by H A CULLEY
As they landed on the Dalriadan men they tried to poke out their eyes or slit their throats. A few succeeded but many were spitted on swords or spears as they landed. The front rank took two steps forward and cut the kneeling men down as they clambered to their feet. Very few of those who had charged down the slope made it back up again.
What the Welsh didn’t know was that it was also a favourite tactic used by Irish tribesmen and many of his army had fought with Oswald in Ulster. The rest had been quickly warned by those in the know as soon as the charge had begun.
Cadwallon cursed and sent his son, Cadwaladr, to the rear.
‘I’ve lost at least eighty men so far so we no longer have the numerical advantage. I’m going to have to charge en masse and hope that they break. In case it doesn’t work, I want you to make your way back to Gwynedd. If I die you must seize the throne.’
‘No father, I can’t desert you. I’ll wait at the rear, but with your horse so that we can escape together, if necessary. God go with you and grant that your charge is successful.’
With that Cadwaladr turned and made his way back to the Welsh baggage train.
His father gripped his battle axe, settled his helmet firmly on his head and gave the signal. Over two hundred Welshmen and a hundred Mercians charged down the slope at the stationary line of their foes. The momentum of the charge drove Oswald’s men back and broke the shield wall. However, even whilst they drove the latter back, the front rank of the Dalriadans and their allies used their swords and spears to kill the leading rows of their opponents.
Oswald banged his shield into the face of a man with limed hair arranged in spikes, breaking his nose, and then thrust his sword into his neck. The man fell away gurgling as his life blood spurted from his neck, only to be replaced by another half-naked man wielding a large two-bladed axe. He brought the heavy axe down on Oswald’s shield, splitting the bronze rim and driving deeply into the lime wood, where it stuck. The man was now without a weapon. Oswald drove the point of his sword deep into the man’s belly, twisting it as he pulled it out so bloody, grey ropes of intestine were pulled out with it. The Welshman screamed and fell to his knees vainly trying to stuff his guts back inside him.
He was kicked out of the way by a heavily armoured Mercian armed with a sword and a large shield. Oswald dropped his own shield, now rendered useless by the axe, and pulled his seax from his scabbard. He aimed a blow at the Mercian with his sword which the man knocked aside with his shield whilst cutting at Oswald with his own sword. Oswald parried it with his seax, then swept his sword low, aiming at the man’s legs. The blade bit deeply into the Mercian’s left calf and came to a jarring halt as it bit into bone. The man’s leg collapsed and Oswald thrust his seax into his neck as he fell. During a brief respite Oswald grabbed the Mercian’s shield and, sheathing his Seax, pulled the shield close to his chest as he prepared to meet the next attacker.
Further along the line the two monks and the warriors from Iona saw the Welsh trying to uproot the wooden cross. It had stood in line with the front rank at the start of the battle but it was now ten yards away. Furiously Osguid and Oslac, armed only with cudgels, drove forward with the Iona men to stop them. Seeing them battling their way forward, Eochaid yelled for his men to support them and fought his way towards them. His men and those from Rheged followed him and the whole left flank surged forward pushing the Welsh back.
By some miracle Oslac reached the men trying to uproot the cross and laid about him, crushing the skulls of three before the rest of Eochaid’s division reached him and took up position in front of the cross. It was then that he realised that Osguid wasn’t with him. It was only later than he found his body with four dead enemy around him.
Oswiu was also beginning to push the Welsh back on the right flank. He was hindered by the bank of dead bodies in front of his men, indicating just how many of the enemy had fallen vainly trying to break his line. Once they had clambered over this obstacle, they encountered less and less opposition as the enemy started to flee the field.
The Mercians in the centre refused to be routed, however, and Oswald’s own centre found themselves hard pressed to hold the line against them. It was only when Oswiu’s division attacked them in the flank that they started to make a fighting withdrawal. When the Welsh were routed on the left as well, Eochaid swung his men through ninety degrees and laid into their other flank. The Mercians were now all but encircled but they made a brave last stand until, when their numbers were down to about thirty, they surrendered.
