by H A CULLEY
Seeing this Cadafael decided that his only chance lay in making a stand and wait for nightfall. It was a fatal mistake. Alchfrith was all for making an attack across the river once he saw that the numbers were now more evenly matched but Catinus managed to dissuade him.
‘Cyning, the Welsh have made an error in stopping. That gives your father the chance to catch them up and together you can destroy them. If you attack now you will lose men and Cadafael may decide to continue his retreat. Our job is to hold them here until the main army can join us.’
When Oswiu did appear with his vanguard an hour before dark Alchfrith wanted to charge across the river to join his attack. However, Catinus suggested another plan to him and Oswiu was puzzled to see his son march his men off upstream whilst more and more of own men arrived to join in the fight.
Alweo had seen Alchfrith and Catinus march off and he immediately guessed what his friend’s plan was. He managed to stop his excited horsemen from joining in the fight and led them around the battleground and headed further along the river. Twenty minutes later he found Alchfrith and Catinus on his side of the river with the rest of the fyrd in the process of crossing.
‘What now?’
‘We make our way back towards the battle and I’ll wager ten pounds of silver that we’ll meet Cadafael and his gesith fleeing the battle, having deserted his men. It’s what he did last time as soon as he saw he was losing.’
As Catinus had predicted Cadafael and the remaining twenty men of his bodyguard rode straight into Alchfrith’s army. He tried to turn away from the river to escape that way but this time it was Alweo’s horsemen who blocked his retreat. He was trapped and neither he nor any of his gesith escaped.
An exultant Alchfrith greeted his father just as night was falling and presented him with Cadafael’s head.
CHAPTER THREE – PEACE AND WAR
656 AD
Catinus returned to Bebbanburg a hero. Of course, Alchfrith had claimed all the glory for his men’s part in the destruction of the Welsh army and the death of the two kings, but Oswiu wasn’t a fool. Later he’d sent for Alweo and Catinus and asked for their version of events. Neither wanted to explain how Alchfrith had so very nearly led them to disaster but they answered the king’s questions truthfully. What they didn’t know was that Oswiu had asked Ceadda to talk to some of the men of the fyrd and to those of the Bernician warband who were with Alweo and so he already knew exactly what had happened.
‘I suspect that you two are being very modest and that you prevented my son from making a fool of himself. Of course, that’s why I sent you with him in the first place. Catinus, your main reward already awaits you back at Bebbanburg. I regret not being able to attend your wedding but I need to make sure that neither Powys nor Gwynedd give me a problem in the future.
‘You are already custos of Bebbanburg but I intend to raise you even higher. There is no Eorl of Bebbanburg; that function has always been associated with the King of Bernicia. However, I intend to base myself at Eoforwīc in future. Both Yeavering and Bebbanburg are too far north now for me to spend too much time there.
You will take over the government of the area from Berwic in the north across to the Cheviots and south as far as Morpeth. However I’m not making you an eorl. Mercia and Wessex have introduced a new rank of noble called an ealdorman to act as tax collector, judge and military leader in a new administrative division called a shire. I intend to do the same. You will therefore become the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg.
‘Thank you, Cyning. I am most grateful, as ever, for your trust in me. I assume from what you have just said that I’m free to return to wed Leoflaed?’
‘Yes, I think we can manage without you. Wait until you have my charter appointing you as ealdorman before you go though. My scribes should have it ready by tomorrow morning.’
When Catinus had left them, Oswiu turned his attention to Alweo.
‘You too will become an ealdorman, this time of the area from Morpeth down to the River Tees. Unlike Catinus, you will report to an eorl, rather than directly to me, so you’ll be part of the Eorldom of Hexham. I’m making Ceadda ealdorman of the other half of the earldom. He’s no longer young and he’s earned his retirement as my hereræswa. His place will be taken by Redwald and Aldhun will become leader of my gesith.’
‘You know how grateful I am to you, Cyning. Do you still want me to remain as your Master of Horse?’
‘Yes, you are to move the stud and training centre for my horsemen to Morpeth as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, Cyning. I’ll do it as soon as this campaign is over.’
