Spring 918, Dunnottar
"Must I get up so early!" It wasn't a question, and Osthryth stood, arms folded, beside her son's bed. The sun had been up an hour and so had she. Prising young Finan from the comfort of his bed was challenging.
"If I can, you can," she told him, and instead of chiding him as a spoiled child as she was about to, Osthryth said, "Don't you want to show Constantine how much you have learned?"
"Athair says I can become a scholar," replied young Finan, stretching his arms and yawning. Athair, Osthryth thought. She hadn't heard him call Constantine that before.
Yet, Aedre called him that, and so the boy must just have copied his sister. She waited as young Finan got on his boots and, still yawning, made his way down to the armoury, his mother close behind him.
True, the sun was just up, but she had been taking young Finan with her on patrol. Ceinid had organised the watches, and Osthryth had volunteered for the dawn watches, which she loved to start the day with. Young Finan, however, was not the best in the morning, but he was young, and would get used to it. And, it gave him ample time to see the land where he lived, the place that was his home, from the vantage point of a warrior.
Helping him on with light mail, Osthryth then led a yawning boy out to the stables, to one of the ponies. She had not regretted not challenging Constantine about going with him to the Wall: here was a good place for her, a peaceful place. The company had been gone for three weeks now, and no word had been sent.
Which was a good thing: Constantine was not calling for reinforcements, nor Aeswi sending his spies with fast news of death or defeat.
No, Osthryth could only think that the meeting with Sygtryggr, Aethelflaed and Edward was a success, although there was no news as to when they might be returning.
"Come on," called Osthryth, as they trotted towards the western gate. "We are patrolling the forest valley today." She nodded to Tearlich, one of the guards, who nodded to Osthryth as he opened the gate. "Have you been there?" Osthryth asked. She liked spending time with young Finan. Time away had meant she had missed so much of his growing up, and though he would be eight that year, he had done so much when she hadn't been around to see it.
"We swam there, Cellach and Aedre and I," young Finan told his mother as they got to to a small loch filled by the Forth river as it came from the central highlands and occupied a wide inland bay. "Aedre did not want to go in, but she helped me to swim. Cellach was a strong swimmer," he added. "He showed me how."
"And can you swim now?" Osthryth asked her son, a sudden nervousness in her stomach when she thought of Ildubh, drowning in a lake much the same as that one. It was no wonder Aedre, who doted on Ildubh as she grew up, was nervous about the water.
"I can," he told her, and Osthryth said, as they travelled down the shallow slope to the water's edge. "Show me!"
Young Finan did not need to be asked twice. Tying up his pony next to Osthryth's he stripped down to his under breeches and shirt. Osthryth did likewise, putting Buaidh within easy reach, for she did not plan to go very far.
He was a good swimmer, Osthryth thought, as they got out, having spent only a few minutes in the water. It was still cold, and the morning was not late enough to catch the day's heat from the sun
"You swim excellently," Osthryth told him, as they used the horses' under-saddle blankets to get warm, and she watched as young Finan beamed at his mother. They were soon dressed and under way, taking the path to the right, through more densely-packed trees that seemed to remove some of the day's growing light.
"What?" Osthryth thought, as she heard two "thuds" behind her. Young Finan turned too when his mother twisted her neck to see who was there, before encouraging her horse on.
"You ride better than I did at your age," Osthryth complemented him. "I didn't ride a horse until I was twelve, or thirteen, and I had to be shown, and even then, I fell off so many times." Young Finan began to laugh, at the thought of his mother falling off her horse many times, but after a few minutes she quickened her horse again, holding up a hand to discourage his laughter.
"What?" This time it was young Finan who said the word, and he looked about him as Osthryth rode out of the trees quickly and into a clearing. She moved her horse back the other way and then saw the outlines of two shapes, two people-like shapes. Good, Osthryth thought, her instincts had not flown from her. And within seconds, she was down by her horse, Buaidh up and in front of her, steadying her horse with her other gloved hand.
Come at me, you bastards, Osthryth thought, and, as she thought it, one man came stumbling out of the trees, ragged, and with a poorly-cared for sword out in front of him. He lunged at Osthryth, saying nothing of his intentions. They were clear enough.
