by H A CULLEY
They were followed by Cenhelm and the rest of Oswiu’s war band, but there was nothing left for them to do. Those Goddodin who were still alive surrendered and Oswiu did as he’d done at Berwic. As he’d promised, he made Kenric the new eorl and, leaving him twenty men to garrison the fortress, he recruited what was left of the garrison into his war band and marched south, back to Bebbanburg before winter set in. Dùn Èideann would have to wait until next year.
CHAPTER FOUR – THE WITAN AT Eoforwīc
October 634 AD
Whilst Oswiu was investing Dùn Barra, Oswald and Acha were on the road south to Eoforwīc. He’d left Keeva behind at Bebbanburg with Fianna. Accompanied only by his gesith of sixteen warriors, his brother Oslac, and their respective body slaves, he had resisted his mother’s entreaty to take his war band with him.
‘I’m going to Eoforwīc as the ætheling claiming the vacant crown, not as a conqueror.’
‘You are putting your head into a noose, Oswald,’ she told him bluntly. ‘There are druids there too, you know. Word has got around about the disappearance of the druids after the Witan at Yeavering and they’re not fools. They know you disposed of them.’
‘They were traitors. Besides it’s worked; most of the druids in Bernicia have either fled or gone into hiding.’
‘Yes, and a lot of them have fled to Deira!’
‘I’m the son and the grandson of previous kings so I’ve the best claim to the crown, along with Oswiu and Oslac here, of course. I’m sure the Witan will give me a fair hearing and they are hardly likely to try again to kill me, not after the last time.’
‘No, perhaps not, but others might.’
‘Well, I’m not taking my war band into Deira; that would send entirely the wrong message.’
For late October the day was unseasonably pleasant. The column of riders and three baggage carts made its way down Glendale, which ran between the bulk of the Cheviot Hills to the west and the somewhat lower hills between the valley and the coast. Although Oswald had now imposed his rule on Bernicia, he still had enemies; not only the druids but desperate men who’d lost their livelihoods during the depredations of Cadwallon’s Welshmen and Penda’s Mercians and a few pagan thegns who didn’t want to be ruled by a Christian king. He therefore sent three warriors off to each flank to make sure that they weren’t riding into an ambush and another two scouted ahead.
The other eight guarded the baggage carts and rode behind him. He noted with amusement that Jarlath and Rònan insisted on riding closest to him. They were Irish and Pict by birth but there was no-one he would trust more with his life. They had both been his body slaves when they were boys but they had long since been freed and were now two of his best warriors. His present body slave was a surly Mercian boy of twelve who’d been captured after the Battle of Heavenfield. He was called Edwy which was singularly inappropriate as it meant rich warrior; the boy was neither.
They camped for the first night beside the River Breamish some eight miles into the wide valley called Glendale. It had been a long day. They had set out just after dawn but were forced to travel slowly because of the oxen-drawn carts, who could move at three miles an hour if the going was good. It had therefore taken them seven hours and darkness was barely an hour away.
Once the leather tents had been set up the three carters, Edwy, and the two boys who served the gesith went into the nearby wood to collect firewood. Just as darkness fell fires were lit and the three boys and one of the carters started to cook the evening meal. Meanwhile four of the gesith moved silently outside the perimeter of the camp keeping watch. They knew better than to look into the camp, where the fires would rob them of their night vision, and they kept stealthily on the move. They were well aware how vulnerable a stationary sentry was.
Each group of four only did two hours on watch so that they remained fresh. In the middle of the night Jarlath was woken for his turn and he made his way slowly and carefully, so as not to make a sound, to the west of the camp. This was probably the most likely direction for an attack as the wilderness of the Cheviots lay on that side.
As he moved from shadow to shadow he heard a twig snap. It might have been an animal but Jarlath didn’t think so. He was in two minds. If he was certain that there was a person or persons out there he should go and wake the others, but if it was an animal he’d look a fool, and be unpopular for waking everyone unnecessarily. So he decided to investigate further first. He moved a little further into the wood and then stood still, waiting. It was darker here than nearer the camp but most of the leaves had now fallen so some light penetrated the gloom. Slowly his eyes adjusted and, just as he heard some more leaves rustling, he saw the outline of two men creeping forward. He waited to see if there were more but the pair seemed to be on their own.
From their vague silhouettes they seemed to wearing helmets and had swords in their hands, but no shields. Jarlath was fully armoured and had both. The nearest man was no more than five yards away now and he must has sensed something because he turned to face him. Jarlath didn’t hesitate but leaped forward thrusting the point of his sword at the other man’s neck. The intruder tried to raise his own sword to ward off the lunge but he was only partially successful. The point missed its intended target – his throat – but pierced his eye instead. He screamed briefly before the blade entered his brain, then he dropped like a dead weight.
Unfortunately Jarlath’s sword was momentarily trapped in the dead man’s skull as the second man went to swing his seax at Jarlath’s neck. He raised his shield and the blow glanced off it harmlessly. The second attacker came in again and this time Jarlath punched his face with the boss of his shield, causing the man to yelp as it broke his nose. He abandoned his efforts to drag his sword free and pulled out his seax instead. By now he could hear some of his companions crashing through the wood calling out his name.
