Autumn 928, Berric
Not rievers, then, coming slowly, almost sedately, up from the south: they came from the west. Nor a southcoming Alba army with Feilim or Ceansie or Dubhcan as commander.
No, eight months after the epic humiliation of Cymric and Gaels and Norse, this army of red first came to view south of Annwic, and the new was ridden to Beann, who rode his horse all night to first Ceatton, where her first farm began and spoke to Aedgalt, who then shored up the house and took his family and household north.
Beann then went to the other warriors, heading at first west, to those out at Ad Gefrin, at the foot of the hills, then up to Etal and Thearndean, and up towards Melrose, collecting with Caltigar, who had been residing with the farmers at Kelso against border raiders as many of Berric's commanders in turn.
"He is come, at last," Osthryth told Caltgar, when had told her. Osthryth had been up at dawn talking to Garn, one of her sheep farmers, about moving a flock up to higher ground earlier this year, for the signs, he had told her, were that good weather was on the way and would persist.
And so he had. It took a painfully long time for Aethelstan's banners to move up the land, inching their way slowly so that all who lived in Berric's lands would see him, would wonder, would question. And would be given the answer that the army was a procession, and at the head of that procession was Aethelstan, King of all Britain.
It was deliberate. It was Alfred-inspired: his grandfather, who had taken the young boy, before placing him in a monastery, would kneel with his grandson, give him emblems of Wessex to hold, would explain, in his low, cool voice, their importance. Had even given Aethelstan his own prayer book, dedicating it and punning on his name, about a royal rock, fixed, and unmoving, a source of stability to his people.
And now the rock was moving to Berric. So Osthryth climbed to Norram, the only higher ground on the south side of the Tuide to watch, the band like a ribbon bought from one of Berric's beach markets, glittering steel in the sunlight, coming into her land. As she watched, she remembered the joy Edward had exuded when he had disovered he was the father of twins. He had married Ecgwynn not a year before, in secret, just before the battle at Beamfleot. Where was Eadgyth now, she wondered, for that plan had come to nothing, to marry his twin to Constantine and he in turn to Aedre.
When they neared Scrimasbyrig, not far from her hall, Osthryth then decided to meet him. Full armour, Taghd's seax, Buaidh, and her horse gleaming in the sunlight. She had had her warriors make to the horses, so they would look beautiful in the spring sun, and show off the best that Berric could offer.
Lenten was about to begin for Osthryth's, as it followed Constantine, who followed the Eireann church. But, for Aethelstan, it was close to Easter, and so, it seemed, like a victory parade that he had got to the end of the Anglish lands, and completed the dream his grandfather had laid out for his father, Edward, and his aunt, Aethelstan, which was to unite the Angles and Saxons under one king, one crown. Osthryth made sure she was going to remind Aethelstan of that difference, and that the people here were Pictish as well as Anglish, and had no desire to kneel to a king from the south."
"Lord Aethelstan," Osthryth declared, leading her men square on to the front of Aethelstan's train. If he noticed the slight, Aethelstan did not show it. "Welcome to Bernicia. Please, come to my hall. It is not big, but it will accommodate your warrior force. Do you still observe Lenten?" she continued, knowing full well that it was still a week until the Roman church would observe Easter. "We are yet to begin. But we have plenty for your men who are fasting."
And those who wouldn't be, Osthryth thought, and those like Uhtred, who were pagan, and those who just did not bother unless they were home and with their families and had to be seen following the church's law. But she had made sure she pointed out the difference, making sure Aethelstan knew that this land was not the same as the ones he had absorbed into his kindom further south.
"We would be honoured, Lady of Berric," Aethelstan replied, and it seemed to Osthryth that he too was choosing his words carefully. Osthryth looked at the men, who seemed to be the same who had stood beside him over the bridge at Eamont, on the Cumbraland-Strathclyde side and watched as noble kings were humbled.
Inglmundr was said to be one of Aethelstan's favourites, and he stood at the king's right hand, taller than Aethelstan, with pale hair drawn back from his face, features like all his Norse kin, strong nose, piercing eyes. Osthryth nodded to Inglmundr, and asked in Norse, "Do you fast for Lenten?"
"I do," Inglmundr replied, in Anglish. "I do fast for Lenten." And he said it without malice, or hesitation. Truly, then, it seemed that Aethelstan had been winning souls for God. Although, Osthryth thought, as she led the King of Englaland towards her hall, it would be even better if he was not making war amongst the peoples of the Britanniae of who he claimed to be the Rex, by humiliating them with tribute and calling on them to bow to him publicly time after time.
