by Joan Wolf
"We shall see," said Cutha. "I still count for something in this kingdom, my son. Nor am I the only eorl to be dissatisfied with Ceawlin."
Sigurd masked the lower part of his face with his hand. "To whom have you been talking?"
Cutha shrugged and did not reply. Sigurd drew a deep, uneven breath. "Have you spoken with Witgar about this?"
This question Cutha deigned to answer. "Cuthwulf mentioned it. Witgar is a man in his fifties, Sigurd. It is an age when death begins to loom, and one sees that there is little time left to accomplish deeds of glory. Cynric was older than that when he decided to invade the land of the Atrebates."
Sigurd looked at his father and thought that perhaps Cutha was talking of himself. Then, "Ceawlin is still young," Cutha said, and Sigurd's suspicion was confirmed. "I am not. If I am to leave a name that the harpers will remember, I must act soon."
"Father ... do not ask me to join with you in this. Ceawlin is my friend, my sworn lord. I cannot betray him. I cannot!"
Cutha rose and stared somberly down at his son's anguished face. "Think you, Sigurd. What has Ceawlin ever done for you? This manor," and he waved his hand to encompass the hall, "was no more than your just due, no more than he has given to the other men who aided him in winning the kingship. But you, you who are supposedly his greatest friend, what else has he given you?"
"There is naught else that I want," Sigurd answered steadily. "And if there were, I should only have to ask for it."
Cutha's blue eyes were narrow and hard. "You will not tell him of this conversation?"
"Of course not!" Sigurd was very white. "You are my father. How could you think such of me?"
"I do not know what to think of you, Sigurd," came the measured reply. "Blood seems to weigh less with you than this one-sided friendship." Cutha suddenly put a hand on Sigurd's shoulder. "I will tell you this, my son. There is only one rule in life and that is: when you want something, go and get it. It is the rule that Ceawlin lives by and it is my rule as well. It would be well for you to think of it. Think also that if Ceawlin should die, then would Niniane be a widow."
Every last ounce of color drained from Sigurd's face.
"Edith is no king's daughter," Cutha went on. "It would be easy to put her aside." Then, as Sigurd still did not reply, "You owe him nothing, Sigurd. Nothing! The past is the past. That is how Ceawlin sees it, else he would never have acted as he has toward Cuthwulf and toward me. Your duty lies with your kin, your own blood, not with this ungrateful king. Remember that when I do send to you." And Cutha, after a shrewd and satisfied look at his son's ashen face, left the hall, gathered his men, and rode south to Wight.
* * * *
The Romans had come to the Isle of Wight many centuries before and built large villas and planted vineyards and done the best that they could to create a corner of the civilized Middle Sea amidst the barbarian British. When Rome fell and the legions left Britain, the remaining Romano-Celtic population of Wight had lived on in peace, cultivating their farms in the mild island climate. Then, at the very end of the fifth century, the Saxons had come.
They came from the land of the East Saxons and their leader's name was Cerdic. He was a younger son of the East Saxon royal house, banished from his homeland because in a fit of rage he had killed a son of the neighboring East Anglian royal house, an action that had threatened to bring down a blood feud upon his own smaller, more vulnerable kingdom. Cerdic's brother the king had given him a ship and sent him forth to win his fortune. With him had gone his own loyal thanes and his two sons, Stuf and Cynric.
They had sailed out into the Narrow Sea and landed on the sands of the small island the Romans called Vectis. The resident Romano-Celtic population, safe since the days of Arthur, had not been able to put up an effective resistance, and soon Cerdic had made himself lord of Wight. The following years had seen the expansion of his kingdom to several miles of shorefront land on the opposite side of Solent bay, but when Cerdic died and left his lordship to his son Stuf, Wight was largely an island kingdom.
Nor had it expanded its territory in the years that Witgar, son of Stuf, had ruled. Wessex, the kingdom founded by Cerdic's younger son, Cynric, was far larger and potentially far more powerful than the little island kingdom left by Cerdic. Cutha had long sensed that there was jealousy in Wight over the preeminence of the secondary kingdom. And Winchester was little more than twenty miles from the coast. It would make sense if the two kingdoms, smallest of all the English lands, should combine under one king.
