by H A CULLEY
As Osfrid watched, one of his men sewed up his wound and bandaged it. By the time he was finished both leaders had met in the middle between the two armies and, when they shook hands, Osfrid breathed a sigh of relief. A truce had evidently been agreed.
An hour later he stood with his men along either side of the track that led north from the ford as the men of Strathclyde walked between them on their way home. They received a few dark looks and more than a little invective but most shambled past, looking defeated. The garrison from Caer Luel brought up the rear, Beli having agreed to surrender the town as part of the deal.
The army of the Strathclyde Britons may not have been annihilated, as Behrt had planned, but they had been significantly weakened. It was unlikely that they would give Northumbria any trouble for some time to come.
Chapter Sixteen – Disaster in the North
698 AD
‘Have you heard the news, Osfrid?’ Godwyna asked excitedly as she entered the hall after returning from visiting her husband’s cousin, the Thegn of Bebbanburg Vill.
‘What news, have the Picts invaded?’
‘No, it’s good news. Queen Cuthburh had given birth to another son, this one is to be called Otta.’
‘Yes, we should rejoice I suppose, but it doesn’t help the succession. Aldfrith is obviously still virile enough to beget children but he’s an old man now. How old will Osred and Otta be when he dies, that’s the important question?’
‘Well Eadbehrt was seventy six. If the king lives as long as that, Osred would be thirteen.’
‘That’s still too young to rule a kingdom as vast as Northumbria. In any case, few men live as long as Eadbehrt.’
Eadbehrt had succeeded Saint Cuthbert as Bishop and Abbot of Lindisfarne and had done much to promote the cult of the saint, turning Lindisfarne into an important pilgrimage destination. This had brought wealth to the monastery which Eadbehrt had used to extend the small church and construct other stone buildings, such as a refectory so that the monks could all eat together instead of in the huts they shared with one or two others.
Eadfrith was a scholar of some repute who had already written a book entitled the Life of St. Cuthbert and who had now embarked on producing an illuminated version of the four gospels. Osfrid had been shown the opening page of the Gospel according to Saint Luke by his brother during his last visit to Lindisfarne and he’d been awed by the richness of the decoration of each letter. Not only did the care taken over the calligraphy and the illustration show great dedication on the part of the new bishop, but it was evident that he was a skilled artist as well.
‘What will happen when Aldfrith dies then?’
Osfrid was tempted to tell his wife of Behrt’s proposal but he remembered his oath not to do so just in time.
‘It will be up the Witan to choose a successor.’
‘But if Osred and Otta are too young, who then will be the æthelings considered?’
Osfrid shrugged. ‘All descendants of Ida I suppose.’
‘Including our sons and my sister’s son, Eochaid?’
‘Unlikely. Æthelings are descended through the male line only as far as I’m aware.’
‘I’m glad. Being King of Northumbria is a thankless task, especially as there will be many others who think they have a better right to the throne.’
‘I agree, Eadwulf and Swefred are well out of it.’
~~~
Their daughter, Guthild, was now twelve and Osfrid and Godwyna had started to think of possible husbands for her. They hadn’t reached any conclusions, and she was still a little too young to marry, when Eadwulf returned during his training to be a warrior at Alnwic. To everyone’s surprise he brought Eochaid with him. It was evident that the two young men were close friends and, to his parents delight, he seemed to have lost his truculent attitude. Not that he showed any signs of affection, but at least he was no longer openly hostile.
The other surprise was that the eighteen year old Eochaid showed an obvious interest in Guthild whilst she seemed equally enamoured of her cousin. Osfrid and Godwyna smiled at each other, remembering their attraction to each other at similar ages.
The one person who wasn’t delighted by the burgeoning love between the two cousins was Eadwulf. He had brought Eochaid with him to go hunting, get drunk and generally enjoy himself with his friend. Now, deprived of his company whilst he went riding with Guthild and spent time talking to her, Eadwulf became surly once more. If Eochaid was aware of the change in his friend he said nothing, but he was so wrapped up with Guthild that he probably didn’t even notice.
When he returned to Alnwic he was betrothed to Guthild with a wedding date set for the following year when the bride would be thirteen. To his parents’ surprise, Eadwulf announced his intention of sailing on the next Knarr to travel abroad. His plan was, apparently, to become a mercenary in Frisia.
He reasoned that this would give him experience as a warrior, something he was unlikely to get in peaceful Northumbria. Osfrid thought that it was more likely that he was just plain bored and craved adventure. Whatever the reason, no-one was sorry to see him go.
Swefred had observed the relationship between his sister and his cousin develop and had been secretly pleased by her betrothal. They got on well together and, although he would hate it when she left Bebbanburg, he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather she married. He liked Eochaid, even hero worshipped him, though he kept that very much to himself. On the other hand he hated his brother with a passion; something else he kept well hidden.
He was a quiet boy but still waters run deep. He gave everything he did and said a great deal of thought and, for ten, he was clever beyond his years. He admired his father and modelled himself very much on him.