Oswiu smiled. ‘Unlike Catinus you have no blushing bride to rush home to wed; I need you with me until I’ve pacified Gwynedd and Powys.’
To the king’s surprise Alweo looked uncomfortable. He knew it was time he was married and had children but he had yet to find a woman who he could visualise spending the rest of his life with. He certainly wasn’t going to marry just for the sake of it. He went to leave but then asked one final question before he did so.
‘It’s not my place to ask, Cyning, but if your capital is to become Eoforwīc, where will Alchfrith be based?’
‘I don’t mind you asking, it’s a good question. Obviously two kings in one place isn’t going to work so my son will move to either Ripon or Loidis.’
‘Ripon?’
‘Yes. A monk called Wilfrid is building a new monastery near a settlement called Inhrypum for me and that’s what he’s decided to call it. Already a settlement has sprung up for the masons, other workers and their families, and now merchants are joining them.’
Alweo’s heart sank. His cousin, Wigmund, had told him of Wilfrid’s arrival at Lindisfarne as a novice and of the arrogant boy’s rapid departure after a fight with Conomultus and another boy called Eata. Now it seemed that the obnoxious Wilfrid had returned to Northumbria and was to be an abbot. The abrupt change in Alweo’s facial expression hadn’t gone unnoticed by Oswiu.
‘You know Wilfrid?’
‘Only by reputation. He arrived at Lindisfarne as a novice shortly after I left. He had an argument with my cousin and Catinus’ brother as soon as he arrived and he was sent elsewhere to train. By all accounts he was an arrogant, argumentative prig then. The last I heard he was in Frankia.’
‘Well, he’s back and is reputed to be one of the greatest scholars of his age. We’re lucky to have him in Northumbria,’ Oswiu said with a frown, somewhat displeased by Alweo’s comments. ‘I’m sure that he’s changed a great deal since he was a boy.’
The other man had his doubts but he said nothing more. He bowed to Oswiu and left the tent.
~~~
The October day on which Catinus was to be wed didn’t start in the most propitious manner. There had been a storm the night before and part of the thatched roof of the little church inside the walls of Bebbanburg had been blown away. Leoflaed’s father and brother had gone down to the fishermen’s huts first thing to see assess the damage and found that several fishing boats had been lost.
The wind was still whipping the waves into a frenzy and there was no way that the small boats used to travel up and down the coast would be able to put to sea in the prevailing weather. This was a serious problem as Bishop Finan was conducting the ceremony. It normally took an hour or two at the most to cover the six mile journey across the bay to Bebbanburg in one of the monastery’s fishing boats; by land it was sixteen miles. And that was always assuming that it was low tide so that the route across the sands to the mainland was feasible. Finan didn’t possess a horse and the donkey he used to travel on land had one speed – plodding. It would take the best part of a day for him to reach the fortress.
Catinus was almost in despair and had resigned himself to postponing his nuptials when the lookout yelled something that was whipped away on the wind. The ealdorman ran across to the tower and climbed up to find out what the man had spotted, but when he got there he didn’t need to ask. There was a large birlinn out at sea. One minu
te it appeared cresting a wave before surfing down and disappearing in the trough. It was flying along under bare poles with the oarsmen straining to keep it heading towards the fortress.
He hurried back down the ladder, out of the sea gate and onto the beach.
‘Do you need your sword and armour, lord?’
Leofric was standing behind him weighed down with his byrnie, leather cap, helmet and sword. He smiled at the boy.
‘No, thank you Leofric. I’ll stay dressed in my wedding robes for now. I suspect that the birlinn contains friends.’
Catinus was dressed in red leggings with yellow ribbons tied from ankle to knee, a dark blue overtunic with silver embroidery around its V neck, hem and at the bottom of the three quarter length sleeves. This was worn over a long sleeved white linen under-tunic and secured by a leather belt stained black and decorated with silver studs. Over the tunic he wore a crimson woollen cloak pinned in place by an intricate gold broach studded with a large ruby and several opals. He had to smile at the thought of trying to put his chain mail byrnie on over the top of that lot.
