WARRIORS OF THE NORTH Read online

  At that moment Dudda called the Witan to order and those attending stopped chatting in small groups and went to sit in their appointed places. Being a fine day in early September, the place of meeting was outside the king’s hall where benches had been placed in a circle for the senior members to sit. The thegns had to be content with standing behind them. Dudda took the one and only chair and Oswald and his family took the bench to one side of him. The other seven eorls took the next few benches and the druids sat next to them. Royth and Rhieinmelth came next, together with the Bishop of Rheged. The last bench was taken by a man and two boys who Oswald hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Welcome to the Witan of Bernicia. I regret that the three eorls of Goddodin and their thegns have seen fit to ignore the summons, but that will be a matter for our new king to deal with. We are here today to elect the man best suited to be crowned.’

  He was going on to say more but he was interrupted.

  ‘Why is the King of Rheged here; and why is he accompanied by a girl and a bishop of the Christians? They have no place here.’

  The speaker was the stout thegn, Brant. Several of his fellow thegns shouted their agreement. Oswald got his feet before either Dudda or Royth could reply.

  ‘They are here at my invitation, Brant. Rheged was instrumental in our defeat of the detested Cadwallon and, following the engagement of my brother Oswiu to Princess Rhieinmelth, Rheged is once again part of Northumbria. The princess is here as the heir of her father and is therefore a member of their witan, and by extension, this one too.

  ‘But we are not the Witan of Northumbria, but of Bernicia,’ one of the eorls objected.

  ‘You note the absence of the members from Goddodin, which was a separate kingdom before it became part of Northumbria, but yet question the inclusion of Rheged? Is there not something of an inconsistency here?’

  There were a few mumbles in response but no-one spoke out against Royth’s attendance again, or of that of his daughter.

  ‘Good. My apologies, King Royth. I’m sure that Brant didn’t mean to be discourteous to you or your daughter. Now perhaps we can proceed. We have a lot to decide today.’

  With that Oswald sat down again.

  This time it was one of the chief druids who got to his feet.

  ‘That’s all very well but what is that Christian priest doing here? He is an abomination!’

  The man he was referring to was the Bishop of Rheged but this time it was Oslac who got to his feet.

  ‘I am an ætheling yet that man has dared to call me an abomination in front of the whole Witan!’ Oslac had many qualities and one was the ability to speak loudly and resonantly when he wanted to. The druid who had spoken looked at him mouth agape.

  ‘It wasn’t you I was referring to, Lord Oslac, but that man there,’ he quavered, pointing to the bishop.

  ‘But I am a Christian priest. When you call a fellow priest an abomination I must infer that you are referring to all Christian priests. And what of my brothers Oswald and Oswiu? They are also Christians. Are they also abominations? I challenge you to defend your offence in a fight to the death. Let us see whose god is the stronger.’

  By now the druid, who was quite elderly, was opening and closing his mouth in terror. This time it was Oswiu who spoke.

  ‘Trading insults is getting us nowhere. I’m sure that the druid will apologise to you, Oslac; then perhaps we can get on.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry, my lord. I meant no insult to you or your brothers,’ the druid gibbered and sat down.

  ‘Good. Now I call for those present to nominate those who they wish the Witan to consider for the throne of Bernicia,’ Dudda said quickly before there were any more interruptions. ‘Would those who are ætheling and therefor eligible to be considered please stand.’

  Oswald stood, as did the old man and the two boys on the bench next to Royth and Rhieinmelth.

  ‘Why aren’t you standing, Oswiu, Oslac and Œthelwald?’

  ‘I do not wish to be considered. I am content to support my brother,’ Oswiu said with a smile. ‘And I am a priest; it would not be possible for me to be king and remain a churchman. The king needs to be a warrior.’

  Œthelwald slowly got to his feet. ‘I will stand. Although I too support my father, I feel that I should at least be considered.’

  Oswald and both his brothers were shocked. They hissed their disapproval at him but he continued to stand until Oswiu got hold of him and roughly pulled him back onto the bench.