Who that king should be was the as-yet-unanswered question.
* * * *
Witgar received Cutha with flattering attention. They were not strangers; Cutha had stayed in Wight after his defeat by Edric at Banford, before he had gone north to bring a war band to assist Ceawlin in his fight for Wessex's kingship.
The King of Wight was pleased by the turn of events that had brought the premier eorl of Wessex to his shores. Cutha had judged nicely when he had explained Witgar's character to Sigurd. Of late years, Wight, so rich, so settled, so confined, had been growing dull to Witgar. The king had been stirred by Cutha's first visit to take greater notice of his cousin's kingdom of Wessex, and the contrast between the burgeoning Wessex and his own small island had been more and more apparent as the years went by. The catalyst that had pushed Witgar from the role of envious onlooker to active conspirator was the proposed betrothal of Cerdic to the princess of Sussex. Sussex encompassed all the land along the southeastern shore of England and, along with Wessex, was the Saxon kingdom closest to Wight. Witgar had himself tried to arrange a dynastic marriage with Sussex for his own granddaughter and had been turned down. Ceawlin's success in the light of his failure was bitter indeed.
Witgar was fifty-three years of age. His two sons by his queen were dead. The heirs to Wight were either his two male grandchildren by his bastard son or his six legitimate granddaughters. In Witgar's view, the days of Wight as a separate kingdom were numbered. It was too small and he had no strong successor for his people to unite around. Ever since the death of his last son he had resigned himself to the fact that the only hope for Wight was to marry his eldest granddaughter, Auda, to the heir of either Wessex or Sussex. Thus would Wight be incorporated into one of the two larger kingdoms, and his blood would flow in the veins of its future rulers.
But Sussex had rejected a princess of Wight for its heir and had betrothed its prince into Northumbria. And Wessex had betrothed its heir to Sussex. It seemed no one wanted a princess from Wight; and Witgar's pride was severely wounded. Once more it was brought home to him how small and how unimportant a kingdom it was that he ruled.
Then Cuthwulf had come to Wight, hinting about dissatisfaction among the eorls with Ceawlin, hinting that the kingship of Wessex might not be as secure as it had hitherto seemed. Witgar had been interested and had let Cuthwulf see that he was interested. The arrival of Cutha was not a great surprise.
"Welcome once again to Wight, cousin," he said to Cutha as the eorl came into his hall on a warm and balmy August afternoon. "I trust you had an easy crossing."
"Nothing could have been easier," replied Cutha genially. "Your island is so fair, my lord. It is a joy to be here again."
Witgar offered Cutha beer and Cutha accepted. It was when the two men were seated, Witgar in his high seat and Cutha beside him, that they got down to the business of Cutha's visit.
Cutha minced no words. "My lord, would you like to be King of Wessex?" he asked.
"Wessex already has a king," Witgar replied.
"True. But Ceawlin is a bastard. You are the son of Cerdic's elder son. You have a truer claim to Wessex than does Ceawlin."
"That may be so, but Ceawlin has been king for ten years and more. He will not easily be dislodged."
"Not easily, no. But it is possible. Ceawlin is not as secure as he thinks he is." Cutha's blue eyes were very cold. "He has underestimated me, Witgar, and that is a serious mistake."
"How is it possible?" Witgar a
sked bluntly. "I do not have the numbers of men at my disposal necessary to unseat a king with the following that Ceawlin can command."
"Ah ..." Cutha smiled. "But what following can Ceawlin command? That is the question, my lord. In Winchester he maintains about one hundred hall thanes, his own personal war band. The rest of his forces must be drawn from the followings of his eorls."
"And?" Witgar prompted as Cutha fell into a seemingly rapt silence.
"And his eorls are largely pledged to me," came the devastatingly simple reply.
There was a long silence. Then, "Who is pledged to you, cousin?" Witgar asked. "You must know that I have done some investigation of the situation in Wessex, and it seems to me that Ceawlin's eorls are remarkably loyal."
"They have been loyal, yes. But consider, Witgar. Sigurd is my son. Penda is my son-by-marriage. Ine was my thane before he became Ceawlin's eorl; his first pledge of loyalty was to me. Cynigils is as unhappy with Ceawlin as I am, is ready to follow me. I should say that the only two eorls who have a genuine loyalty to Ceawlin are Bertred and Wuffa."
