Heaven In A Wild Flower (Saint Cuthbert Trilogy Book 1) - John Broughton

Heaven In A Wild Flower - book excerpt

Chapter One

Hexham, Bernicia, April 684 AD

What I ever wanted to do was follow in my father’s footsteps to be a leather-worker. In this, I largely succeeded except for a turbulent period that began in the workshop when a heavy hand laid on my shoulder made me start. I had just a score of winters behind me.

“Aella, son of Oswin?” a gruff voice said.

I put my knife on the bench and, although I am tall, looked up into the craggy features of a warrior a head taller than I.

“I am Aella, but who are you?”

“My name is Berhtred and I am here on King Ecgfrith’s business. You and your father are to come with me to war.

My heart leapt in my chest— unlike father, I had never been into battle.

“Where is Oswin?”

At last, he released the strong grip on my shoulder, at the same time pulling me round to face him. His broad chest, slim belted waist and muscled thighs told me he was as fit as a moorland stag; therefore, not a man to contradict. But that is what I had to do.

“Father cannot come, he lies abed with a sickness these five days. And if he is sick, who is to carry on the workshop if not I?”

He added a frown to his graven countenance and his hand went to the hilt of his seax.

“Would you defy your king, lad?”

I gulped, tried to force a smile and said,

“I will take you to father, Lord. You shall see for yourself how he fares and I obey his every word. Perhaps you will tell him of the king’s command?”

For one foolish moment, I thought of grabbing my knife, so close to hand, but the sheer size of the man and his undoubted prowess in a fight cooled my ardour.

“I will lead the way, Lord.”

The house needed a change of air because it was smoky and stuffy but my mother would not allow any draughts to worsen father’s fever.

“Mother, this is Lord Berhtred. He must speak with my sire.”

She looked anxiously at the towering figure, “But my husband is unwell, Lord.”

The warrior smiled grimly, “Fear not, mistress. I come on the king’s order and I will not overtax your man.”

I felt sure that he was checking on the honesty of my words, although what the haggard woman in front of him had just said should have been a confirmation. She pulled aside a heavy drape and indicated the space beyond that served as their bedroom. Father lay pale on his pallet, his brow glistening due to the fever. He groaned and tried to sit up but a huge hand pressed him down and considerately tugged the sheepskin back over his chest.

“I am sorry you are unwell, Master Oswin. King Ecgfrith sent me to gather men. We are away to war and the village headman gave me your name and that of Aella. It is clear to me that you are in no condition to rise from your sickbed, but your son is hale and will serve our purpose.”

I heard mother gasp and father’s eyes moved anxiously from our visitor to me. He looked aghast but could only groan.

“Are we to starve?” mother wailed, “Who will work the leather?”

The poor woman asked my earlier question. Without finished articles to barter for food, she would be in dire circumstances.

“If all goes well, Mistress, your son will be home before the autumn and his purse will bulge after his service.

This thought heartened me, but I had never fought in earnest and decided to use this as my final ploy.

“Lord, I am happy to do the king’s bidding but I am no warrior. I scarcely know how to wield an axe.”

A deep throaty laugh boomed in the confined space.

“There will be time for that, fine fellow. Come here, let me feel your muscles.”

He grabbed my arm and squeezed as I clenched my fist and raised it.

“You are no weakling, lad. We’ll soon have you ready. Master Oswin, I will send you a healer forthwith, but you are excused the summons. I bid you both farewell. You, Aella, come with me!

What choice did I have? Back in the village, I was delighted when he pressed Edwy the miller’s son into service. As children and youths, we had been inseparable. Work had caused us to drift apart except at feasts and ceremonies when we sought each other. Having an old friend on this venture, whatever it was, made a huge difference to my mood.

Berhtred was a man of his word: one of his few saving graces. He took us back to the chief, Hrodgar, and pressed silver coins into his hand.

“Find a healer for Master Oswin. When I come back to your village, I wish to see him on his feet and working his leather. Understand?”

His voice was generally gruff, but the last word was loaded with menace.

Hrodgar gazed from the money in his hand to the rugged face of the warrior.

“It is quite clear, Lord, I know just the woman. I’ll send a boy to fetch her forthwith.”

“Good, see you do! If Master Oswin is not cured, I’ll know who to blame.”

Our headman was formidable, used to bullying and getting his way, but he knew when to be subservient.

“The wise woman is skilled and will set Oswin to rights.”

I glared at Hrodgar, for he had given my name to the intimidating giant who was now steering us out of the hall.

“My thanks, for the healer, Lord,” I said.

He looked down at me,

“You will repay me with good and faithful service, Aella!”

In this matter, I had no choice.

The three of us set off along the trail that took us into the depths of the forest. Edwy and I knew the woodlands from boyhood and even now I came here in search of food. Young boars were my favourite prey but one had to be careful of the fury and vengeance of the adult beasts.

Little sunlight penetrated the canopy, despite it being springtime. The thicker summer foliage was more impenetrable but the April sky was grey today and the sun weak, so I couldn’t judge the time. I reckon we’d been marching for two hours and I began to feel weary when the clamour of voices drifted on the breeze.