By then the routed Welshmen were streaming away to the west. Oswald saw Cadwallon’s red dragon banner held aloft in the middle of small group of mounted men as they turned to join the retreat. He watched in despair for a moment; if Cadwallon got away he would continue to threaten Northumbria. Then he pulled himself together and yelled for someone to fetch the horses.
By the time that enough horses had been brought forward from the rear, Cadwallon was over two miles away. Oswald and Eochaid mounted with the former’s gesith and another dozen men and, leaving Oswiu to mop up the last resistance and take care of both the wounded and those captured, Oswald set off in pursuit. It was only after they had gone a mile that he saw with alarm that one of those riding alongside him was his son, Œthelwald. He realised that he must have been one of those who brought the horses forward. He was about to order him back to the baggage train but he realised that a lone boy on a horse would be very vulnerable to a defeated enemy desperately trying to escape.
As if to emphasise this, they overtook a lot of the enemy fleeing on foot but Oswald ordered his men not to cut them down. He didn’t want any delays in his effort to catch up with Cadwallon. Oswald was determined that the wretched man had to pay for the treacherous way that he had murdered his half-brother. Of course, that had left the throne of Bernicia vacant for Oswald to occupy, but that wasn’t the point. The King of Gwynedd had invited Eanfrith to discuss peace and then had killed him and his escort during dinner. It was not something that could ever be forgiven.
They eventually caught Cadwallon as his retreat westwards was blocked by the North Tyne River and the Welsh had been forced to head north to the ford at a settlement called Chollerton. The water came up to the horses’ chests and the ford was too narrow to allow more than two horses to cross abreast. Cadwallon had sent Cadwaladr across first with a small escort but he and ten men were still on the east bank when Oswald arrived.
They fought bravely to allow time for a tearful Cadwaladr to make his escape, but they died to the last man. Oswald’s only regret was that another man had killed Cadwallon before he could get to him. He had left his son behind with Jarlath and Rònan to protect him when he charged so he was amazed to see Œthelwald ride up to a Welshman and, ducking under the sweep of the man’s sword, stick his seax into his side. He berated Jarlath and Rònan later but, as they pointed out, his son had suddenly ridden off before they could stop him. They were there to protect him, not imprison him. He made his displeasure known to his son as well, but secretly he was very proud of him for killing his first man in battle at eleven.
With Cadwallon dead, he let Cadwaladr go. He suspected that the boy was too young to succeed his father and his assessment proved correct. The news of the king’s death reached Gwynedd before the returning Cadwaladr and by the time he got back a man called Cadafael ap Cynfeddw, who was unrelated to the royal house, had seized the throne. In time Cadafael was to prove a real nuisance to Northumbria.
It wasn’t until Oswald returned to the battlefield that he learned from Oswiu and Oslac about the death of Osguid. The news robbed Oswald of the elation he was feeling over his great victory and, instead of joining the others in feasting to celebrate, he and his brothers spend the night in prayer over Osguid’s corpse laid out under the wooden cross. Even the rain, which started to fall shortly after midnight and continued until dawn, didn’t drive them from their vigil.
~~~
Oswald and his two brothers halted on the top of the l
ast rise before Bebbanburg and gazed at their birthplace. The long outcrop of basalt dominated the small settlement to the west of it and the German Ocean beyond it. The vertical face of rock facing them rose two hundred feet from the level ground below it and two steep paths climbed upwards from the settlement towards the two gates, one to the north and one the south. The palisade atop the rock stood twelve feet tall and Oswald knew that the two entrances were protected by double gatehouses. Even if you managed to capture one, there was a fifty foot long approach to the second gatehouse which was dominated from above. Either approach would prove to be a killing ground to an enemy.
