Warrior of Woden

by Matthew Harffy

  Beobrand gripped Hrunting so tightly his fingers hurt, the knuckles showing white. Cynan's words rocked him as if he had been struck. He took a step back, away from the Waelisc gesith. Away from the woman who cowered and shook, panting in the mud. Her pretty face was bloody. As he watched, fresh blood oozed from her nose and ran into her open mouth. He had done that when he'd punched her. His knuckles yet stung from the force of the blow.

  Sulis stared at him from beneath the wreath of her unruly hair. There was hatred in those eyes. And a terrible sorrow. But no fear. She was beyond fear now. For what else could be done to her?

  Unbidden, the image of Hengist came to him then, smiling at the pain and anguish of others. Beobrand's mother had told him he was not his father's son, but now he knew he shared the same father as that monster, Hengist. He could feel the same blood coursing through his veins. The same fury and lust for violence. He had believed it came from Grimgundi, but now he knew otherwise. He had vowed he would never abuse the weak as Grimgundi had.

  But, in the darkest corners of his mind, he knew that he could all too readily become a man such as Hengist. He shared the same blood, and he harboured the same rage.

  He sheathed Hrunting. Such was the shaking of his hand that he missed the scabbard on the first attempt. Beobrand was suddenly aware of the hush that had fallen over the men.

  "You," he said, pointing at Sulis, "have raised your hand against my woman and me. Your life is mine by right of law." He hesitated. The ravens eyed him, but were as silent as the men now, as if they too listened to his words. Beobrand hawked to clear his throat and spat. "But instead of death, I give you your freedom." The woman's glaring expression did not change and Beobrand wondered if she had understood him. "Go," he said. "Return to Mercia. But know this," he fixed her with a hard stare that at last caused her to flinch, "if I see you again, I will kill you."

  He turned his back on Cynan and the Mercian thrall and walked towards the Wall.

  Chapter 58

  Cynan stood for a long while and watched the small shape of Sulis until she was lost to the distance and the gathering dusk.

  After Beobrand had walked away, Cynan had pulled her to her feet. Awkwardly, he'd tried to dab at the blood on her beautiful face, but she had pulled away from him, hissing like a wild cat.

  "It is all well now," he had whispered to her. "Nobody will harm you now."

  She had let out a harsh laugh then.

  "You are a fool, Cynan," she'd said. She'd reached out her hand and for the briefest of moments her fingers had caressed his cheek. He could still feel the thrill of her touch.

  There had been tears in her eyes, but she had not cried. She'd wiped the blood from her bleeding nose and stuck the knife she carried into her belt. Cynan had fetched a cloak from one of the slain warriors. It was a fine garment, made of the best wool, thick and heavy and dyed a rich blue. It would keep her warm and dry. Sulis had taken the cloak without a word of thanks and he had pressed a lump of silver into her hand. Again he had thrilled at her touch. She had remained silent. She glanced down to see what he had given her and then slipped it into a pouch that hung from her belt.

  All about them, the rest of Beobrand's warriors were busy with the horses, the carts and oxen and preparing a fire and food for the night. Cynan knew they glanced at him and the slave woman. They probably thought he was a fool too. Standing before Beobrand like that had been madness. And yet, he could not bear the thought of Sulis being slain. For her life to be taken by the lord he revered had been a horrific prospect.

  As he watched her go, walking westward, into the watery red light of the setting sun, Cynan imagined leaping onto his horse and riding after her. Perhaps it would be best for him. Beobrand would surely despise him now for his audacity and defiance. What life would he have now with the lord of Ubbanford? Perhaps he could make a life for himself with Sulis. Maybe he could find a new lord to serve. Or he could simply build a small house for her somewhere out there in the western wilds where no lord truly held sway. They could raise a family and live a quiet life, eking out a living from the land.

  Two ravens that had been perched on the carts both flapped into the sky, as Fraomar goaded the oxen and the waggon lurched forward. The birds croaked angrily as they flew northward. Cynan shuddered. Had those ravens been there before? He had not noticed them until now. Their cawing sounded like harsh chuckles at his foolishness.