He looked out at sea again. The birlinn, instead of running ashore below the fortress as was normally the case, had headed for the calmer waters of the bay to the north of Bebbanburg. The tide was in so the ship would have to beach some distance from where he stood.
‘Go back to the fortress, Leofric, and get them to saddle my horse, your pony and a couple of horses for our guests.’
Ten minutes later the two set off with the boy leading the two spare mounts and rode up the hill that rose inland from Bebbanburg. From the top they watched the birlinn approach the beach below them. As they cantered down the long slope to the edge of the bay two figures were helped off the deck of the birlinn into the spume laden waves that crashed onto the shore. They were dressed as clerics and both displayed the distinctive Celtic tonsure. Unlike their Roman Catholic counterparts, their foreheads were shaven from ear to ear making them look bald from the front but leaving them with a full head of hair at the rear.
As they drew closer Catinus recognised one as Bishop Finan. He breathed a sigh of relief that his wedding could now go ahead as planned, but at first he didn’t recognise the other man. Then he realised that it was Utta, Oswiu’s chaplain immediately before his brother Conomultus. Utta had gone on to be consecrated as the Bishop of Prydenn. Presumably Talorgan, High King of the Picts, had sent him as an emissary. Catinus had a sinking feeling that his presence didn’t bode well.
‘God’s greeting, Bishop Finan, I’m relieved that you’ve made it. I had a feeling that the storm would prevent you coming.’
‘It wouldn’t have been possible had Bishop Utta’s ship not taken refuge in the lee of Lindisfarne last night. He kindly gave me passage as he’s on his way to Eoforwīc. However, I’ve told him that the king is still in Gwynedd.’
‘Is aught amiss in Prydenn then?’
‘Greetings Catinus, you seem to have risen in station somewhat since the last time we met.’
‘Indeed Bishop Utta, I’m now the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg.’
‘Ealdorman?’
‘A noble who ranks between a thegn and an eorl; it was introduced in Mercia first, then in Wessex.’
‘I see. Finan told me that you were now custos of the fortress but not that you had risen further up the slippery slope of ambition.’
It was evident that Utta didn’t approve, but he himself had been an ordinary warrior before becoming a monk, priest and now bishop in turn.
‘You seem to have managed to stay at the top of that particular slope yourself, Utta,’ he said, slightly more curtly than he had intended.
The bishop laughed, exposing teeth that were filed to a sharp point; something he had done when he was a member of the Bernician warband.
‘Well said, ealdorman. Much as I’d like to stay for your wedding and the feast afterwards, I must sail on to Eoforwīc. Finan will tell you the dire tiding I carry.’
With that he turned, bade farewell to Finan, and started to trudge back to the birlinn whose crew stood ready to push her bows off the sand before the tide receded any further and they became stranded. He waded through the waves to the ship’s side, hoisting his robes high to keep them dry and exposing his spindly shanks. Once he was back on board Finan looked at the big horse doubtfully. It was over twice the size of the donkey he normally rode.
‘Take my pony, bishop,’ Leofric said as soon as he saw Finan’s hesitation.
‘Thank you, my son.’
To Catinus’ surprise the eleven year old Leofric leapt into the saddle of one of the spare horses without difficulty, despite his small size, and, leading the other horse, he followed the other two, trying not to laugh at the comical sight of Catinus mounted on his big horse leaning over to listen to the small, rotund bishop on his pony. What the bishop was saying was not comical, however.
‘Talorgan is in trouble. Garnait and his brother, Drest, have managed to turn several of the other Pictish kings against him because they regard him as a creature of his uncle, Oswiu.’
‘This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Oswiu was facing unrest in Mercia and he still has to conclude a treaty with Cadwalladr, the new King of Gwynedd. Having to divert his attention to the north is the last thing he needs.’
‘He wants me to travel to Mercia next. With the pagan Penda out of the way he believes that it is ripe for conversion to Christianity.’
‘Are there no other churchmen there already?’