Witgar's greenish-gray eyes were narrowed. "Are you saying that the eorls you have named will be willing to join a war band opposed to Ceawlin?"
"They will either join with us or they will hold aloof. At any rate, they will not join Ceawlin."
"You have pledges of this?"
Cutha's eyes did not flicker. "Yes, my lord. I do."
Witgar took a long drink from his beer cup. Then, "He has only a hundred men in Winchester?"
"A hundred hall thanes. He might be able to recruit more men if he were given the time. But we will not give him the time."
"What about his wife's people, the British?"
"I doubt not that the Atrebates would stand by him. But again, he must have time to rally them."
Witgar took another drink. Then, "It will not serve, cousin. To be successful, we must have a quick victory. To be blunt: to be successful, we must capture Ceawlin. And I do not have sufficient numbers of men to do it."
Cutha drained his cup and put it on the wooden table with a little thump. "We could get more men from East Anglia," he said.
Witgar stared at him. "How?"
"Marry your granddaughter to Guthfrid's son and promise him the kingship of Wessex after you."
Witgar's eyes began to grow very green. "Guthfrid's son," he said softly. Then, "But they are cousins."
"Not in blood," said Cutha dryly. "I would take my oath that Edgar is not Cynric's son. However," and he shrugged, "the boy is certainly Guthfrid's son, and she is a princess of East Anglia. Your granddaughter would be queen, my lord. Your great-grandson would be king."
"I thought you hated Guthfrid," Witgar said. "Ever since my uncle died you have been her sworn foe. And she must hate you as much as you hate her. Do you think she will agree to join with you in such an enterprise?"
There was no more beer in Cutha's cup. "As you say, my lord, Guthfrid and I have been sworn enemies and mortal foes for all these many years. But now we need each other. She will accept me as an ally; for the sake of her son, she will accept me."
"If you can get promises of aid from East Anglia, we can do it," said Witgar. "I can raise a hundred men. If East Anglia can give us a hundred more and if some of Ceawlin's eorls will rally to our cause with their men, then we can do it."
"Yes," said Cutha grimly. "I think we can."
"And Ceawlin himself?"
Cutha's eyes were a clear sea of untroubled blue. "We cannot allow Ceawlin to live," he said. "He would be too dangerous."
Witgar nodded, satisfied. "That is my thought also. And his sons?"
Cutha shrugged. "They are but children yet. It is the father that we want, Witgar."
Witgar looked shrewdly at Cutha's face. Then, "Will you go yourself to East Anglia, cousin?"
Cutha smiled crookedly. "I would ask you first to send a request for safe conduct. Guthfrid is likely to have me murdered before ever she can hear my proposal."
"That is easy enough," Witgar replied. "I will send one of my own eorls to prepare your way."
"Thank you, my lord." The two men rose, looked at each other, and then joined hands. "You will be King of Wessex, Witgar," Cutha said. "I gave the power into Ceawlin's hands once and now I will give it into yours."
"You will not find me ungrateful, cousin," Witgar replied, and Cutha's returning smile was distinctly wry.
* * * *
It was early October before Cutha was able to travel to East Anglia. It had taken a great deal of persuasion by Aethelbert to get his sister to see Ceawlin's traitor eorl. Guthfrid's passions had not cooled with time and, next to Ceawlin, there was no one she hated so much as Cutha. If it were not for him, she thought, Ceawlin would never have gained the throne of Wessex. In a sense, it was Cutha who was the author of all her woes, and she refused point-blank even to talk to him.
It took Aethelbert the better part of a month to convince Guthfrid that it was in her interest, in Edgar's interest, to come to terms with the eorl. Aethelbert himself was eager to avenge the defeat he had suffered at Ceawlin's hands upon the battlefield. The very name Gild Ford was an agonizing humiliation to his fierce pride. He had gathered a new crop of thanes into his hall at Sutton Hoo but his following was but a remnant of the proud war band he had taken into Wessex. He did not have the manpower to attack Ceawlin again by himself, and so this offer from Wight interested him mightily.
At last, driven by her own desire for revenge, her ambition for her son, and the unrelenting persuasions of her brother, Guthfrid agreed to see Cutha.