  Of course he could not follow Sulis. Even if he had thought she might allow him to. He had given his oath to Beobrand, and the thegn of Ubbanford had given him everything in return. A life with meaning. Wealth. A family of oath-sworn warriors.

  Cynan glanced towards the gatehouse in the Great Wall. Beobrand stood there watching him. Cynan could not make out his expression. Beobrand met his gaze and held it for a moment, before turning and walking through the gate and to their camp south of the Wall. Had Beobrand offered him the slightest of nods of approval? It was hard to say in the dim light.

  Cynan looked back westward, hoping for a final glimpse of the woman who had suffered so much and caused so much pain. He longed for her, and yet he knew she would never willingly be his. His stomach clenched and he felt a pang of sadness when he realised he could no longer see her. She had been swallowed by the distance and the gloaming.

  "Come on, Cynan," Gram said, cutting into his reverie, "it will be dark soon and there is still much to do if you have finished pining for your wayward thrall."

  Cynan turned, a flicker of anger rippling through him. But he saw no malice on Gram's face. In fact, the older man offered him a twisted smile of commiseration.

  "Bearn could use your help with the horses if we are not to lose some of them in the night," Gram said.

  Cynan saw that some of the Mercian mounts had galloped away from the road and needed to be rounded up. As the best horseman of Beobrand's warband, it made no sense for him to be standing idle while his comrades struggled to catch all the mounts before nightfall.

  With a sigh, Cynan nodded to Gram and stalked off to where his horse stood, waiting patiently for its rider.

  He could never turn his back on his oath. Or his friends.

  Swinging lithely up onto his horse's back, Cynan pulled the animal's head in the direction of the furthest wayward horse and dug in his heels. The beast carried him forward at an easy lope.

  Despite himself, Cynan smiled. He rode away from Sulis and the confusion he felt and towards a simple task. One he knew he could easily fulfil without the need for killing or having to confront the maelstrom of emotions that broiled within him.

  He could never ride away from his lord and this group of men. His family.

  Kicking his steed into a gallop, Cynan rode into the gathering gloom to do his duty.

  We hope you enjoyed this book!

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  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  About Matthew Harffy

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  Historical Note

  The period of history depicted in the Bernicia Chronicles is distant and veiled in mists of uncertainty. As with the previous books in the series, in Warrior of Woden I have taken some historical events which are recorded in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and Bede's History of the English Church and People and I have woven Beobrand's story around the few facts available. As always, I see my role as storyteller, not historian. This is primarily a work of fiction, but it is firmly based in the historical setting and around the real events and lives of kings, priests, thegns and peasants of seventh-century Britain.

  The battle at the beginning of Warrior of Woden alludes to a confederation of southern Saxons that is mentio
ned in the Annals of Ulster under the title "The Battle of Oswald". It is possible that the entry in the Annals refers to the later battle of Maserfelth (Maserfield), but I have imagined a confederation between different nations against the rising power of Oswald of Northumbria and the sons of Æthelfrith. Lindsey was a small kingdom that had long been subject to Northumbria and it seems possible that the royal line of Lindsey would side with other enemies of Northumbria, such as the pagans, Penda of Mercia and Sigeberht the Little of the East Saxons, in an attempt to overthrow Oswald. I have envisaged them amassing troops in Lindsey, near the capital of Northumbria, Eoferwic (York) and launching a surprise attack whilst the Christian Oswald is distracted celebrating Easter, that most holy of Christian festivals. In the Prologue, Oswald has been alerted to the attack and has succeeded in leading his own warhost to the field to meet the uprising before they reach Eoferwic, at Tatecastre (Tadcaster).

  Whatever happened in reality, Oswald continued to rule the most powerful kingdom in Britain until AD 642.

  Perhaps it was in such a battle that Eowa turned his back on his brother, Penda, effectively splitting Mercia in two.