"Caltigar," she told her commander. He looked at Osthryth brightly, for she had pre-warned all of her warriors that this day may come, and they had practised what it was they would do if a large force would come. He had also had Beann speak to Oengus, and lead the men of Alba to the buildings across the estuary, on the higher ground north of the Tuide, Feilim and Dubhcan switching livery to that of plain clothes with just their blades. The rest would make a show later, when more had joined the mormaer warriors, to show that Berric was, in fact, defended and should, in fact, be left alone by the King of Englaland.
They would, Osthryth had told Beann to tell them, be Constantine's eyes and ears, so they could report back to their king at speed with first-hand news. It is not as if Aethelstan would not suspect Alba spies at Osthryth's farm in any case, so that suspicion might as well be put to good use.
"Show the warriors the hall's outbuilding accommodation - I am sure this will suffice?" This question went back to Aethelstan, who gave Osthryth a winning smile.
"I am sure they have endured worse," he told her, as Osthryth led him towards her to the farm's hall. Perhaps Uhtred would be amongst them, she thought, and Finan, and young Finan. However, it would not look seemly if her brother had joined Aethelstan's army and it was not invading his neighbour's land.
"Welcome to my hall," Osthryth told him, gesturing to the door. And food and was brought, fish, for it was a Tuesday in the Roman Christian calendar, and bread, and boiled water, and Aethelstan and his three advisors sat around the table.
"It is good to see where it is you live," came a voice near her ear as he passed, and Osthryth looked up into the face of Aldhelm, who took her hand as he smiled at her, and squeezed it, briefly. "Your warriors told me so much about your lands when they came."
And Osthryth's heart filled with joy and softness as she watched the Englaland king's counsel seat themselves at her table. If Aldhelm was there, so would be Aelfkin, Oshere and Falkbald and Aeglfrith. They had come back with her from Tamworth to Berric, after witnessing Sygtryggr of Eoforwic's marriage to Aethelstan's sister, and stayed longer than Mercia might have deemed necessary. Lenten or no, Osthryth expected that they would imbibe the ale that Beann and Caltigar would offer them, and probably join her warriors in their own stables. And they would no doubt recognise Ceansie and Dubhcan and Feilim as Alba, though if she had been asked to say whether the men she once led would give that away to Aethelstan, Osthryth would have said that they would be unusually quiet and obedient on the matter.
"Thank you, but no," Aethelstan said to Osthryth when Rhia and Caltigar brought in a kind of steamed pudding. "I would talk to you, alone," he told her, and Osthryth stood, and led the king to the room at the back of her hall.
"No," Aethelstan told her. "We would be overheard, would that Alba hear," he added. "I would walk in your land and see it for myself. I hear the beaches and the sea-line is as glorious as those to be found on the south coast of Wessex."
"To me, they are more glorious," Osthryth told him, as she led him from the back of the hall towards the strandline. No ships were to be seen on the seascape, not even Constantine's, not even Domnall's red handed banner. Too unusual, Osthryth thought. Yet, neither king was a fool: Constantine would know now that Aethelstan was heading to Berric, for his spies, co-ordinated by Aeswi, would tell him. And Aethelstan would expect that Constantine knew - in fact, he wanted him to know that he was heading north, to his land. Or was already in his land, if one bought into the premise that Berric was of Alba, or that Alba was to the Wall.
"And you get raiders?" he asked.
"From the west," Osthryth replied, "Not from the sea. Constantine has an agreement with them and they do not raid." In his hair, Aethelstan's braids seemed to glimmer in the late spring sunlight, and as he turned his head towards the Tuide, Osthryth noticed that he had tiny, thin strands of gold woven into his locks. A true-looking king, as marvellous as those from a century before, in Frankia. To look the part of a king was to be halfway there to being accepted as king. Domhnall, Constantine's cousin, knew that too, and looked magnificent with his hair smoothed back, falling to his waist, with his blue cloak.
Unlike Aethelstan, however, Domhnall had married, and in marrying Eira, and MaelColm had been born; Constantine had married Mairi and had had Cellach and Ildubh.
Heirs had been needed in the Gaelish-Pictish line of Ui Alpin. But Aethelstan was in a position whereby he could simply hand on the throne to his younger brother Edmund, and if not him, the younger after him, Eadred, the young princes being defended in Wessex.
Yet there was a similarity in Aethelstan that Osthryth recognised from the king she knew in Domhnall, a kind of stand-offishness. Aethelstan was rumoured to have male favourites, whereas Finnolai had been Domhnall's lover. So what, Osthryth thought, he has left the crown secure.
Yet, many kings would be feeling as Osthryth felt: that there had never been a Rex Totalus Britanniae before, and that such an accusation would well be a good enough rumour to start in order to undermine him.
Osthryth took him towards the costal path, so Aethelstan could better see the sea. It was funny that she recalled Domhnall then, for it had been so long since she had been in Eireann. He had declared her his warrior, as had Flann Sinna - they had had confidence in her to give her the epithet of Gael, and Osthryth had even almost told Domhnall that she may have a claim to Bebbanburg, should they wed.