She received him in the great hall of Sutton Hoo, wearing her most magnificent jewelry and seated beside Aethelbert in the high seat. Her son, Edgar, sat on the bench on her other side.
The eleven years since she had been driven out of Winchester had set lines like scars into Guthfrid's face. But her hair had retained most of its gold, her figure was still slim, her pride was as high as ever it had been. When Cutha approached the queen he had dethroned, she said coldly, "You may kneel." Nor did she allow him to rise until he had begged her pardon for the wrongs he had done her and her son.
Cutha was properly repentant and humble and, after a good ten minutes, Guthfrid allowed him to regain his feet. It was then that the negotiations began.
Guthfrid agreed to marry her son to Witgar's granddaughter. She agreed to allow Witgar, an old man, she thought, surely not long for this world, to reign in Winchester until his death. Then Edgar would assume his rightful place. Guthfrid always thought of the kingship of Wessex as rightfully belonging to Edgar. It had been many years since she had troubled to remind herself that Edgar was not truly Cynric's son.
For his part, Aethelbert would send one hundred thanes into Wessex, to invade by way of Kent. The two war bands would converge at Winchester, where they would overcome Ceawlin's thanes and capture the king.
"The key is surprise," Cutha said to Aethelbert. "We must not give Ceawlin notice of our coming. We must reach Winchester on the first day of our march. Once Ceawlin has warning of our coming, he will have time to send for reinforcements. He is a dangerous man, my lord. A very dangerous man."
Aethelbert was silent. He had found out the truth of that statement for himself.
"What if Ceawlin is not at Winchester?" Guthfrid asked.
"Then will it be easy to take the royal enclave."
"But you have just been saying how dangerous this Ceawlin is!" said Edgar, brown eyes reflecting his confusion at the apparent contradiction.
"When once I ... we ... have control of Winchester, I will send word to my son Sigurd. Wherever Ceawlin is, he will send for Sigurd to join him with Sigurd's thanes. It is Sigurd who will capture Ceawlin."
"Sigurd?" said Guthfrid. "Sigurd was ever Ceawlin's staunchest supporter."
"Sigurd is the reason I was unable to consolidate my victory at Odinham," Aethelbert said bitterly. "It was his coming up at the last minute that gave fresh heart to Ceawlin's men."
Cutha forbore to remind Aethelbert that he too had been at Odinham. "Sigurd is my son and a Saxon," he answered confidently. "The claims of kinship will weigh with him more than the claims of friendship."
"Ceawlin will never suspect Sigurd," said Guthfrid.
Cutha smiled. "No," he answered. "He will not."
The sun was shining on the day that Cutha left Sutton Hoo. A good omen, he thought. All had fallen out much as he had desired. By the following summer, he should once more be back in his hall at Winchester.
If there was the slightest hint of doubt in his mind that he had misrepresented to both the kings with whom he had been dealing the disaffection of Ceawlin's eorls, he did not let it bother him. Penda he had not approached directly, but Penda was a pragmatic man. And Coenburg would work on him, keep him from taking the field against her father and her brother.
Sigurd ... He had to admit he was not so certain of Sigurd as he had made himself seem to Guthfrid. Still, even if Sigurd decided to hold himself aloof and do nothing, still would that be a help to Witgar's cause. Between them, Sigurd and Penda commanded at least eighty thanes.
Never once, in all his ambitious devising of plots and schemes, never once did it occur to Cutha that he was forcing an impossible choice upon his son, placing him in an impossible situation.
* * *
Chapter 31
Crida was luckier on his thirteenth birthday than Cerdic had been. The April day was chill but springlike, with snatches of sunshine. Ceawlin took Crida hunting, just the two of them, as he had done for Cerdic the previous year, albeit belatedly. Crida was enormously pleased with the honor; it was rare that he had his father to himself.
The hounds got a scent almost instantly and gave chase, Ceawlin and Crida galloping after through the greening woods, over branches that had come down with the winter ice, ducking close to their horses' necks when the overhanging trees swept too close to their heads. After a run of perhaps twenty minutes the hounds lost the scent and began to cast around again. Ceawlin pulled his horse up and looked at his second son.
