyone to contradict him. As Osfrid and Eochaid seemed to him to be the ones most likely to have good ideas, he looked at them first.

  The two cousins had been conferring quietly and now Eochaid nodded at Osfrid, indicating that he should speak for them both.

  ‘If we send the archers forward to provoke the Picts and inflict what damage they can on them, eventually their patience will be exhausted and they’ll launch the usual disorganised charge.’

  He went on to explain what the Northumbrians should do as soon as that occurred and, as no one had any better ideas, Osfrid’s plan was adopted.

  The Picts got more irate and unsettled the longer the storm of arrows lasted. Their own bowmen and slingers were out of range as the longer and more powerful Northumbrian composite bows could send an arrow half as far again as the Picts’ hunting bows. They did deploy their bowmen in front of them at first but, as they suffered numerous casualties without harming a single one of their foes, they were quickly withdrawn.

  At last the younger and more hot blooded of the Picts could take no more and they started to run towards the Northumbrian shield wall a hundred yards from them, yelling at the tops of their voices. The archers each fired one last arrow and ran back through the lines of infantry.

  Suddenly, when the leading Picts were no more than fifty yards away, the shield wall split in to two and Osfrid led seventy horsemen through the gap in the line. They fanned out into wedge formation and kicked their horses into a canter and then a gallop. The wedge sliced its way through the mass of Picts like an axe splitting firewood. The Northumbrians didn’t even try to spear their enemies on the way, the tightly packed formation knocked them aside like chaff in the wind. Several were trampled under the horses’ hooves, but that w
asn’t important. Osfrid’s task was to create a breach in the Pictish army so that the warriors on foot who followed on could reach the bridge.

  The horsemen were, by necessity, funnelled into a formation three abreast by the narrowness of the bridge and several of those in the rear of the wedge had to slow down to wait their turn. The Picts hauled them from their saddles and were in the process of killing them when the men on foot arrived.

  They were running in a column with shields facing outwards, those on right flank carrying them unusually on their right arm. This made it difficult for the Picts to stab them as they rushed past. The Romans would have recognised the formation as similar to their testudo, though these warriors had never heard of it. The idea had been Eochaid’s.

  As Osfrid reached the far side of the bridge he felt something thud into his back. There was no pain initially but he seemed to lose control of his limbs immediately afterwards. He fell from his horse and, as he hit the ground, his helmet rolled clear and the hoof of one of the following horses struck his temple. Blackness enveloped him and he died before he was even aware that his spine had been broken.

  Behrt had insisted on being in the centre at the rear of the horsemen and it was now apparent why he wanted this. When he approached the bridge he and six members of his mounted gesith turned and charged into the mass of Picts assaulting the men on foot. Their charge rode down the Picts trying to pull the shields away and allowed the majority of the warriors to reach the bridge. It cost him and his men their lives though.

  Once over the bridge no one seemed to know what to do as the Picts massed ready to charge across it, so Eochaid took charge.

  ‘Form a shield wall at the exit from the bridge; archers aim into the flanks of the Picts as they try to cross.’

  Time and time again the Picts tried to force their way over the bridge and time and time again the Northumbrians repulsed them, causing them heavy casualties. They themselves lost men too, of course, and those in the front two ranks soon got weary, but Eochaid rotated them until at last dusk descended over the battlefield.

  By that time there were so many of their dead that the Picts were having to climb over a rampart of bodies to get at the Northumbrians. Then Eochaid had an idea and he sent axemen down the bank to hack at the nearest bridge supports. The Picts kept up their attack even as darkness enveloped the scene but, finally, the combination of the weight of the Picts, both dead and alive, and the weakened supports, caused the bridge to collapse at the southern end. Hundreds of Picts were dumped into the fast flowing waters of the Forth and at last the Northumbrians, or what remained of them, were safe.

  Eochaid was so weary that he collapsed where he stood and it wasn’t until Drefan came to find him that he was aware that both Osfrid and Behrt had been killed. The Northumbrians retreated a little way until the stench of the battlefield was less obnoxious and camped. Of the six hundred and fifty men that Behrt had led into Pictland a mere three hundred and twenty had escaped, and half of them were wounded.

  It was no consolation to him, but Eochaid estimated that the Picts must have lost well over a thousand men over the course of the past week, and for little or no gain. It would not endear Bridei to his mormaers or their men. At least he was unlikely to make any more raids into Lothian for some time to come, but it was a heavy price to pay for peace.

  Chapter Seventeen – The Return of the Exiles

  698 to 703 AD

  It was with a heavy heart that Eochaid rode up to the gates of Bebbanburg. He had decided not to send a messenger ahead with the news but to tell his aunt and his betrothed himself. The survivors of the Bebbanburg warband and of both his gesith and Osfrid’s rode with him. Of the sixty men who had ridden to war, only twenty two had returned and a third of them sported bandages. His own warband wasn’t mounted and they were making their own way back to Alnwic.

  The borrowed cart that accompanied them contained Osfrid’s body and four men too badly wounded to ride. It was three days since he was killed and the corpse was beginning to stink. Eochaid had been tempted to stop and get a coffin made at the first settlement they came to but he wanted to make sure that Bebbanburg didn’t hear about Osfrid’s death before he got there.