However, today the gates to the north stood open and a welcoming delegation of Bernician nobles waited patiently to greet Oswald. Of course, they had all sworn loyalty to Edwin after Æthelfrith had been killed and his family had been forced to flee to Dalriada. Those nobles who had fled with Queen Acha and her children seventeen years ago had all died during the seventeen years of exile, some of old age but many fighting for their adopted country.
Over a dozen of those riding at Oswald’s back were the sons of those nobles and they expected to recover the lands in Northumbria that used to belong to their families. Their loyalty had to be rewarded but those standing in front of him ready to welcome him back and elect him as their king would hardly give up their lands willingly. It was to be Oswald’s first challenge as king.
But he wasn’t king yet, as he found out when he reached the delegation waiting to greet him.
‘Greetings, Oswald Ætheling. Welcome home.’
Oswald had been about to dismount, but he remained sitting astride his horse as he glared at the rather rotund nobleman smiling up at him.
‘Ætheling? Yes, I am that, but also your king.’
The man looked confused and glanced behind him at the other nobles and the two druid priests who formed the rest of the welcoming party. They merely looked uncomfortable and no-one came to his aid.
‘Lord Oswald, it is the prerogative of the Witan to decide who should be King of Bernicia.’
‘Yes, I’m well aware of that. Why hasn’t the Witan met to confirm my position as your king. I had assumed that they would have done that as soon as word of the defeat and death of Cadwallon reached you.’
The man looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible.
‘Not everyone believed your messenger, Lord Oswald. In any case, the proper selection progress has to be undertaken and there are other æthelings to be considered.’
‘Other æthelings? Who?’
‘Would you like to dismount and accompany me into the fortress where we can discuss these things in more convivial surroundings?’
‘Very well.’
Oswald dismounted and signalled for his two brothers and his son to do likewise.
‘Dunstan, take the men to Budle Bay and camp for now.’
The man commanding his horsemen nodded and the army followed him back the way they had come to camp by a small river that flowed into the sea about a mile from the fortress. It was the nearest source of plentiful fresh water as both the fortress and the settlement that nestled in its shadow depended on wells.
‘These are my brothers Oswiu and Father Oslac and my son, Œthelwald,’ he told the delegation.
‘I’m Brant, Thegn of Berwic and custos of Bebbanburg,’ the man who was evidently the leader of those present told him. He then led the way through the gates without bothering to introduce anyone else.
The rest made to follow but they were prevented by Oswald’s gesith, who interspersed themselves behind Oswald and his family and the discomfited nobles. The two druids were left behind, engaged in earnest conversation. No-one else noticed but Jarlath did and he nudged Rònan, walking at his side.
‘Those two will bear watching. They can’t be happy about the prospect of a Christian king backed up by a Christian army.’
Rònan shrugged. ‘What can they do?’
‘Well, assassinate Oswald for a start.’
‘They’d have to kill his brothers and Œthelwald at the same time. Who would that leave as king?’
‘Oswald’s uncles, Theobald and Ecgulf? They are both pagans, as Oswald’s father was.’
‘Hmmm, they must be the other æthelings that fat slob Brant was talking about.’
Although the two were talking softly, the Thegn of Berwic must have had acute hearing because his face turned a deep shade of pink as he tried to hold his anger in check.
Oswiu was desperate to talk to his brother alone. He felt, correctly, that Oswald had got off to a poor start in Bernicia. He needed the nobles onside if he was to gain the throne and re-unite Northumbria. He’d already heard rumours that Goddodin in the north was trying to re-assert its independence and there was no guarantee that Deira and Elmet to the south would accept Oswald. At least they could rely on Rheged after his betrothal to the pretty Rhieinmelth. He was still trying to work out what he could say to Fianna, who he had been living with as man and wife for several years.
When they reached the great hall they found several other nobles waiting for them.
‘I thought that you said that the Witan had yet to assemble?’ Oswald asked Brant.
‘Some came without being summoned,’ the thegn replied tersely. He was still angry after overhearing Oswald’s men calling him a fat slob.