  ‘You will never be king whilst I live, boy. You are a traitor,’ he spat into his ear.

  ‘Then, let’s hope that your death comes soon,’ the boy retorted.

  ‘Be quiet, Œthelwald. I’ll deal with you later.’

  The boy gave his father a resentful glance, but then subsided and remained quiet.

  ‘Well then, it seems that we have four contenders for the crown of Bernicia; Oswald son of Æthelfrith, Ecgulf son of Æthelric, Edward, son of Ecgulf and Edgar, son of Ecgulf. All are descended from Æthelric, son of Ida, the first King of Bernicia. Each contender must state now his case.’

  Ecgulf, being the elder by a fair margin began.

  ‘I am the senior of all the æthelings of Bernicia present and as the brother of the last true king in the direct line of descent from Ida, I claim the right to succeed to the throne. Edwin was of the house of Deira and Eanfrith’s short reign must be discounted as he tried to betray his country to its enemies. I have been in exile in Wessex since the murder of my brother, Æthelfrith, where I have made many important contacts amongst the Saxons of the south, not just in Wessex, but in Sussex and Kent as well. They will prove to be useful allies to Bernicia in the future. I ask the Witan to acknowledge my right to succeed my brother.’

  Edward stood up as soon as his father had sat down and confidently faced the Witan.

  ‘You may consider my father to be too old to lead Bernicia, if that is the case, and only if it is, I offer myself as contender for the throne in his place. I may only be nine years old but I have started my training to be a warrior recently and, with your guidance, I offer myself for election as your king.’

  His younger brother stood up next but did so rather hesitantly. He looked around him but said nothing until his brother jabbed him in the side.

  ‘I am Edwin, son of Ecgulf, son of Æthelric. I’m too young to be considered for the crown but I wish to support the claim of both my father and my brother.’

  With that he sat down, looking relieved and rather pleased with himself. Œthelwald snorted in derision. Then the latter’s father climbed to his feet. All the others had spoken from where they had been seated but Oswald walked to the middle of the floor in front of Dudda’s chair.

  ‘Few of you know me, as indeed is the case for my uncle and cousins. But I suspect that you may have heard of me. I am known as Whiteblade, a name men call me because of my success in battle. I have fought more of those than I care to remember in the past seventeen years and I have killed more men than I can count. These are no boastful words but the truth; ask any of those who have known me during my time in exile.’

  ‘It is not something I am proud of; indeed I would prefer to be a man of peace. My desire is to build a strong, prosperous country where even the poorest have enough to eat and which can resist any who seek to plunder our wealth. And by country I don’t mean just Bernicia, but Northumbria, including Goddodin - who need to be brought back into the fold without delay - Rheged, Deira and Elmet. I say this, not because I wish to enhance my kingdom for some egotistical reason, but because a strong Northumbria can withstand those who seek to harm us. Don’t forget that, whilst Cadwallon may be dead and his army decimated, Penda still rules Mercia and could invade at any moment.’

  ‘You may choose Ecgulf because he is a learned man but he is no warrior and a warrior king is what we need now. Even if he were, age takes its toll. Furthermore, were he to live longer than most and remain in the best of good health, you would be convening again to elect
his successor not many years hence. We need continuity to build a strong Northumbria.

  ‘Edward spoke well but he is younger than my own son and it will be a decade or more yet before they are old enough to be considered for such a demanding role. Many may hesitate because they don’t know me, or because I am a devout Christian whilst they are pagans, but I submit that I am the best hope that Bernicia, and Northumbria, has for the future.’

  Oswald sat down amidst silence. Then an excited babble of voices broke out and it was five minutes or more before Dudda could restore order.

  ‘Do any of the eorls wish to question any of the contenders?’

  ‘Yes, I’m not convinced that we need to revert to unity with Deira. They are awkward neighbours at the best of times, and I should know because my shire is bordered by the River Tees, to the south of which lie both Deira and Elmet. Cadwallon is dead, thanks to Oswald and Oswiu, and Penda has both internal problems and is also in dispute with Wessex. We are not threatened any longer, contrary to what Oswald says, and we need a king who will make us prosperous once more. I’m convinced that man is Ecgulf. Hopefully his sons will grow to manhood before we have to consider one of them ….’