  When he was still two hundred yards from the gates Godwyna and Guthild walked out to meet them. It was evident from their faces that they knew what had happened. He supposed it was obvious from the absence of Osfrid on his horse and the dejected mien of the cavalcade.

  ‘Is he… is he badly wounded?’ Godwyna asked looking towards the cart.

  Eochaid dismounted and walked towards them.

  ‘I’m afraid that it’s worse than that. I’ve brought his body back so that he can rest in peace at the place he loved.’

  Godwyna broke down and knelt in the dirt, tears running down her face. Guthild ran to her and, kneeling beside her, cradled her mother in her arms as if she was the child and she the comforting parent.

  Eochaid stood there feeling helpless when Swefred appeared on his small mare accompanied by three other boys of a similar age. They had several game birds tied to their saddles and it was obvious that they had been hunting.

  ‘What happened? What’s wrong?’

  The boy looked helplessly from his mother and sister to Eochaid.

  ‘It’s your father, Swefred. He was killed during the last battle with the Picts. He died heroically saving the rest of the army,’ he added as if that would make his loss more bearable.

  ‘What? Where were you? Why didn’t you save him?’

  It was no good saying that he had been so busy fighting his own way over the bridge that he hadn’t even seen Osfrid fall. There would be a suitable occasion to relate all that had happened but this was neither the time nor the place.

  ‘I’ll explain later. Now I need you to do something for me. You father’s body is in the cart but we had no coffins. Can you get one brought here and help me put your father in it. Will you do that for me?’

  The boy nodded dumbly and, ignoring his friends, he mounted the mare again and rode down to the settlement to see one of the carpenters. It wasn’t until his father had been laid in the coffin and he had helped place it in front of the altar in the small church inside the fortress that the implications of his father’s death struck him.

  The detested Eadwulf was the elder and would now become the ealdorman. Even if he wasn’t the younger brother, at not quite eleven Swefred was far too young to inherit. He tried to hold back the tears but he couldn’t stop crying. Not only had he lost his beloved father but his hated brother would now return.

  ~~~

  In fact it wasn’t until the following spring that Eadwulf put in an appearance. He and his band of Frisian mercenaries had been fighting in some petty squabble over land in Amorica and it had taken several months for the news of his father’s death to reach him.

  ‘I need to return to Northumbria,’ he told his captain that evening.

  ‘You’re going nowhere, lad. You signed a contract with me and I’ve signed a contract to help this lord to expel his uncle from the land he’s seized from him, so that’s that.’

  Eadwulf hadn’t been wasting his time since he joined the warband in Frisia. Most of the other warriors had fallen on hard times and bore a grudge against someone. They were an embittered lot and were only interested in gold and silver. Few were Christians and even those that professed to be had no conscience to speak of. So it was an easy matter to suborn enough of them by promises of wealth and women when he became an ealdorman.

  A week later he challenged the captain for the leadership of the band. At first the man didn’t take the challenge seriously and told him to do something anatomically impossible. However, he realised that the situation was serious when over a third of his men started to chant Eadwulf’s name.

  He was a seasoned warrior with biceps most men couldn’t get both their hands around and had twenty years’ experience of killing, both in combat and quietly in the dead of night. In contrast, Eadwulf was not yet
sixteen, skinny and, as yet, beardless. As far as the captain knew he hadn’t even killed his first man.

  He drew his sword and waited, refusing the offer of a shield. Eadwulf welcomed the man’s contempt for his abilities. He was in for a rude shock. He might have few admirable qualities but he had learned his trade well with Eochaid’s trainers. One had told him that he had never had a more dedicated student, or a more ruthless one.

  The two circled each other, each sizing up his opponent and looking for an opening. Eadwulf hadn’t followed his leader’s example and discarded his shield and held it close to his body with his eyes just showing above its rim as they danced around each other.

  Suddenly the captain made his first move. He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size and weight. He feinted towards Eadwulf’s head then, when the latter raised his shield to protect it, he stabbed at his feet. But Eadwulf had expected it. The man had betrayed his intentions with his eyes. The captain’s sword slid harmlessly off his young opponent’s shield.

  The older man was momentarily off balance and Eadwulf sized the opportunity. He brought his own sword round and the blade sliced into the older man’s right forearm. The cut was deep but it was only a flesh wound. Nevertheless it would slow him down and so he tossed the sword in the air.

  Eadwulf was caught off guard by the unexpected move and he missed his opportunity to strike whilst the man was fleetingly unarmed. He caught the weapon deftly in his left hand and proceeded to demonstrate that he was equally adept at using it in either hand. Eadwulf was now the one at a disadvantage. A shield on the left side is useful at blocking cuts and thrusts from a right handed man but it is of little use at blocking them from the other side.

  Realising that it was now more of an encumbrance than useful, Eadwulf surprised the captain by throwing it at him. The brass-bound rim caught the other man on the bridge of his nose. Not only did it hurt but it temporarily blinded him. Eadwulf leaped to the left to evade a wild sword thrust at where he’d stood a split second before. As he did so he brought his own blade round horizontally. It connected with the man’s torso with a jar that almost caused him to drop his sword but it had achieved its purpose.