Osthryth had wanted security then, the security of a lord for whom she could fight. Could all of this been avoided if she and Domhnall had wed? There would still be the battle against Aelfric, Osthryth considered, and there was still the Norse and Danes. Who knew if it would be better than Aethelstan coming to the land she had been gifted by Constantine, her late husband Ceinid's ancestral lands, to hear her give them over to him.
From a ridge not far away, Uhtred pointed across to the stables, at several figures heading out of them, and into the hall.
"She is well loved," Finan told his lord and best friend. "She inspires loyalty from those men she commanded in Mercia; Alba obviously favour her for the favour she does Constantine - " he broke off when he saw Uhtred's smirk and raised eyebrow, and sighed. "The Cymric in the north, and Strathclyde - Cumbraland, though she has given it to her adopted daughter. Even the Norse do not offer attack - they are in a treaty with that Ui Alpin bastard, of course."
"Just Wessex and Bebbanburg to go," Uhtred told him. "I am surprised you did not give her fair warning. Or sent the boy to her." By "the boy" Uhtred meant young Finan. He never called him by his name. Yes, he acted Gaelish, spoke Gaelish and Pictish, and spoke Anglish with a Gaelish accent, but then so did he, and to look at him, the boy looked the same as Finan. And he may well have yielded to what his friend wanted, a truce between himself and his sister. But there never seemed to be the right time and he was not about to approach her about it, for the look of it.
"They didn't need us to tell them that a great force was heading towards them," Finan told him. "And, at some point, they will have to turn back round and head south." He peered further over, and watched Osthryth take Aethelstan towards a small bay and a raised harbour from where many of Berric's fishing boats were launched.
"Why?" Uhtred asked. "Why not head all the way to Fortriu?" He acted unconcerned, but, in truth, he wanted to ensure his sister was unharmed, for he had to admit that his sister managed the land very well.
"Because his army would not stand it, and he would need reinforcements, food." Finan kept looking at what was, technically, his own coastline. They watched for some time as Osthryth took Aethelstan to the bank of the Tuide, the once ancient Pictish-Bernician border. Beyond it was the Forth, which was the limit of Bernicia - Northumbria, technically. Yet, in practise, Picts lived all around there and deferred to Constantine, not whoever was the king in Eoforwic, Dunnottar being far nearer than the ancient Derian capital.
Aethelstan, too, seemed interested in the Tuide, and Osthryth stooped to show him some of the tide-foam that often drifted in on the surface of the mighty, deep river. It was indeed a major waterway, though it began as nothing more than a little trickle up in the higher land west of Melrose.
"And what do you call this land?" Aethelstan asked Osthryth. "Bernicia? Anglish Bernicia?
"Pictish Bernicia," Osthryth clarified.
"So, Bernicia," Aethelstan re-stated. "The land of Cuthbert - I think I remember you telling us that story, when we were on the run in Mercia from my aunt's husband's advisor."
"You have an excellent memory, lord," Osthryth told him, and she, too, remembered telling him, Aelfwynn and Stiorra that story as they were fleeing to Saltwic.
"And you came, all the way to Gloucester, did you come to bend the knee, as Hywel? No," Aethelstan answered his own question. "You expected me to come to you." He paused, and looked thoughtfully at something in the middle distance. "You are Lady here, so I am told, and queen of Cumbraland and southern Strathclyde."
"Those lands, whose inhabitants claim a queen named Gwythelth," Osthryth told him carefully, "No longer belong to me, but to my daughter, and my son-in-law, Anlaf Guthfrithsson. But, of course, you don't recognise Brehon law in your Englaland," Osthryth added.
"Brehon law?" Aethelstan asked.
"Inheritance from a mother to a daughter. It is what Constantine recognises, it is what Eireann recognises, and the Gaels and the Cymric." She watched Aethelstan inhale.
"Yes," he nodded, slowly, "Some people in Brittaniae do things differently to other people in Brittaniae." Aethelstan smiled. "We two know Mercia," he continued. "Right in the middle of the country - pivotal."
"It would not have been without the lady Aethelflaed," Osthryth told him. "She was uniting the kingdoms even before her father had gone." Now it was Osthryth's turn to inhale, keeping her temper as a flood of emotions began to threaten. "I did not think your father would have brought your cousin from Tamworth. Aethelflaed tried to extract a promise - "
" - one no-one could fulfil," Aethelstan put in. "Not you, not I. Certainly not Uhtred. So I became a lord under my father - that Mercia wanted me as its lord independent of Wessex was, indeed, honouring."