Oswald looked at him sharply for a moment. It was obvious that the man was fuming about something, but he had no idea what. He shrugged and took a seat at the high table, gesturing for his brothers, son and Brant to join him. Oswiu signalled to a servant hovering nearby and asked for some mead or ale and bread and cheese. It had been some time since they had eaten.
‘Well, who are these other æthelings who want my throne?’
Brant had been about to order some refreshments himself and the fact that Oswiu had beaten him to it didn’t help his mood.
‘Your father’s brothers, Theobald and Ecgulf and the latter’s sons, Edward and Edgar.’
Oswald looked surprised. ‘My uncles must be in their fifties, if they’re still alive. The last I heard they were both in Wessex and Theobald was a monk. I wasn’t aware that Ecgulf was married.’
The last sentence was said with something of a smile. Even at the age of twelve he had known that Ecgulf was a misogynist who avoided the company of women like the plague. Acha had always suspected that he preferred young men as his bedfellows but, if so, he had been remarkably discreet about it.
‘Yes, he married a young girl related to the King of Wessex – a distant cousin. I believe that she was only eleven at the time.’
‘When was this?’
‘Um, about ten years ago, I think.’
Oswald laughed. ‘So Edward and Edgar are still small boys!’
‘Er, yes. Seven and five I believe.’
‘And you think that they would be seriously considered by the Witan?’
‘Well, perhaps not at the moment. But there is still your brothers and your son who are eligible.’
Both Oswiu and Oslac looked amused at the idea but Oswald noticed to his dismay that Œthelwald seemed to be taking the idea seriously. His face had lit up and he was looking at Brant intently. Oswald glared at his son and the boy must have been aware of his disapproval because he looked down at the table and refused to meet his father’s eye. Oswald was well aware that his son had a tendency to be arrogant; now it seemed that he was ambitious too.
‘Very well. When can the Witan congregate?’
‘I’ll arrange for the messengers to leave tomorrow. It will take them a week to get to the furthest nobles. Shall we say in three weeks’ time?’
‘I can’t wait that long. Most live a few days’ ride away at most. They must have heard about Heavenfield and will be expecting the summons. Shall we say in ten days’ time at Yeavering?’
CHAPTER TWO – THE WITAN AT Yeavering
Late August 634 AD
Yeavering was the old summer palace of the Kings of Bernicia. It lay under the hil
l fort constructed by the Britons before the coming of the Romans about fifteen miles west of Bebbanburg and was therefore more central.
Because Bebbanburg was a better defensive location, Yeavering had been neglected during the recent troubled times and Oswald got his men to repair the palisade and renew the turf roofs of the king’s hall and the huts. His army had shrunk in size since Heavenfield. The men from Rheged, Iona and Fergus’ Ilesmen had all gone home with their share of the plunder taken from the dead. Oswald was left with one hundred and twenty warriors, excluding those badly wounded who were expected to recover. They were still at the old Roman fort at Corbridge until they either died or had recovered sufficiently to be moved.
On the appointed day for the Witan to meet, eight of the eleven eorls – the chief magistrates and military commanders of the regions into which the kingdom was divided – were present along with over forty of the sixty thegns. Those who were missing were either from Goddodin or thegns who lived too far away. King Royth of Rheged, his bishop and Rhieinmelth, Oswiu’s betrothed, were also present but they kept themselves apart from the rest. Eochaid had no reason to be there and so he had volunteered to take his birlinn, the Gift of God, back to Arran to collect Oswald’s mother, Acha, and both Keeva and Fianna, the concubines of Oswald and Oswiu respectively.
Dudda, the Eorl of Norhamshire, being the senior, presided. Oswald noted with some displeasure that there were also fifteen druid priests present. Oswiu leaned across and whispered in his brother’s ear.
‘Don’t protest the presence of the pagan chief priests, Oswald. We can banish them once you’re firmly established as king.’
‘I hate them too, but Oswiu is correct. Bite your tongue, brother,’ Oslac muttered quietly.