“We are here,” was all Berhtred said.

‘Here’ turned out to be a large clearing by a stream. The tree-fringed dell was full of tents where men were sitting around fires, laughing and drinking. The nearest group fell silent when Berhtred drew near and looked anxiously up at him. He grasped one of them and hauled him to his feet,

“Shift your stumps, Sibbald. I want these men to be fitted out with weapons and armour.

“Ay, Lord.”

He rubbed his arm and I sympathised; my shoulder still ached from his earlier grip. The man led us to a billowing tent near the centre of the enclosure. Brushing aside the linen flap, he ducked inside and bade us follow. He opened a large chest and was pulling out leather breastplates. My expertise told me they were tough and made of ox hide. It was a relief that we wouldn’t be wearing mail shirts because these were much lighter and would protect from a seax blade if not a powerful spear thrust. Sibbald had a good eye or an experienced one because the sizes were perfect. Next, he passed greaves of the same material to shield our legs. Then, he said,

“Now young ‘un,” addressing me, “Will you take an axe or a sword?”

I had no hesitation. I’d never once wielded a sword, but used an axe to chop wood for the fire. This weapon was much heftier and I looked at it dubiously,

“Are there any axemen to teach me?”

He grinned,

“Don’t worry about that, Berhtred the Butcher will soon knock you into shape, my lad.”

I still wonder if it was that remark that made Edwy choose a sword. If so, he had chosen the harder school, as it later ensued.

“That’ll do for now,” Sibbald said, “the javelins and spears are still in untied bundles.”

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“Nobody’s quite sure. Berhtred’s still picking up men or boys, like you two,” he sneered.

I promised myself I’d make him rue those words if I ever got the chance, but kept my own counsel for the moment. It was just as well because I soon grew to like him, beginning with his offer for us to join him by the fire to sup ale.

Over a drink, he confided in a low voice,

“Some say we’re heading overseas, but I can’t rightly say.”

“But where would that be? Frankia? Ériu?” I had heard them named but knew nought of their whereabouts.

He looked puzzled. I think we’ll be here for some days yet. The lads are guessing because someone heard Berhtred say we’re waiting for the good weather to come. That won’t be for at least a month. Berhtred will have you training in the mornings, like the rest of us, and resting up in the afternoons until we move out. You’ll be proper warriors by then. There’s sure to be other recruits coming from the lands around here. I’m surprised he only brought two from your village.”

“It’s a small place, four or five farmsteads, a mill—Eswy’s a miller—we have a smithy and I’m a leather-worker.”

“Are you now? That could be handy for repairs.”

“Except I didn’t bring as much as an awl,” I said regretfully.

“We’ve probably got the necessary tools in a chest somewhere, but take my advice, don’t mention your trade for the moment or you’ll have men on at you to mend their shoes, sheaths and goodness knows what else.” He laid a hand on my arm, “Concentrate on training. It could save your life and that of others, Aella.”

The other men around our fire were friendly too. I soon realised that camp life produced trust and friendship. There was lots of teasing, especially because neither Edwy nor I had beards like them. We both had moustaches after the manner of our village. I’d not asked myself why our menfolk chose to shave their chins, leaving only the upper lip whiskered. I told Edwy,

“The first thing I’m going to do is stop shaving. Anyway, there was no time to bring my razor. It’ll stop them having fun at my expense.”

“You’re right, I’ll do the same.”

In a matter of days, there was a noticeable shadow along the jaw. It didn’t stop the wags though, they simply teased us about the slowness of growth, which wasn’t true, but I was learning fast how to reply with witticisms of my own. Our banter earned Edwy and me many friends, also on the training ground, where the wooden mock weapons could still clout hard enough to make your senses reel. On the whole, I showed considerable skill with the axe and my nimbleness saved me many a violent knock. When I suffered a setback, I never bore a grudge and would always grin and joke with my assailant. Edwy followed my example but he had more difficulty with swordsmanship and ended up with many a painful bruise. I felt sorry for him but we were learning the hard way and I knew that one day this tough work would reap its reward.

I guessed that before April was out another thirty men had joined our ranks after us, taking the number of the warband to over a hundred. Sibbald confirmed this impression.

“One hundred and forty-eight to be exact. I know, because my task is to kit everyone out. There are only a few weapons and breastplates left. We began with one hundred and sixty-five of them…so you see.”

I overheard Berhtred ask how many remained and he said, “seventeen.”

This elicited a snort.

“I’ve about had enough of this rounding up recruits. Tomorrow, your group will come with me to Hexham. We’ll make up the numbers in town. Bring your weapons in case of trouble lads.”

This meant that Edwy and I, along with the other six, Sibbald included, would accompany our leader into the settlement. I knew it was the biggest in the area; I’d rarely left our village but my father had told me about it. He’d lived there with my grandsires when he was young. I was excited to leave the seclusion of the forest and felt proud to set off as a recognised warrior.