  Oswald’s eyes had narrowed dangerously whilst he’d been speaking and gradually he’d become aware of the venomous glare being directed at him. The eorl was shocked by the animosity Oswald managed to convey and his voice faltered to a stop. He wondered if he’d been wise to express his opinion in such a direct manner. By now another eorl was on his feet.

  ‘I’m not so foolish as to believe that, just because one of our despoilers is dead, there is no threat from another. Penda is a ruthless man, and one whose power is growing. Wessex, Kent and East Anglia on his other borders are all ruled by weak men who are no match for him. The petty Welsh kings to the west of Mercia fear him or are his allies. Only Northumbria can stand against him. To do that we need an equally warlike king. I say that Oswald is that man.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the thegns before the next man stood up. This time it was one of the druids.

  ‘Oswald and his brood all follow the false god, the White Christ. Our king must be of the old faith. Otherwise the true gods, the gods of our ancestors, will desert us.’

  ‘It is your gods who are false. There is but one God and Jesus Christ is his son. Your gods don’t exist, so how can they help you? It is the Christ, under whose symbol we fought and won at Heavenfield, who can aid us in the battles to come, and only him,’ Oswald roared back in reply.

  The druid looked affronted and then, seeing the belligerent look on the face of the man who was likely to be the next king, he subsided back onto the bench, muttering to himself and giving Oswald and his family dark looks.

  ‘Does anyone else wish to say anything? No, good. Then it’s time for the vote.’

  Dudda looked relieved that the discussion was over. At one stage he had feared there might be bloodshed. The casting of votes was a simple matter. Everyone stood and the four contestants ranged themselves either side of Dudda facing the rest. One by one each of those present went and stood behind the man or boy they wanted to be king. Only a few nobles went and stood behind Edwin and none at all behind his younger brother. The druids all sided with Edwin though, presumably because they thought that they could control him. Most of the eorls lined up behind Oswald but the man who had opposed unity with Deira chose Ecgulf. The thegns were more equally divided.

  ‘Forty five support Oswald, twenty nine Ecgulf and eighteen Edwin. Edward and Edwin are therefore eliminated and their supporters must now choose between Ecgulf and Oswald.’

  The druids moved en masse to stand behind Ecgulf, together with Edwin and Edward. That gave him forty six votes, but the three thegns who had chosen Edwin stood undecided. They conferred in whispers whilst the rest waited impatiently. Then all three went over to Oswald, giving him a majority of two.

  ‘I declare that Oswald wins by three votes as I too support him as our king,’ Duddo declared with a smile. ‘Do those who chose Ecgulf abide by the decision of the Witan?’

  In answer Ecgulf immediately went and knelt in front of Oswald to pledge him his loyalty; his two sons followed suit and gradually everyone else did the same. However, by the time that the last thegn had knelt, the fifteen druids had disappeared without giving their new king their support.

  ‘Send men after them at once,’ he whispered to Oswiu. ‘I want them to disappear.’

  His brother nodded and called Dunstan to him. A few minutes later the latter and twenty five of his men led their horses away from where they had waited just inside the gate in the palisade that surrounded Yeavering. Once outside they mounted and quietly trotted along the track towards Bebbanburg. Dunstan had watched the druids leave, taking Brant with them. It was fairly obvious that they planned to seize the fortress on the coast and instigate a revolt against Oswald amongst their pagan followers.

  CHAPTER THREE – GODDODIN

  September 634 AD

  The druids were mounted on the small horses that were bred in Bernicia, whereas Dunstan’s men had a mixture of the smaller Welsh ponies captured at Heavenfield and the much larger horses given to them by King Royth of Rheged. Leaving the fifteen men who were riding ponies to follow on as best they might, Dunstan led the other ten after Brant and the druids.

