Saint Cuthbert Trilogy

Chapter 4

Not having ventured farther than five leagues from my village until I came to Babbanburgh, the extent and topography of Northumbria was a mystery to me. Therefore, it was a privilege to be on board the king’s ship, close to Lord Berhtred, who was often in conversation with our ruler. I feigned not to hear the words exchanged, but occasionally my ears stood up like those of a hare, as on this occasion,

“Sire, I beg you to appease my curious nature. There will be a good reason why have you chosen to take the long sea route around the Pictish lands when we could have sailed the short crossing from our western coast.”

“Lord Berhtred, no doubt you are a mighty warrior, but conducting a successful campaign requires astute planning. Had we opted to march across our territory to the west, we would have given the Britons ample warning of our arrival and thus time to organise their resistance. They do not imagine we might ever sail so far north. You see, we’ll swoop down upon them like a fox on the coop!”

“Sire, I know never to debate your wisdom.”

I wasn’t much clearer, not knowing how far north Scotland stretched, nor how wide it was. I hoped only that it was a small land so that my poor stomach should have some respite. Edwy suffered much more, hanging over the gunwales several times in the first three days and vomiting wretchedly. Nor was he alone; I’m sure that much of my queasiness depended on the sights and smells created by the numerous sufferers on board. The king and Lord Berhtred only laughed at the miserable fellows, being of sterner stuff themselves. Indeed, King Ecgfrith remarked that we were lucky to have such settled weather for the voyage. I dread to think what the northern passage must be like in a gale.

On one occasion, Berhtred told Edwy, sitting on a coiled rope trying to recover from his latest bout of seasickness, “Don’t worry, my friend, soon we’ll enter the Irish Sea and it won’t be long till we’re camping on dry land.”

Never were words so welcome to my ears. Of course, he failed to mention the diabolical currents, which swayed and rocked our ships far more than the North Sea.

One misty morning, the sight of the shrouded mainland brought a cheer from us weary seafarers and within an hour, we were wading ashore with heavy packs on our backs, struggling against the waves to keep a footing and to save them from the water.

Rarely have I blessed the ground under me as much as that night, sitting quaffing ale with my comrades by a fire. The king had sensibly deployed lookouts to guard our camp. He also sent out spies to determine the whereabouts of the British mercenaries. Well aware of the cunning of the Britons, he meant to be the one to deliver a surprise.

The next day at mid-morning, one of the scouts arrived on the back of a mule he had stolen.

“Lord Berhtred, I must see the King, I know where the Britons have their base.”

“Tell me, man, I’ll inform King Ecgfrith.” He pressed a coin into the fellow’s hand. “Well done. Now, where are they lurking?”

“Down the coast, Lord. Those that have not sailed across to our lands are settled in a small town. Forgive me, I cannot pronounce the name, but it is three leagues away. The Britons have ships in the harbour.”

“You will lead us there! I shall inform the King.”

At these words, I began to make ready, strapping on my leather breastplate and greaves.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Edwy had seen my preparations.

“Readying myself for war—”

But my explanation was cut short by the bellow of Berhtred, whose orders to the men I had anticipated.

Alert for the treachery of the foe, the king deployed guards to head, flank and tail our column. Berhtred ordered us to march in silence so that only the tramping of our feet could be heard, and not much at that, on the beaten earth track.

Since this was to be a surprise attack there was no question of setting a shield-wall. This would be a revenge raid, such as the ones the Britons adopted for our coastal settlements or isolated farmsteads.

“Spare none of the men, take the women and children as slaves and seize whatever valuables you can lay your hands on.” The king’s orders were pitiless.

This was like an invitation to a feast for the men so that the command to charge into the town was met by a fleet-footed response as if we hadn’t just completed a march of three leagues. To the accompanying commotion of animals, the screams of women, the wounded and the clash of weapons, it seemed like the world was coming to an end. “This way!” Berhtred tugged me and called Edwy. He was heading for a large wooden building.

“The church,” he said, “Rich pickings there—gold and silver!”

He was first through the door and straight down the nave to seize the silver candlesticks and cross. Edwy had followed him but I held back, I do not know why. Instinct made me look around the gloomy rear of the building to see a man lurking in the shadows. I went towards him, swinging my axe. I could smell his fear and in a low voice, he begged for his life. Even in this dim light, I distinguished his pallor and the beads of sweat on his countenance. His face was gentle and shaven but contorted by terror. Then, something inexplicable happened.