Behind her, the pony let out a startled whinny, and young Finan leaned back on her, unsure of what else to do. He watched as his mother parried the sword from his hand, and lunged at him with Buaidh, cutting him on the arm, which made the man stumble back with a hoarse yell.
"Stop, and I will be lenient," Osthryth said in Gaelish. Then, she saw the Thor's hammer, and repeated it in Danish. But the man only looked at her with malevolent eyes and tried to raise his sword again. Osthryth was too quick for him, and with the lunge that was aimed to her torso, dodged to the left and plunged her blade into the man's stomach. He fell back, reeling from the shock of the blow, staring at Osthryth with his wide eyes.
"Ragnall - is - coming -!" the man said in Norse, but it was too late for him. Not for Osthryth, however, for she had seen the other figure stalking towards her. She skipped backwards, lest a hand from the dying man might try to grip her ankles.
"Ragnall!" Osthryth declared, mockingly, though in truth she did feel unnerved. She would much have preferred Domnall to be by her side, rather than young Finan. But he had to learn sometime, she supposed, it was no tea party to be a warrior, especially a guard - they had one of the hardest jobs of all with little thanks.
She watched as the man tried to stalk her on the spot, weaving this way and that. She brightened, knowing now he must be the second of the two and there were no more. If there were more warriors he would have just staked her out, and waited for reinforcements. As it was, this man felt he had no choice but to go for her, even though he seemed as weak and pitiful specimen as the first poor unfortunate Norseman who lay dead at her feet. She got the impression both were either lost, or outcast in some way: both seemed ravenous and had that thin, starved look of a person who had not seen food for a while.
Perhaps...
"You don't need to fight me," Osthryth told him. "You saw what happened to your friend here."
"No friend of mine," the Norseman told her, glancing disdainfully at the man dead on the floor.
"Why don't you come back to the fortress with me? I can give you food?" At once, the man looked interested, as if the idea of food was restoring his health. But then he gave Osthryth a very scared, very empty look.
"I am no traitor," he told Osthryth, "Even if we are outcasts." So, Osthryth thought, that was it, was it?
"Outcasts of Ragnall's men?" Osthryth asked. "Did you fight at Ceastre? At Eadsbyrig? At Eoferwic?" At the names, the man seemed to brighten. "Then you must have been brave," Osthryth added. "So, tell me, where is Ragnall?" And at the name, the man stiffened, as if the Norse leader was standing right by him.
"He has invaded Strathclyde," the man told her, eyes sparking with a wickedness in the telling. "And he is on the march to Pictland. Here," he emphasised, grinning a leering grin to Osthryth. She felt her heart quicken as she thought of the fortress, with a very low level of guards surrounding it. They could defend it, yes, they had food, and could make the castle withstand a siege.
But the thought of doing this without the mormaers, without Aeswi, without Domnall or Contantine, even, was alarming. She would have liked to turn away, race with the news back to Ceinid, discuss with him and the other two guard captains a strategy. But, the man still faced her.
"I don't believe you!" she bluffed, gripping Buaidh for show. "I believe you are spies come to spread lies! There are no Norse heading west! You just want to make troub - " But Osthryth did not finish, for the Norseman was bearing down in the space between Osthryth and young Finan.
To his credit, the boy did not scream; nor did he scream when Osthryth, much quicker with her blade than he was with his, plunged Buaidh up under his ribs. She twisted for good measure, and the man heaved blood all down his neck and face, spitting it into the air before himself. As Osthryth withdrew Buaidh and wiped it on the meadowsweet that was just coming into flower under a thorn tree, before scooping up the two mens' poor weapons. Best to be put to use by Alba soldiers than bandits or other Norse outlaws that still might be lurking. Best up the patrols in the west, too, especially the forest.
Osthryth turned, and pulled herself back up onto the horse, urging young Finan to flank her, for they were going to go a shorter way through the woods and end up at the northern gates of Dunnotar. It took a few seconds for her to realise that young Finan was not with her. Osthryth turned and looked at her son.
Who was pale in the face, with wide, staring eyes not much different to the starving Norsemen dead behind them. His lip was quivering.
"Bet you didn't think your mhathair could do that," she told him. Young Finan made a shake of his head, glanced at the dead men, and back to Osthryth.