His assailant realised that it was time to leave and turned to flee. In doing so he tripped over a dead branch and went sprawling, losing his seax. Barely a second later Jarlath knelt in the small of his back and pressed the point of his own seax against the nape of his neck. Jarlath thought that his opponent was rather small for a warrior but it wasn’t until they had dragged him into the camp and built up the fire so that they could see him more clearly that they realised that he was a boy of thirteen or fourteen.
‘Why were you spying on us? Who sent you?’ Oswald demanded.
The boy glared balefully at him but said nothing. Oswald sighed.
‘We can do this the hard way if you prefer. Jarlath has already broken your nose. I expect it hurts, but that’s nothing to the pain you are going to experience if you don’t tell me what I want to know. Is that what you want?’
The boy began to look worried. Then Acha appeared with Oslac.
‘I’m sure that the boy will see sense, Oswald. Won’t you?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Let’s start with your name.’
The boy debated whether to answer as she waited patiently.
‘It’s Sigbert,’ he said quietly.
‘And who was the man with you?’
‘My father.’
Then he began to sob, but after a few minutes he started to talk. Once he started he held nothing back.
‘A man paid us with a lump of silver to find your camp and report back to him tomorrow. He wanted to know how many you were, what sentries you set, how many and where, how alert they were, that sort of thing.’
Oswald looked at his mother. It sounded as if whoever had hired the pair was planning to attack them at some stage before they reached Eoforwīc.
‘What was your father? A villein or perhaps a robber?’ Oslac asked.
‘No, he was a freeman employed by our thegn as a huntsman.’
‘And who is your thegn?’
‘Leofwine of Morpeth, but he wasn’t involved. The man who came and found father earlier today had been riding hard and had evidently come from a distance.’
Oswald was puzzled.
‘If your father
was a huntsman, why did he have a sword and you a seax?’
‘He was an archer in the fyrd when it was called out, but he had been trained to use a sword when he was younger and he was teaching me. A second sword was too expensive, so we used wooden practice ones.’
The boy broke down again and sobbed for a minute or so before he was able to continue. Oslac put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he gave the monk a grateful glance.
‘We only had the one sword but the man who hired father gave him my seax as part of the price he agreed.’
‘And where were you to report to this man?’
‘There is a tavern at the ford over the River Wansbeck. We were to meet him there at midday tomorrow.’
Sigbert rode towards the tavern nervously. He entered and looked around but the man wasn’t there yet. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down in a corner, trying not to look at four of Oswald’s gesith who were drinking quietly on the other side of the room. They were wearing homespun tunics and rough woollen cloaks so that they looked like villeins. As such, they wouldn’t have been allowed to carry a sword but each had his seax concealed under his cloak.
Oswald had promised the boy that he would be trained as a warrior and join his war band in due course if he swore loyalty to him and played his part in the capture of the man who’d wanted the camp spied on. The boy was reluctant at first - the killing of his father was still too raw for him to want to join his killers but, as Acha had pointed out to him, what other option did he have?
The orphaned children of freemen normally paid their thegn a fee to inherit their land when their fathers died. If they were too young to work the land they would become bonded to another family. They weren’t slaves but they might just have well have been. But, in any case, his father had no land, just a hut and what he earned as a hunter. A tenth of that went to the thegn and the rest had fed and clothed them. But Sigbert didn’t yet have the skills to be a successful hunter. The rustling of leaves and breaking twigs that Jarlath had heard was made by him, not his father. So he had eventually agreed.
‘You’re a bit young to be in here on your own aren’t you, lad?’
Sigbert eyed the tavern keeper’s daughter warily and ordered a glass of milk. She laughed.
‘We don’t often get asked for that,’ she smiled at him. I’ll go and get some fresh from the udder.’
He couldn’t work out if she was flirting with him or not but her friendliness lifted his spirits and he grinned at her.
‘If it’s from your udders don’t bother with a goblet, I’ll drink it straight from the source.’
‘You’re a cheeky sod, aren’t you? Sorry, I like men, not little boys.’
However, she grinned back at him before going off to get his milk. Despite the fact that she’d slapped him down, the exchange had buoyed Sigbert up and he waited for the man he was there to meet with a little more confidence.
He was nursing the untouched goblet of milk and was lost in thought, so he didn’t notice the man until he sat down beside him.
‘Where’s your father, boy?’
‘He didn’t make it. He was killed by one of their sentries but I managed to get away.’
The man grunted but didn’t say anything in reply to the tidings that the lad’s father was dead.
‘What did you find out?’
‘King Oswald only has his gesith with him as far as warriors are concerned. I also saw his mother and a Christian priest plus the usual number of servants, carters and the like.’
‘You saw a lot! How do you know the warriors were his gesith?’
‘They had campfires so it was easy to see who was there. The warriors wore chain mail byrnies so who else would they be? I counted a dozen of them but obviously there were others on guard. They were in the woods and moving quietly. That’s how my father died.’
Sigbert wiped his face with his sleeve to dry it from the tears that were beginning to flow.
‘Stop crying and try to be a man! You’ll attract attention to us.’ the stranger hissed at him. ‘What about the horses?’