  The battle against the Picts, Cair Chaladain, is fictional, but loosely based on the earlier battle of Raith in AD 596, where the Angles defeated an alliance of Scots, Britons and Picts.

  I have Oswald's son, Œthelwald, being born in AD 636, soon after the king's marriage to Cyneburg. It is not known when Œthelwald was born and it has been postulated that he was from an earlier marriage and thus older than I have made him.

  The location of Eowa's hall in Mercia is unknown. I chose Snodengaham (Nottingham), in northern Mercia, with Eowa ruling the land thereabouts and his brother, Penda ruling the west and south of Mercia.

  The fostering of noble children was commonplace. Having Octa fostered by Eowa, the atheling of Mercia, provides an elegant solution for Oswald to keep an eye on his reluctant ally through Beobrand's visits to his son.

  The names of both of Eowa's children are known. Eowa's proud line was strong and the boys, Osmod and Alweo, both survive to have children of their own. Osmod's line leads to that most famous of Mercian kings and builder of a great dyke, Offa. Alweo's line leads to another king of Mercia, Æthelbald.

  Eowa's wife's name is not known. I decided to use Cynethryth, the name of the queen of the later king, Offa.

  The attempt to assassinate Eowa is based on an event that took place in AD 626 to another king: Edwin of Northumbria. A West Saxon attacked Edwin with a poisoned blade and the king only survived as a result of one of his thegns, Lilla, interposing himself between his lord and his would-be assassin. Lilla was slain and Edwin barely made it through the night after being injured with the envenomed blade.

  I could find no record for a name for the Roman road from Manchester to Carlisle, so I decided that the Anglo-Saxons would refer to it as, Weatende Stræt. Weatende means the furthest west part of something in Old English. Similarly, the Roman road from York to Manchester has no recorded Old English name and so I chose to have the locals call it Hēah Stræt. There are of course many other High Streets in Britain, some of which are Roman roads.

  One of the defining events of the novel is the battle of Maserfelth, where Penda slew Oswald and broke Northumbria's stranglehold over Britain. The location of the battle has long been traditionally accepted as Oswestry in Shropshire. The town even derives its name from Oswald's death (Oswestry comes from Oswald's Tree and the name in Welsh is Croesoswallt, which translates as Oswald's Cross). However, there has been much conjecture over this location and when the facts are analysed it seems possible, likely even, that medieval clergymen decided to propagate the story of Oswald's death there, to capitalise on the saintly king's burgeoning cult. There are several other contenders for the location of Oswald's final battle. In the end, I settled on a site just north of the Mersey, with Oswald defending his kingdom from Penda's attack, rather than attacking deep into Mercian and Powys territory.

  Eowa did die at the battle of Maserfield. It is not known whose side he was on, but it has been conjectured that he was a client king to Oswald.

  Animal sacrifice was common practice in many religions. Stallions were particularly prized for the powerful magic their blood invoked and were used in rites conferring kingship. At the pagan temple at Gamla Uppsala in Sweden, Adam of Bremen wrote in the eleventh century that every nine years, nine males of every living creature were sacrificed and their corpses hung from the limbs of trees to placate the gods Woden, Thunor and Freyr. Adam also writes of a practice of throwing a human sacrifice into a spring. If the unfortunate victim did not resurface, the gods accepted the offering and "the wish of the people will be fulfilled".

  Adam was a Christian monk, so his accounts may have been exaggerated or invented to further the Christian religion over the old Norse gods of Sweden, but there is plenty of evidence for sacrifices elsewhere, such as the remains of animal and human sacrifices being excavated in Trelleborg, Denmark, predating the tenth-century Viking fort there.

  Human sacrifice, whilst certainly not as common as animal offerings, was the ultimate blood gift to the gods. Bede describes how Penda had Oswald slain and "ordered that his head, hands, and arms be hacked off and fixed on stakes". The impact of this image, offering a kingly sacrifice to Woden in a grisly parody of the crucifixion of Christ, cannot be underestimated for both pagans and Christians alike.

