A Historical Fiction Book Series Set In Medieval England

Saint Cuthbert Trilogy by John Broughton

Series Excerpt

Babbanburgh, Northumbria, May 684 AD

Our sojourn in the forest ended as brightness flooded the dell at the end of April ushering in stable sunny weather. The mild days brought Berhtred’s decision to break up camp, load the carts and move out. My comrades had no better idea than mine as to our destination. Sibbald continued to mutter about the sea and when the first gulls and terns appeared overhead and the air freshened and bore the tang of salt, it looked as if he was right.

I had never boarded a ship in my life, but any fear of a voyage was momentarily suspended because it was to the king’s stronghold we were directed. On the Northumbrian coast, standing high on a crag overlooking the restless sea, lay the imposing fortress of Babbanburgh. My father had told me how in his father’s day—two lifetimes before—the king at the time, Aethelfrith had gifted the place to his wife, Queen Bebba. That’s how it got its name: Bebba’s burgh. I shared my knowledge with Edwy, who looked suitably impressed and in a low voice so as not to be heard by the others, said,

“Aella, do you think we’ll manage to see the king?”

I looked up at the towering walls and wondered.

“We’re going there, so I reckon we might catch a glimpse, but the likes of us won’t be allowed too close.”

That shows how wrong we can be about predicting our fates; although I still haven’t met the man who can tell me what the morrow will bring. Some know what the weather will do, fishermen and the like, but that’s not what I mean.

Berhtred ordered the blast of a horn to be sounded before the gate and after an exchange of shouts, the great wooden barrier swung back. We tramped inside and our carts creaked into the vast courtyard where Berhtred lined us up in serried ranks. As my wyrd would have it, I was in the middle of the front row with Edwy so that we had an unobstructed view of King Ecgfrith. The king was talking with a grey-haired man with a pleasant unfurrowed face despite his age.

“Is he pointing at me?” I whispered to Edwy because the eyes of both men seemed to be locked on me.

“I think they’re staring at you,” Edwy confirmed my impression.

But why? I wasn’t important and much as I had wished to see the king, I hadn’t wanted him to notice me. Their attention soon shifted and King Ecgfrith moved over to Berhtred and exchanged a few words. This was only natural, but what wasn’t normal was when Berhtred turned to stare at me. What had the king said to make him do that? It was as if our leader was seeking confirmation that I was the one the king was talking about. He turned back immediately to the monarch and they continued their conversation.

At last, Ecgfrith re-joined his previous companion, who to my relief, didn’t look my way. I began to relax when Berhtred’s bellowing voice silenced us all.

“You have the rest of today free. What you do with it is your business, but heed me well…I want you all here at dawn on this ground lined up as you are now—king’s orders. Tomorrow, we move out! Any man causing trouble in Babbanburgh will feel this!” He raised a massive fist and everyone knew what that was capable of…I didn’t doubt that all the men would be on their best behaviour. I knew I would. “Dismissed!” he roared.

I was about to turn and discuss with Edwy what to do next when a familiar huge hand rested on my shoulder: Berhtred!

“Aella, the king wishes to see you in the palace, now. Come with me! You can come too, you’re his friend.”

Edwy looked as delighted as I looked dismayed. The king wished to see me, but what had I done?

“What’s this about, Lord?”

“Blessed if I know, Aella, but you have done nothing to displease me. I even told the king that you saved my life.”

I thought that was very kind of him but didn’t know how to thank him without making a fool of myself, so followed up the steep steps to the king’s hall as tongue-tied as I’ve ever been. Affected in this way by the enormity of meeting the king, the impact of the occasion heightened when I gazed at the writhing carvings of the doorpost. I’d never seen such skilful workmanship. Inside the palace was no less splendid, the vast space with a huge hearth in the centre, surrounded by tables. On the walls, hung coloured woven drapes with emblems. I recognised the gold and dark red bars of the royal banner—the largest of them.

As we walked, the unmistakable essence of lavender was released underfoot. The dried flowers interspersed among the fresh rushes served this purpose. To some extent, the scent compensated for the smoke in the air from the blazing fire in the centre even if most of it escaped through a hole in the middle of the roof.

The king sat on a solid oak throne raised on a dais and next to him on another importantly carved seat reclined the grey-haired man, who had stared at me outdoors.

Berhtred approached them, indicating with a hand that we should wait our turn.

“Sire, I have brought Aella, who you pointed out and his friend Edwy. They are from the same village near Hexham.”

“Come!”

King Ecgfrith gestured and we stepped forward to within a yard of the monarch. There, I remembered what my grandsire had told me. When in his youth, he had knelt before King Aethelfrith, so I dropped to my knees and after a hesitation, Edwy did likewise.

The king smiled and looked at our commander,

“I see you have your men well trained, Berhtred.”