‘Hobbled and tied to a line near the camp.’
The man sat back and smiled crookedly.
‘You’ve done well boy. Thank you.’
The stranger got up to leave but Sigbert grabbed his arm.
‘Where’s the silver you promised my father?’
‘My agreement was with him and he’s not here.’ The man shrugged. ‘You can keep the seax though.’
‘You bastard!’ the boy hissed at him.
Suddenly the boy felt the point of a dagger being pressed into his side none to gently.
‘Let go of me and stop making a scene or I’ll send you to join your father. Now!’
Sigbert hastily let go and the man made for the door. Before he got there the four disguised members of Oswald’s gesith got up to intercept him. However, he was too quick for them. He kicked an empty bench at them, causing two of them to stumble. Before they could recover he had reached the door and flung it open, only to find Jarlath, Beorhtwulf and Rònan standing there with the points of their swords at his neck. Moments later he was seized from behind and his arms were pinioned to his side.
~~~
Aidan didn’t know what to do. He had had a modicum of success in bringing the Word of God to the heathen Britons in Strathclyde until Belin had died. Now his son Owain had succeeded him and he was virulently anti-Christian. Aidan and Ròidh had only found out that he’d put a price on the head of every Christian priest and monk when some men had tried to take them prisoner in the last village they’d visited.
They had walked between the outlying huts and hovels, making for the open area to be found in the middle of most villages when their way had been blocked by a group of men wielding clubs, spears and scythes.
‘What do you want here, strangers? We don’t welcome visitors.’
The speaker was a large, well-muscled man who was probably the blacksmith. Certainly his weapon of choice, a heavy iron hammer, would indicate this.
‘I think they’re monks, father,’ a youth, who was nearly as well-built as his father, called out.
‘Are they indeed? Well, it’s our lucky day then. The king will pay us well for every Christian head we take to him, and here we have two of them.’
‘Run!’ Aidan yelled and ran from the settlement with Ròidh at his heels.
The men had pursued them for a mile or so and had then given up. Later on they’d seen two men on horses searching for them. Ròidh had been impressed at the older monk’s turn of speed. Aidan was now over thirty whereas the former Pictish prince was still in his mid-twenties. However, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the older monk. He only ate what he needed to survive and consequently he was light and wiry. Ròidh, on the other hand, was always hungry and ate twice as much as Aidan did, given the chance. He too was fit and far from fat, but he carried quite a few pounds more than his companion did.
‘What do we do now Aidan?’
‘Well, I think our mission in Strathclyde is probably over for now. You can’t convert people who are trying to capture you for the reward.’
‘But how do we get back to Iona with everyone’s hand turned against us?’
Aidan thought for a long while. He knew that they were not far from the southern coast of the region called Galloway. However, even if they got there safely, they would have to cross the mud flats and waters of the Solway Firth to reach the Christian kingdom of Rheged. That would mean stealing a boat of some sort and crossing at high tide.
The only other option was to pray to be rescued. Abbot Ségéne would soon get to hear of King Owain’s crusade against Christians and realise that he and Ròidh were in peril. What he could do about it was another matter.
~~~
Oswiu was not in a good mood, despite the ecstatic welcome that Fianna had given him. In fact it made his frame of mind worse because it reminded him that he was engaged to Rhieinmelth of Rheged and he hadn’t broken the news to Fianna yet.
The presence of his son, a boy of three, made his feeling of guilt worse.
But even more depressing was the fact that he had been dreading telling his brother that he’d failed to subdue all of Goddodin before the imminent onset of winter forced him to return to Bebbanburg. He had prepared himself mentally for Oswald’s disappointment in him; only to find that the king had left the previous day for Eoforwīc with their mother.
He should have felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to report his failure to capture Dùn Èideann, but he just wanted to get it over with, so he resented the fact that he would now have to wait to get it off his chest. Furthermore, he felt angry that Oswald and their mother had gone to the Witan in Deira without him. He expected Oswald to be chosen as king, but he was also an ætheling and had a right to be present as a contender, even if he did intend to support his elder brother.
Making love to Fianna the night of his return, and more than once, had improved his disposition slightly but later, after fretting for a few hours he decided to follow Oswald to Eoforwīc. The king may have only taken his gesith with him but he was travelling with a baggage train and oxen didn’t move at more than three or four miles an hour. If he took pack animals, he and his own gesith could overtake him, even though Oswald had one and half day’s start on him. It was over a hundred and twenty miles from Bebbanburg to Eoforwīc and Oswiu didn’t expect Oswald’s party to be able to cover more than thirty miles a day, if that. With any luck he should be able to catch him up well before he got there.
In the event he hadn’t got very far before he had to return to Bebbanburg in a hurry.
~~~
The stranger never did give Oswald his name, but from his accent he was a Mercian. They took him from the tavern to where the rest of the group was waiting further west along the River Wansbeck. He didn’t have to tell him that Penda had a spy at Bebbanburg: that much was obvious. How else did the Mercian know that Oswald and Acha had departed for Eoforwīc? At first he wouldn’t tell them the name of the person who had betrayed him.