The thing that upset him most was the thought that one day that ungrateful swine Eadwulf would inherit Bebbanburg and become the ealdorman whilst he would be lucky if he secured a place in the king’s gesith. More likely he would end up serving another ealdorman, certainly not Eadwulf. He swore that the day his brother became master of the grim fortress overlooking the German Ocean would be the last day he would set foot in the place.
What made it even harder to contemplate was the knowledge that his father would far rather he inherited than his elder brother. He even thought about becoming a monk, like his uncle, Alaric, but he knew the quiet contemplative life in a monastery would bore him to tears.
Intuitively Osfrid understood his younger son better than he let on. He knew how he felt about Eadwulf and the thought that he would take over from him when Swefred deserved it so much more saddened him. It was two years yet before he would send the boy to Lindisfarne to be educated and six years before he would have completed his training as a warrior. Nevertheless he began to think about his future. Perhaps he could ask Aldfrith to grant him a vill so that he could at least become a thegn.
Over the past two years he hadn’t thought much about Caledonia. Beli had been behaving himself since his defeat near Caer Luel but there had been developments in both Dalriada and in the Land of the Picts.
Shortly after he’d returned from Cumbria he heard that Domnall Don had died and Ferchard ua Dúnchado had taken the throne of Dalriada. However, his reign didn’t last long before Ferchard was killed by his cousin Béc ua Dúnchado.
Taran of the Picts had also died a year previously. He had been succeeded by Bridei against some opposition from a minority of the mormaers; opposition which Bridei had dealt with decisively by killing his opponents and murdering their families. They had been replaced by men he was certain he could trust but it had made him very unpopular in some parts of his new kingdom.
Such turbulence was good news as far as Osfrid was concerned. For a start Beli of Strathclyde would be too wary of what was happening on his other borders to be plotting revenge against Northumbria for his defeat in Cumbria.
It was late August before the summons came. Bridei had evidently decided that his grip on the Picts was strong enough to flex his muscles by
invading Lothian. Behrt hadn’t waited for Aldfrith’s permission, but had called out his own fyrd and begged Osfrid, Eochaid and the other Bernician ealdormen to do the same. Because Bridei had already taken most of the area immediately south of the Firth of Forth, the muster point chosen was Dùn Barra, Behrt’s stronghold at the north eastern tip of Lothian.
When Osfrid arrived with his gesith and warband he was met by Behrtfrith, Behrt’s younger brother, a boy of fifteen who was still training to be a warrior. He directed them to a place where they could camp and explained that his brother had gone with his gesith to reconnoitre the Pictish invaders.
‘They’ve reached Ecclesbrith,’ Behrt said that evening to those ealdormen who had arrived. ‘They appear to be in some strength – perhaps one and a half thousand on foot and about fifty on those mountain ponies of theirs.’
A quick tally around the room revealed that the gesith and warriors who had accompanied their lords totalled some four hundred; another thousand members of the fyrd would arrive in the next day or so. There were eight shires in Bernicia plus another three in Lothian. Of the eight only four had arrived so far though all three of Behrt’s ealdormen were present. Osfrid was surprised to see that Eochaid had yet to arrive. If he’d set off when Osfrid had he should have been there several hours ago.
He didn’t arrive until noon the next day. Apparently he had travelled via Bebbanburg and stayed the night there. Osfrid was annoyed at his tardiness but he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to spend a few hours with his betrothed. He would have done the same.
When the war bands and the fyrds were all present Behrt sent Osfrid out with his scouts to locate the Picts. He found a forage party first. They were six miles east of Ecclesbrith and were in the process of looting a farmstead. The farmer, his wife and six children ranging in age between eleven and three lay scattered around the three huts that served as their barns and living accommodation. It was obvious that all the women, even a girl of five had been raped before they were killed.
Osfrid saw red, and without thinking that saving one of them for questioning might have been a good idea, he led his sixty men in a charge into the dozen Picts. It took less than four minutes to kill them all. He had slain the last one himself. He had tried to run but Osfrid had ridden him down, chopping his head from his body with one blow of his sword. It was only then that he saw that his quarry had been a boy of about twelve or thirteen. It didn’t matter, he was equally as guilty as the men.
Time was of the essence so there was no time for a Christian burial. They carried the farmer and his family into their hut and set fire to it to cremate their poor abused bodies. They left the Picts where they lay for the wolves and the carrion birds to feed on.
Osfrid crested a small ridge to see the main body of the Pictish army a mile away near the coast. He agreed with Behrt’s estimate of fifteen hundred but he was puzzled by it. It was too small a force to capture Lothian and establish the border on the River Twaid, if that was their intention, and too large and unwieldy to be merely a raiding party.
The other thing that puzzled him was the slow progress they appeared to be making. It had been over two weeks since they had reportedly crossed the border near Stirling yet they had only advanced fifteen miles into Lothian in all that time. It was almost as if they didn’t want to stray too far from their homeland.
By noon the next day Behrt had drawn up his small army across the coastal strip with his right flank by the start of the beach and his left secured by his horsemen, all of whom were under Osfrid’s command with Eochaid as his deputy.