‘Yes, but they are an idle lot, Romans to a man and more interested in their own comfort than the spiritual well-being of the general population. They seem to think that their job is done once they’ve baptised the nobles.’
‘Who is their bishop?’
‘A man called Diuma. He was a monk who was appointed by Peada after his conversion. He served the Middle Angles, after a fashion, before Oswiu made him Bishop of Mercia. He’s based at the abbey at Lichfield, though he is not its abbot.’
‘What will happen to him?’
‘Apparently he is to submit to my authority as Bishop and Abbot of Lindisfarne. Once my work is done as a missionary I understand from Oswiu’s letter that he will be left to manage things on his own.’
‘Will he accept the teachings of the Celtic Church having been brought up a Roman?’
Finan sighed. ‘I very much doubt it, but my duty is clear. Enough of that, today is your wedding day. Let’s concentrate on that, and on not getting blown away before we reach the safety of the fortress,’ he said as another strong gust of wind hit them.
~~~
Oswiu sat on his horse with two of his sons on either side of him watching as Cadwalladr rode towards him. He was accompanied by thirty of so mounted warriors and a small army of men on foot, waving various weapons and farming implements and shouting their new king’s name.
The Welsh horde stopped four hundred yards from the crest of the hill on which Oswiu had lined up his men. The fyrd had gone home but he had kept most of the warbands from Northumbria and Mercia with him until peace was assured. The Welsh king trotted forward accompanied by two warriors and a boy bearing a banner depicting a red dragon on a black field. The lad who had been given this honour was Bedwyr; the same boy who had first spotted Cadafael’s army moving towards Powys.
The last time that Oswiu had seen Cadwalladr had been fourteen years ago when he and Oswald had defeated his father at Heavenfield. The boy had grown to manhood as a fugitive and an outlaw. Now he had claimed his rightful place as Cadwallon’s heir. Oswiu couldn’t help thinking that he looked a little like Catinus; both were dark haired and had a swarthy complexion and both were smaller than most men, but broad shouldered.
‘Greetings King Cadwalladr, I’m pleased to see you in your rightful place.’
‘Are you, King Oswiu? The last time we saw each other you had just killed my father and no doubt I’d have met the same fate had you been able to catch me.’
‘Not so. My brother Oswald gave the order that
you were not to be pursued. We had no dispute with you; it was your father who ravaged Northumbria. You were only a boy.’
The Welshman sighed. ‘It all seems a long time ago now. I can scarcely remember my father to be honest.’
‘Yes, it was. I’m willing to let it lie in the past if you are. I hope that now we can be, if not friends, at least allies.’
The young man laughed. ‘If we sign a treaty, who will you have left to fight?’
‘I don’t enjoy warfare. It is a means to an end, and that end is peace. I want to lead my kingdom forward to prosperity and build new churches and monasteries to the glory of God and his Son, Jesus Christ.’
‘That at least we can agree on, but it is a dream, Oswiu. Even I have learnt that today’s ally is tomorrow’s enemy.’
‘Somewhat cynical, but unfortunately too often that is true. Let’s pray that at least between us the truce will last.’
‘What about Powys?’
‘Powys?’
‘Beli is a boy so his chieftains will rule until he is older. They have often made a truce with Mercia and just as often broken it.’
‘In my experience a boy ruler means that his nobles will be too busy struggling for control to be much of a threat externally.’
‘Perhaps, but boys grow up quickly. It won’t be long before Beli is old enough to seize the reins of power.’
‘Well, at least we have a few years when Powys won’t be a factor.’
Privately he didn’t expect to be able to maintain his rule over Mercia indefinitely. Its nobles were too powerful and it was too large and influential for them to accept incorporation into his kingdom. If he kept Northumbria inviolate for the rest of his life he would be satisfied. By the time that Powys started being a problem for Mercia he might even welcome an enemy on its borders. His main concern today was to keep Rheged and the rest of his kingdom safe from Gwynedd.
‘That aside,’ he continued, ‘are you prepared to sign a treaty of friendship?’