He had a lot to learn, Osthryth thought to herself, if this was a shock to him.
But then, she thought, how old does a boy have to be to learn warcraft? She remembered the sons of the mormaers - were they the same age.
"Come on," Osthryth said, kindly. "Let's get back to Ceinid - you'll feel better after a cup of hot milk." Young Finan nodded, and rode next to his mother. He listened when she went off into one of her stories, although this time it was one he had not heard before...
"...Did I tell you the time I fought against the Norse and rescued King Constantine...? He wasn't the king then, of course...his father was king..."
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"I have heard about what she has done, but I didn't expect to see it happen," young Finan told Ceinid, while Osthryth took sword practise outside. He could hear the clash of steel as his mother trained the mormaers' sons. He would have been out there, as Ceinid had advised, only he had thrown up in the stables and Ceinid had brought him inside the armoury, wrapping him up in a blanket and finding him some well water to drink.
"That's the life of a warrior," Ceinid told young Finan. "You get used to it. Rather them than you and your mhathair." At this, young Finan threw up all the water he had sipped over the last half an hour over the clean armoury floor tiles. Ceinid gave him a rub on the shoulder.
"I'll get Aedre, shall I?" Ceinid offered, but young Finan held up a hand, before throwing up again.
"No..no..." he spluttered. "I...don't want anyone to see me like this!" Ceinid rubbed his shoulder again, and then crouched to his level.
"Perhaps you are sickening for something," he told young Finan, evenly. "Perhaps you need some time to recover from that?" It wasn't a reasoned suggestion, merely a way to get out of an embarrassing situation, and even at young Finan's age he understood that, and smiled back to Ceinid gratefully.
"I will try," he told Ceinid, once he had returned and they waited for Aedre to come from the kitchens where she had been consulting on the linen. "I know Mhathair only wants th best for me - it's an honour to be a warrior, so Athair says, the king, I mean."
"It is," Ceinid assured him. "And if you wish to be a scholar, so be it, but sometimes monasteries get attacked too, and it's best to know what to do with the pointy end."
And young Finan smiled wanly to Ceinid as Aedre put an arm around the boy and led him back to his bed. And Ceinid thought he had better let Osthryth know what it was that her son had named Constantine: the boy thought the king was his father.
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Corbridge, May 918
It had taken three weeks to get from Dunnottar to the old Roman wall, the demarcation line plotted by the soldiers from that Empire. Here, they decided their land ended and that savagery began.
Uhtred had been camping there, and moving around Yeavering. He had known that someone was tailing him as he prepared his plan for Bebbanburg. They had less than two dozen men; Constantine had had eight hundred, from Dunnottar, and also Dyfnwal's men garrisoned at Caer Ligualid.
Uhtred had left, then, after thanking Constantine for ridding them of Einar the White, who Wihtgar had been paying as defenders of Bebbanburg, and who had been plotting to overthrow Wihtgar himself. The treaty between Constantine and Wihtgar still held, and Constantine's claim to the wall had gone unchallenged.
Because Edward had invaded Eoferwic, despite a Mercian treaty, which didn't apply to the West Saxons, it seemed. So Constantine had stationed Strathclydian and Pictish troops on the wall, probably the first time since the Romans had left, declaring to all who challenged them that the land to the wall - including Bebbanburg - was Alba.
Now, Domnall looked across to a weary, yet defiant Uhtred, who had been invited into the fort. Before, he had occupied it, and had given them poor welcome: one of his men had even killed Eadner, one of Oengus's men, when he had been sent to make their welcome known. Igorant Saxons, to not even bother to try to understand what the man was trying to tell them.
This time, Constantine had arrived at Heavenfield, directly south, and had been met by one of Lady Aethelflaed's men. Aldhelm, he was called: Osthryth had spoken of Aldhelm, of being a loyal but fair man.
"The Lady, and the King of the West Saxons do camp at a village called Corbridge." That was in the Northumbrian section, south of the wall.
He knew he looked magnificent, Domnall thought, with his raven-black hair dressed with his gold circlet, gold found, no less, in Dal Riada. Gaelish gold for a Gaelish king. Although, he was Alba now, the old countries far more united than ever the Anglish and Saxon kingdoms south seemed to be.