"Then you know how I feel about the North Cymric," Osthryth told him, "Even though the land is no longer mine, they still look to Gwythelth. And I am sure you would have been good in Mercia - that poor land deserves a king again, even if you went the long way round to give it to them."
Aethelstan beamed. He smiled as if the sun was shining down on them both, like his father smiled when he was happy. Osthryth remembered how, as a child, he was often happy, even after Aethelflaed, who was several years older than Edward, had been cruel to him. And, Osthryth thought, he had dealt the ultimate revenge in taking his sister's kingdom when she died.
"I watched as my cousin took the role of her mother for that short time," Aethelstan said to Osthryth. "Aelfwynn was named Lady of the Mercians after my aunt and took her rule for less than a month. I would never be king of Englaland had she done so."
"She would bend the knee to you - she would have had to," Osthryth told him.
"But I would not have been Lord of Mercia, and it is on that which I based my claim of Wessex and East Anglia, Eoforwic and Northumbria."
"And Eadgyth?" Osthryth asked. "I had word from her, or appeared to have word from her that she was vulnerable, in need of rescue."
"She is back int eh nunnery from which she came - she served her purpose," Aethelstan said, stiffly, and looked back to the south east.
"I wote a book, on Cuthbert," Aethelstan told her. "I am humbled by his godliness, I pray to him." He nodded around the landscape as if to take in all of the scenery, as if the land was alive, as if she were imagining Cuthbert, there, taking up the salmon and sharing it with the eagle; as if he were with him on his journey to Inner Farne. "My grandfather was asked permission to grant land to the Bishop Princes."
"By Guthred," she said. The king, brother of Gisela, who had claimed Osthryth as his wife. Who had intrigued with Domhnall to bring it about.
"Whose side are you on, Lady Osthryth?" Aethelstn asked.
"No-one's," Osthryth told him. "For no-one is on my side."
"No-one?" he asked, curiously. "I remember the Cymric, those who would seek separation from Hywel, being on your side."
"Perhaps, but I am not a queen, here or anywhere. I have no power, I'm a landowner, an estate keeper."
"On land gifted to you by Constantine," he reminded her.
"On land that has always been Bernician. And, lord, if you accept that, you accept that Constantine is king of these lands."
"But you claim it to be Bernician," he reminded Osthryth. "If it is so, then it is part of Englaland, and Connstantine is the merely lord here, Lady. And so, I am here to collect tribute."
"Tribute?" Osthryth had stopped now, and had her back to the bridge. Should Oengus see this, he knew to bring his men, secretly, over to the farm. There might be trouble, and she would be need every sword she could get. "For what?"
"Protection, of course!" Aethelstan laughed, lightly, as if the answer were obvious. Osthryth said nothing, but fixed her eyes on him.
"From whom?" Osthryth asked, "Alba is my ally; the Strathclyde and Cumbraland Cymru are my allies. The Norse who land at my shores are my allies and fare excellent trade to our people. The only invader I see is a king from the south wearing the colours of a country I have only recently heard of. I recognise you as the invader, King Aethelstsan."
Her words were not heavy, and she saw Aethelstan straining to hear them.
"But, of course," she conceded deliberately, terms which Osthryth had fore-planned, "I will match whatever King Constantine promises you."
"My thanks Lady of Berric!" Aethelstan told her, brightly. And bright he should be, for he technically had her acquiescence. "I will lodge someone here to ensure it is overseen."
"And send your best rider back to them, for I would know what I must send south," Osthryth told him, leading Aethelstan back towards the hall.
It was to be Aldhelm who would stay at Berric, Aldhelm, and the four men who were once her warriors. As his grandfather before him, Aethelhelm was cunning and shrewd.
In the morning Osthryth watched, and waited for Aethelstan as he left, to gather his scarlet army and head north. Aelfkin was standing to her one side with Caltigar to her left, the Mercian warriors beside the Berric ones. Behind her, Oengus stood, having brought the Alba warriors with him and it seemed to Finan, who was still spying on the farm that that the whole host of warriors who Osthryth had ever known were there now, beside her, offering her untrammelled loyalty.
But he did not go north, instead, turned his army around and rode to the head of the line with his advisors close to him, and began the slow march south. She did not notice two other figures flanking the line of men a little further away, watching that, as it went south, it stayed gone.
"Wait," Finan said to Uhtred, when he made to throw the reins of his horse and head south himself.
"What for?" Uhtred asked. But Finan did not answer. Instead, he saw a lone figure on a horse ride north.
"You know I cannot see that far," Uhtred complained, as Finan pointed at the rider's wake. I don't have your eyesight. He squinted, but Finan did not. He did see Osthryth's hair blowing in the wind.
"Come on," Uhtred said, when he had stared long enough north, "We have to move if we want to get to Bebbanburg before the king of the Angles and the Saxons gets there."