There was no time for conversation, so I bundled him through a door, mindful of our orders to kill all the men. Why I didn’t obey, there and then, still mystifies me. Without the slightest doubt, if Berhtred had found him, he would have slit the fellow’s throat on the spot. As it was, I had pushed him into the bell tower where a rope hung forlornly in the middle of the space.

I put a finger to my lips.

“Not a sound or they’ll kill you,” I whispered.

“Bless you, my son. God will reward you for saving his priest.”

I gazed at him open-mouthed. I had no idea of who he was or his role; I simply hadn’t wanted to s*******r an unarmed man. I hurried out of the tower, closed the door, to come face to face with Berhtred.

“What’s in there, Aella?”

“Nothing,” I tried to sound disappointed, “it’s just a bell tower. There are only the bell rope and cobwebs.”

“Never mind, you take this,” he thrust a candlestick at my chest, “it’s silver and it’ll melt down nicely. Come on, let’s join the others!”

It didn’t occur to him to question my word and maybe he mistook my sigh of relief as a reaction to his gift.

We left the church to the sight of flames blazing from the homes and bodies scattered in the street. Women wailed and men shouted, not least our king, who lacked Berhtred’s booming authority, and therefore whose attempts to restore discipline were having little effect. Our commander took over, his swinging fist more persuasive than his voice. Soon, we were ready to move out, but not before King Ecgfrith sent a group of men to the harbour to set fire to the anchored ships. As dusk enfolded the land, the blazing houses and vessels cast a ruddy glow over the few pallid faces not already spattered with gore.

The prisoners, women and children, were herded the three leagues back to the encampment where we had left several men to guard the tents and our ships. Before cresting the rise, I stared back at the devastation. The red fires on land and sea under billowing smoke recited a crackling tale of vengeance to anyone unfortunate enough to hear it. One man, for sure, would do so: the one I had spared. Whether the slaughtered men were Britons or Irish, I could not say. The presence of the ships seemed to suggest that our spy had been right: that this had been a British settlement preparing to attack our homeland. Those raiders would never arrive to plunder, r**e and rob.

Wearily, we arrived at our encampment, bound the prisoners’ hands and legs and placed them in a hollow with guards around them. Before I lay by the fire, too weary to drink, I put the candlestick into a linen bag next to my other possessions. Sibbald watched me and muttered,

“The next place we attack, I’m going straight for the church.”

Curled up in my blanket, I thought back over the day’s events. I hadn’t killed a single enemy; instead, I had saved one. This thought disturbed me. Why had I done it? What strange impulse had made me save the priest—a man unknown to me? Many troubled explanations came to mind—not least, I wondered whether it been my new God that had guided me unknowingly into sparing his servant? Was that possible? No, I dismissed the idea. After all, I had become a Christian merely to ingratiate myself with the king. Ay, that was plain enough—I liked to be clear on my motives, but I couldn’t find a single one for letting the priest live. The inexplicable perturbed me, but I was too weary to stay awake fretting.

Our warband raided four more settlements and although I killed my share of enemies, I took no part in the plundering of the churches. I saw no harm in taking a gold armlet from a slain red-haired foe, his face daubed with blue paint, but steered well clear of places of worship. The fact is, I wasn’t doing avoiding them consciously because if I thought about it rationally, the pickings were easy, and I could not explain why I refrained, nor, for the moment, was I bothered by my reticence. Sibbald boasted about his silver cross and ascribed my sour expression to jealousy, which it was not. I felt that something was wrong and longed for my simple life as a leather-worker.

It came as a relief when King Ecgfrith deemed the reprisals sufficient and ordered us to the ships. Berhtred confirmed that we would be taking the direct route across the Irish Sea. This would be a much shorter voyage and with the benefit of the following wind. Edwy was just as sick as before and when we finally returned ashore, he whispered that he’d never set foot in a ship again.

“Maybe we won’t have to,” I reassured him, “as we both have enough money now, gathered one way or another, to make a great success of our trades back home.”

The thought cheered us, but then neither of us had any idea of what the king was mulling over.