His mail was polished until it shone and Constantine wore his dark blue cloak - Domhnall's, once his father's and their grandfather's. Where it had come from, no-one knew, but it was of the softest fabric and rarely collected dust and dirt.
By far the most valuable thing Constantine had chosen to wear for the meeting was the gold chain at his neck from which a bright gold cross hung. This had been made at Doire by the monks at the monastery there at about the time of Saint ColmCille.
It was said to have been given to King Briedi of the Picts as a token of acknowledgement of their faith. In fact, it had done Briedi so well, he had managed to kill the last of the kin of King Oswald, his nephew Ecgfrith, at Nechtansmere, and blessed the water at the mere with the gold of his chain.
And now he was standing with four of his warriors, ready to ransom Cellach as insurance that he would keep the agreement that would be made. Cellach was nervous, of course, but he had been ransomed to Uhtred - currently warrior to Aethelflaed - before. Whether he would ever be of Bebbanburg was another matter; Constantine had his own agreement with Wihtgar, of course, and Uhtred would know this.
Beside Constantine were his mormaers, Uunst and Feilim, Oengus a little to the left. Aeswi, his spymaster to Domnall's right. Beside him, Cellach, and his nephew, Domhnall's son, Mael Colm.
"Come," Constantine suggested, gesturing to one of the mile forts on the Wall, a neutral place in that it bisected both the land that would be Alba and Northumbria. And they assembled inside the fortress, lit with torches that Constantine had had his men light earlier.
"So, you believe the land to the north of here is yours," Uhtred asked, bluntly.
"Two mornings ago," Constantine replied, ignoring the demand in Uhtred's statement to reassert this fact. "My men cleared Norsemen, Danes, from Bebbanburg's perimeter. I believe he was sent by you?"
"I know of no Norsemen or Danes sent by me," Uhtred told him. Aldhelm took a few steps towards Aeswi. Though they were representing opposite sides, they exchanged a look that said, "Typical!"
It was Constantine owning the fort, however, and he paced slowly, catlike, amongst the nobles and told Uhtred, "Your cousin wouldn't let them in: he knew they would never leave. Were they Ragnall's men, hoping to secure Northumbria from the north east?"
Uhtred said nothing for a second, then, with a mock bow said, "Thank you, Lord King, for clearing the way for me."
"For doing your work?" Constantine replied, smiling broadly. "More men have replaced the Northmen men: my men." He looked pleased with himself, Domnall thought, as so he should. His cousin, king of the three kingdoms, now called Alba, crowned and recognised by three peoples, was well on the way to securing the land to the Wall and subsuming what was once Bernicia.
"So, it is peace you seek?" Uhtred asked, and Domnall thought that the man looked fairly agitated. What was it, he thought? Did guilt sit on his shoulders after al.
"It is," nodded Constantine.
"With seven, or eight hundred men," Uhtred commentated, striding past Constantine, and looking at the wall torches. Freshly lit. Constantine did not command to the wall yet; he did not keep a garrison.
"More," Constantine told him. "More than a match for the two hundred or so at Dunholm? Led by your latest wife, I believe?" At this, Uhtred broke into a play-acted smile, and folded his arms.
"I have men at Dunholm," he told Constantine.
"More than a match for the handful of Mercians on the border," and here Constantine nodded to Aldhelm, "And West Saxons - all of you are a long way from home."
"Whereas you, good king, have sent my sister to defend Bebbanburg?"
It was here that was the start of the enmity between them that day, Domnall thought, as he watched his cousin debate with Uhtred the Daneslayer. It was then when his own anger, which he thought he had under control, rippled to the surface of his mind. This man had harmed his sister, on purpose, for a grudge, for a truth which was not, and Constantine knew it.
"I am here to discuss peace," Constantine told him, then looked to Aldhelm. "You speak for the Lady of the Mercians, Lord Aldhelm?"
"I do," Aldhelm agreed. "And Hareward for King Edward, for the West Saxons," he nodded to a large, rangy man dressed in the polished armour bearing Edward's crest. "And I am obliged to point out that Sygtryggr's peace is with Mercia, not Wessex."