  They caught up with them at the crossing over the River Till below an old abandoned hill fort. The druids were bunched up waiting to cross as Dunstan appeared. Brant and six of the druids were already across and one more was in the middle of the river, which came up to the horse’s belly. The remaining eight turned to face the oncoming horsemen whilst Brant kicked his heels into his horse and rode off eastwards.

  A few druids were carrying spears and some cudgels. However their weapons availed them nothing against the highly experienced warriors. Although they were unused to fighting on horseback, they knew how to use their shields and warded off the druids’ blows whilst thrusting their own spears and swords into the priests’ unprotected torsos. Within five minutes it was all over. Dunstan left one of his men who had a minor flesh wound behind to tell those following on to bury the bodies and the horses’ tack in the old hill fort. He then released the horses to run wild before splashing across the ford after Brant and the remaining druids.

  The latter had hesitated, obviously debating whether to return to aid their fellows or flee. As soon as it became obvious that the fate of the men still on the west bank was sealed, they rode off to the east.

  The water only came up to just above the knees of the larger horses and so Dunstan and his nine men were able to cross swiftly. They had just started out on the pursuit again when one of his men called out to Dunstan.

  ‘The one in the lead had taken a different path,’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just beyond that second old hill fort, he turned onto a path leading north but the others are still heading due east.’

  ‘Well spotted.’

  ‘I think that the man with the druids is that fat man who greeted Whiteblade at Bebbanburg,’ another man told him, somewhat breathlessly as they cantered uphill.

  ‘What the Thegn of Berwic? That makes sense. Berwic is a settlement on the estuary of the Twaid. It must be where he’s heading.’

  ‘Should we pursue him?’

  Dunstan shook his head.

  ‘No, our job is to stop those druids from stirring up trouble when they reach Bebbanburg. If Brant takes refuge in Berwic I doubt that it’s anything like as impregnable as the fortress on the rock. We can deal with him later.’

  They had nearly reached the place where the army had camped by Budle Bay before they caught up with the druids. By that time Dunstan was becoming worried. Oswald’s instructions had been clear: the druids weren’t just to be killed, they were to disappear. If they didn’t overtake them before they crested the next ridgeline they would be visible from the top of the watchtower in Bebbanburg.

  He decided he had to take a chance and or
dered the four men with bows to dismount and aim for the leaders. They were at extreme range and, as the six remaining horsemen tried to close with the fleeing druids, the archers shot at high trajectory over their heads. The first arrow fell short but it hit the rump of the rearmost horse. It reared up in pain, depositing its luckless rider on the hard ground where he lay winded. Dunstan dropped the point of his spear as he neared the prone druid and jammed it into his abdomen. He wasn’t dead but he would be incapacitated enough to keep him where he’d fallen.

  The other three arrows reached further into the mass of mounted druids. One struck a man at the junction of the neck and upper back. Again it wasn’t fatal but he fell off his horse and lay screaming in agony. The other two hit the horses of the leading druids and brought them down, spilling their riders into the dirt. The horses immediately behind them ran into the two collapsed animals or their winded riders and they too came crashing down. Only one druid was still mounted but he was too busy trying to control his panicked steed to get away.

  Dunstan and his men tore into the shambles and stabbed and cut at the surviving druids until they were all dead. They then dispatched the two wounded men before dragging the bodies into the undergrowth. One of the horsemen did his best to cover up the spilled blood but then, mercifully, it started to rain and the red stained grass gradually turned pink before all traces were then washed away.

  Dunstan chose a place in the centre of a large patch of shrubbery and his men dug a communal grave with their seaxes in which they buried the druids and the two dead horses before covering them with rocks to prevent animals digging them up again. Finally they covered the rocks with the earth they had dug up. It left a mound of earth, but that couldn’t be helped. In time it would settle.

  They had thrown the tack from the surviving horses into the communal grave and now they set them free. The wounded ones would either heal or die. Either way there were no brands, or anything else, to connect them to the missing druids. With a final glance around the men set off back to Yeavering in the, now torrential, rain.