The Picts spent some time running about, whooping and hurling insults at the Northumbrians in a language which few understood. The meaning was clear though. Behrt’s army stood stoically waiting. Some, especially those in the fyrd, were frightened by the Picts intimidating tactics but most were merely amused. They’d seen it all before and knew that the enemy were trying to work up enough courage to charge a shield wall.
Finally, with a roar several of the Picts broke away and started to run towards the Northumbrian line. The rest streamed after them. There was no formation, just a mass of half-naked bodies wielding a small shield and either a sword, spear or axe. Few, except some of the chieftains, wore chain mail though many had helmets of various descriptions – mainly round pots with no protection for the face, ears or neck.
In contrast the Northumbrian warriors wore either a chain mail byrnie or armour made from boiled leather and their helmets had either a nasal or metal masks with eyeholes that covered the upper part of the face. Some even had a chainmail avantail to protect the neck. Their shields were much larger too. All were circular, made from lime wood and reinforced by a metal boss and banding around the rim. They were much heavier than the targes carried by the Picts but they offered protection from throat to knee when held in front of a man.
The warriors stood close together, shoulders almost touching, so that the shields overlapped. The most vulnerable parts of the body in the shield wall were the lower leg and the feet. Most warriors wore leather shoes but Osfrid had his cobbler make him a pair of stout leather boots with a steel toecap and metal strips sewn into the upright part of the boot to protect his shins.
The Picts hurled themselves at the front rank of Northumbrians, trying to pull their shields down so that they could stab at the faces and torsos behind them. Osfrid allowed his shield to drop as a Pict grabbed it so that the man behind him could thrust his spear at Osfrid’s neck but, before he could do so the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg stabbed the man holding his shield in the neck and brought it back up just in time to deflect the spear point. The man behind Osfrid grabbed the Pict’s spear and yanked it so that the man wielding it was pulled forward onto Osfrid’s sword.
He placed his foot on the Pict’s body and pulled his sword free with a sucking sound ready to deal with the next assailant, but there wasn’t one. The Picts were in full retreat. The next charge was dealt with as easily as the first one and then, to Osfrid’s amazement the Picts fled.
They had certainly suffered casualties – perhaps a hundred or so dead and as many wounded who were later killed by the victors – but not enough to cause them to flee quite so readily. It seemed to Osfrid as if it was deliberate, but he was too busy getting the horses brought forward so that he and his warband could chase the routed Picts to give it much thought.
They pursued them until dusk, killing at least another hundred, before returning to the battlefield. Behrt had set up camp half a mile away, clear of the stench of blood, urine and faeces and the birds and animals who were already feasting on the Pictish dead. The Northumbrians had only suffered thirty killed and forty wounded, most of those flesh wounds. The dead had been laid out ready for a Christian burial in ground that the priests were busy consecrating.
‘I smell a trap, Behrt. Picts don’t normally give up so easily. It was almost as if they want us to chase after them,’ Osfrid said at the war council in the eorl’s tent later.
‘Rubbish,’ Behrt snarled. ‘We beat them and now they are fleeing back to Pictland with their tail between their legs. We need to go after them and make sure that they understand that raiding Lothian isn’t worth the cost.’
‘How far will you chase them, lord?’ Eochaid asked.
‘As far as necessary. For every settlement and farmstead of mine they have burned and pillaged I’ll do the same to three of theirs.’
‘You intend to enter the Land of the Picts? Has the king authorised this?’ another ealdorman asked.
‘He has charged me with the defence of our border with Pictland. That is sufficient authority.’
There was a general murmuring amongst the ealdormen before Eochaid spoke again.
‘The fyrd can only be used to defend Northumbria without the king’s specific agreement to do otherwise,’ he pointed out. ‘If you cross the border you cannot take the fyrd with you, which would leave you with too few men. We’d be vulnerable and in a land that our foes know and we don’t.’<
br />
He didn’t mention the disaster when King Ecgfrith’s army had been annihilated but it was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
‘Are you a coward, boy?’ Behrt sneered. ‘It was obviously a mistake to allow you to become an ealdorman before you’re ready for the responsibility.’
‘I’m no coward. I would have thought I’d proved that today, but I’m not an idiot either. Pity I can’t say the same about you.’
‘Stop it both of you!’ Osfrid barked, then continued in a quieter voice. ‘The Picts are our enemies, not each other. Now let’s all calm down and discuss matters rationally. I see no problem in venturing a little way into Pictland to wreak what havoc we may, but we need to be able to retreat quickly if we run into too much in the way of opposition. I agree with Ealdorman Eochaid that we mustn’t risk walking into a trap.’
‘Since when have you been appointed commander of the army of Bernicia?’ Behrt demanded. ‘May I remind you that you are an ealdorman whereas I am an eorl?’
‘I’m here at your request, lord, not on the orders of the king. Bebbanburg is not in Lothian, in case you’d forgotten, and I answer only to Aldfrith. My presence is therefore voluntary. We set out to expel the invading Picts; we’ve done that. I’m willing to make sure that they don’t come back in a hurry, but I won’t risk my men’s lives unnecessarily.’
There was a general murmur of agreement from the others, except for the three ealdormen of shires in Lothian. They kept quiet but their demeanour indicated that they weren’t too happy about their eorl’s plan.
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.’