"Yet, West Saxons now occupy Eoferwic," noted Constantine. "Tell me, Lord Aldhelm, how does King Sygtryggr of Northumbria respond to a foreign king invading his borders?" At this, Uhtred rounded on Constantine, fording the question off the table. It was well known that he was displeased, Domnall thought, but it was Uhtred who changed the subject. He glanced at Domnall's banner, the red right hand of Ulster.
"You say the Wall is your natural border," he told Constantine. To give him his credit, his cousin's face was impassive, uninterpretable, and he gave no hint of weakness. But it was true that there was a wall, a boundary stretching from the Clyde to the Forth.
"A ditch, which failed," Constantine replied.
"I say, this should be the frontier," Uhtred challenged him. "Then the Angle and Saxon races would no more be subjected to raids by the Picts, by the rievers, and Cumbraland can take back Rheged and Bernicia can take back to the Forth." No ripple, no concern on Constantine's face, Domnall thought. He had learned well from Domhnall in the end, and from his own mother, Mael Muire.
"Northumbria should look to its southern borders, Lord Uhtred," Constantine told him. "The king of the West Saxons does not rule in Northumbria."
Domnall felt his hand go to his hip: he sensed a figure lingering by the door. He blinked, but the figure was still there. Listening, it seemed.
"He will," Uhtred told him, and Domnall could sense Constantine's manner was irking Osthryth's brother somewhat. So he wasn't surprised when Constantine continued like that.
"Bebbanburg is north of the Wall," Constantine pointed out. And there was a scrape of steel, though Uhtred had not withdrawn his blade. He was tense, Domnall considered, more tense than the usual bad words ought to elicit.
"Bebbanburg is mine!" Uhtred declared, losing his temper at last.
"No," Constantine replied, cooly, and he continued to walk slowly in a wide arc in front of Osthryth's elder brother. "No. It was never yours. It belonged to your father and now your cousin. Maybe even belongs to your sister. But your cousin needs a wife," Constantine pointed out. "I have a daughter." Uhtred glared at him.
"She is not yours to give - and besides, is she not already betrothed?" But Domnall watched as his cousin raised a hand and waved it gently.
"Come now, Uhtred, let us talk of peace," Constantine replied, talking as if to a scared child.
"Your peace is conquest," Uhtred replied. But the King of Alba stood still and continued in the slow, encouraging tone.
"We are moving the frontier back to where it should be. Bebbanburg is mine."
And it seemed then that the air shifted. The Uhtred with his petulant tone evaporated and an Uhtred with a low, deep violence appeared.
"Not while I live," he told Constantine. "I know you have been having me watched again.
"Why would I want to kill you?" asked Constantine, lightly. But eyes quicker than Domnall's had seen the movement and blades were withdrawn by Oengus's guards: he had stepped beside Uhtred. A crackling from a wall torch was the only sound for a moment as the man spoke
"Because you fear him."
Constantine stood still, silent, just his mouth turned into a soft smile.
"I know of you, Finan ui Conchobar, of the Ulaid," Constantine replied. "Husband to poor Gormlaith, brother to dead Conall. Torturer of a poor unfortunate child and robber of her blade. Kin to me as the Ui Neill," he gestured to Domnall, "As the Pictlanders," and then to Oengus and Feilim and, nodding to Aeswi: "Strathclyde, Dal Riata." If Finan was expecting a rebuke of some sort for his past, Domnall considered, he wasn't expecting that. There was a faint grimace, too, on Constantine's face, which hardened, as did his voice.
"This fort is now my property, are all the lands north of it. You have until sundown to leave. You will go south from here." He turned to Aldhelm. "The King of Wessex has betrayed Mercia, betrayed the alliance your country had for Eoferwic. Tell your Lady that while she believes Hywel of the Cymric has an alliance with her, I have evidence Hywel is supporting Ragnall to destabilise Northumbria.
That was news to everyone, Domnall thought, including himself. Did Wihtgar know this? Osthryth had told him on several occasions he never wanted to hold rule in Northumbria. Could he be persuaded through Waldhere, the Wihtgar's man who came to Constantine with news, to leave Bebbanburg in her care, with Alba support? His fortress would be protected, and he could go off to sea with his men, while Osthryth acted as caretaker, as steward.