  The retrieval of Oswald's remains from the battlefield is documented in Bede's history, though it sounds like the stuff of legend. I have compressed the timeline and altered the protagonist of the action. Bede has Oswiu returning the following year with his army to bring back his brother's head and limbs.

  The names of Hyfeidd the Tall and Mynyddog, are plucked from the Old Welsh poem, Y Gododdin. The poem tells the tale of the tragic last stand of the native Britons against the Anglo-Saxons at Catraeth (Catterick) around AD 600. It is an epic tale somewhat akin to Custer's famous last battle at Little Bighorn in its futility and reckless bravery, which ends with the deaths of all of the valiant warriors who ride to war against the Anglo-Saxon invaders. Hyfeidd the Tall's name stands out as a warrior of legendary status, "a champion in the charge in the van of the armies; there fell five times fifty before his blades, of the men of Deira and Bernicia a hundred score fell and were destroyed". For his brave sacrifice in battle, the author of the Y Gododdin poem says that "Hyfeidd the Tall shall be honoured as long as there is a minstrel". When I read that, even though the battle of Maserfelth takes place some forty years after Hyfeidd the Tall's death, I had to use his name, keeping his memory alive in some small way 1,400 years later.

  The kingdom of Rheged is all but lost to history, with little being known of the location of its borders or its main power bases. Recent evidence could point to Trusty's Hill, in modern-day Galloway, being the site of a royal hall, but details of who Rheged's people really were, how they lived and even where they lived, are scant. At some time in the 630s, Oswiu married Rhieinmelth of Rheged, great grand-daughter of the famed Urien. This political marriage must have seen Rheged fall under the control of Bernicia. In effect, Oswiu's marriage to Rhieinmelth spells the end of Rheged's power and its royal line. I think it likely that the fortified Roman town of Carlisle would have been the location of at least one of Rheged's royal halls.

  The Roman fort where Acennan and Ástígend face Gwalchmei and his warband is the ruin of Mediobogdum, the fort located in the Hardknott Pass in Cumbria.

  The iron age fort where Bearn awaits Beobrand's return with Oswald's remains is Carrock Fell. I have called it Carrec Dún, as Fell comes from the Old Norse, Fjall, making the name later than seventh century. Carrec is Cumbric for rock and Dún is the Old English for hill or mountain.

  Although royal dynasties were evident in each of the kingdoms of Britain, kings were not decided by birth, but rather by a gathering of the wise men (Witena Ġemōt, later known as the Witan). The new king was frequently the brother or cousin of the deceased king and ce
rtainly not always the eldest son.

  At the end of Warrior of Woden, Oswiu has returned to the east of Bernicia and convened the Witena Ġemōt, but the power of the realm of Northumbria is now in the balance. Will Oswiu be crowned king? And, if he is, will he be able to again unify the two kingdoms of Bernicia and Deira as Oswald had?

  As the kingdoms of Albion continue to vie for supremacy and the followers of the Christ preach their teaching of forgiveness and eternal life over the dark sacrifices of the old gods, one thing is certain: Beobrand, will be in Oswiu's service, and will do his bidding, however much he might wish he could follow a different lord. For Beobrand has given his oath and Beobrand's word is iron.

  Beobrand's path is never easy. He will go on to stand in more shieldwalls. He will again know great friendships and suffer terrible losses. And who knows? Perhaps he will even find that love and sense of peace he craves.

  But that is for another day, and other books.

  Acknowledgements

  First, I must thank you, dear reader. Without you, there would be no point to writing these stories. I really appreciate the time you have invested in the Bernicia Chronicles, especially if you have read the series up to this point. I don't take it for granted that the novels will sell, and I do my utmost to create stories that will excite and satisfy you. If you have got this far in the saga, hopefully you have enjoyed the stories and Warrior of Woden has been a satisfying read.

  No novel makes it into print without many people being involved. Thanks, as always, go to my cadre of dedicated test readers, Rich Ward, Shane Smart, Graham Glendinning, Mark Leonard, Emmett Carter and Simon Blunsdon.