But then Constantine did something else that was as surprising as anything else. Summoning Aeswi, he called over his son. Prince Cellach, who had said nothing throughout all of this stood, equally impassively, beside his father: he was to be a hostage again in recognition of a treaty which meant all factions, no matter who, would treat Ragnall as the enemy, and join to despach him and his army.
"Did it hurt, being called what you are?" Domnall in Gaelish, who had been in the mood for a fight, was disappointed when he was asked, with the other noble guards, to escort the guests to the Northumbrian side of the wall. Uhtred was talking to Aldhelm, and his men were finding the horses.
Finan, it seemed, was not expecting to be asked that, and turned, face fixed, to the exiled Ui Neill prince. Domnall stalked a few step towards Uhtred's dearest friend and stood in front of him. No insults had been exchanged, but he himself had been stewing on a few.
"Just tell me did you even love her?" he continued, ignoring the men of Constantine's behind him, and the almost instant appearance of Sihtric and Osferth in the vicinity of Finan.
"I do love her," Finan told him. "Osthryth, she - "
"Ethne," Domnall emphasised. "My sister. I understand that she spent the last years of her life with you." It was only then that he realised how deeply he did care about the matter. Finan stopped in the process of withdrawing his sword.
"I did love her," he told Domnall.
"And what about Gormlaith?" Domnall's voice took on a hard tone. Finan said nothing
"So your record with women grows worse." He folded his arms, ignoring the swords out and pointing in his direction.
"Osthryth will be away from you, at least, now, which is one thing," and Domnall turned, as if pretending to leave. He saw Finan's eyes widen, and turned back, half a smirk on his face. "She is to be married..." He left the sentence for a good few seconds, before adding, "Did you not know, bastard Ulaid?"
"Prince Domnall!" called Aeswi, warningly in Gaelish. "You are needed." But Domnall's attention was well and truly on Finan, and his on Domnall.
"Which man?" Finan asked, anger cutting through his mood like acid. "Tell me now, you tuchdeen Ailech, or I will skewer you here and now." Domnall continued to smirk.
"I spend a great deal with her," Domnall went on, "And - "
"Yourself?" FInan interjected, with disbelief in his voice.
"Ceinid, Constantine's cousin."
"Which man is Ceinid?" Finan asked, ranging the men behind Domnall with his eyes. But Domnall shook his head.
"I should have found you and killed you, after what you did to Gormlaith," he told Finan, now withdrawing his own sword. "She was King Dyfnwal's sister - " he glanced over his shoulder. "More than half of Constantine's men are Strathclydians," he added. Which meant that, of the thousand or so swords the king of Alba had to call on, five hundred or so had a grudge on behalf the king for his exiled sister.
"Reckon you should," Finan told him, dismissively, For slavery was worse than death." Domnall backed away, sword still aloft.
"I will look for you on the battlefield!"
"I will be waiting," FInan called back, his own sword raised to chest level. "And I will carve your black heart from your chest you lump of goose shit!"
"Finan! Come on!" called Sihtric, who was now to his left and hanging onto his comrade's arm lest he begin a fight there and then.
"Not before I've broken your legs and arms, yer shrivel-cocked weasel!" Domnall spat back, the Alba men's murmurings behind him growing a little louder. He watched as he stalked away with Sihtric, and then turned. But then looked back when he heard Finan should.
"Ailech!" Finan shouted in Gaelish, a grin on his face. "She calls me Finan Mor! And there good reason for that!"
"What was that about?" Uhtred asked, as Finan trod towards his horse. He raised his eyes to his friend and gave him a terse look.
"An old score," Finan told him. "Which is not settled," he added, shrugging his shoulders. "And nor will it be until he is dead in the mud."
"I know it," Uhtred told him, a few moments later, as Uhtred's men, along with Aldhelm, headed south east towards Edward's and Aethelflaed's camp. "We know one thing: he's desperate for Bebbanburg."
Not as desperate as you, Finan thought. And then touched his chest. He would read the letter later, the letter given to him by the man who he recognised as a spy he had seen in Aegelsbury, years before. She would meet him, he had confided, when he slipped the letter into Finan's hand as they had left. At St. Cuthbert's Cove.