Honest to a fault, he replied, “My men are well-trained, Sire, but not to kneel. This is the work of Aella’s wit: as sharp as ever.”

“Stand up!” the king gave me an appraising look—a very positive one, I felt. “Aella, this is Bishop Cuthbert,” he indicated the man next to him. “He is my bishop of Lindisfarne.”

I looked puzzled but the king was an intelligent man and read it swiftly in my face. “I see you do not know the name. It is a tidal island just off this coast. Many people call it, Holy Island, for it was there Cuthbert’s predecessor Saint Aidan founded a monastery in my father’s lifetime. I swear that Cuthbert is a saint too!”

I had about as much idea of what a saint was as I had about Lindisfarne. Feeling confused, I glanced at the bishop, perhaps for help, but he was too busy denying any such title. I still wondered what I was doing talking to the king.

I discovered why immediately. When he’d finished setting the king straight about his not being a saint—which, anyway, I later learnt, he was, Cuthbert turned to me with a pleasant smile.

“I picked you out at once from among the warriors, brother. For you were the only one bearing Our Lord’s Cross on his chest. My hand strayed involuntarily to my amulet.

So that’s what it’s about!

I thought I should clear matters up, but he asked a question and I had to answer.

“Who baptised you? Where was it done?”

I could feel my face burning.

“Nay. I have not been baptised.” I knew what it meant because my mother had told me about the new religion although she, like all our family believed in the old gods.

“A monk gave me this, did he not?” I turned to Lord Berhtred, who nodded, “Because I helped repair his broken cartwheel.”

“Ah, a Good Samaritan!” The bishop spoke in riddles. “But would you not like to be baptised, Aella?”

I glanced furtively at the king and I could see him staring intently at me, which meant he cared about my answer.

Blessed with my fair share of wits, I quickly replied, “Ay, my Lord Bishop, I would.”

“There is no time to prepare you properly, for you leave for war tomorrow and I would prefer you to go with my blessing and Our Lord’s shield.”

In my ignorance, I thought I already owned a shield—I’d left it with my weapons near the door.

“What about you, Edwy?” the bishop stared at him.

As we’d been inseparable as children, I feel sure that influenced his reply.

“I’ll join Aella willingly.”

“Sire, will you stand as godfather to these two young men.”

The king laughed, “You deserve this honour, Aella, for saving the life of one of my finest commanders. And you, Edwy, for choosing your friends well!” He chortled at his joke. “We shall go at once to my chapel. There you may use my piscina, Bishop Cuthbert.”

We found ourselves listening to chants in a strange language, then to my embarrassment, ordered to strip naked and to enter the water. The Bishop took off his shoes, rolled up his robe, and pushed my head under the surface. When he let me up spluttering, he cupped his hand, all the time murmuring in a language unknown to me, and poured more water on my wet brow. There, with a finger, he made the sign of the Cross before turning to Edwy, who wasn’t to be caught like me but took a deep breath first. He underwent the same curious ceremony. Then, we were allowed to dry ourselves and dress.

The Bishop took us to a bench and gave us a long lecture about how we must foreswear the old gods and all of the Devil’s works. I understood most of this because he was a clear teacher and spoke our language well.

King Ecgfrith who had disappeared, now returned bearing gifts. Over my head, he looped a silver chain with a cross of the same metal. “Wear this hidden next to your skin, Aella, it will protect you against enemies in this and the other world.” He gave the same gift to Edwy with the same admonishment. From his purse he took two gold coins: one each, “These are from Frankia and worth many pieces of silver. Be loyal to your king and spend them well. I will see you tomorrow at dawn.” He held out his hand for a kiss.

“When he’d gone, Edwy said, “B-but it’s a fortune!”

Before I could reply, Bishop Cuthbert said, “It is a fortune, Edwy, but your true blessing is to have the king as your godfather. Few men can boast a king as such. You must be forever worthy of this grace. Lead an unblemished existence and you shall both enjoy eternal life with the Father, the Creator of Heaven and Earth.

“My Lord Bishop—” I began but he interrupted.

“Call me Your Grace.”

“Your Grace, I would like to know all about Christianity.”

His smile was beatific, “And so you shall, from me, when you return from the campaign. Heaven knows I’ve tried to dissuade Ecgfrith from this folly, but he’s set his course and he will not heed my advice.”

This was our first inkling that Cuthbert was contrary to the king’s battle plan against the Britons. In a gesture similar to the king’s he held out his hand. On it, he wore a red ring. “Kiss the ring,” he ordered and I did. I later found out that this was expected when greeting a bishop. We had a lot to learn about this new religion. For the moment, although I could feel the silver cross nestling against my chest, I was glad they’d let me keep my wooden amulet. At that moment, I was too confused to think straight, but I knew the gold coin was in my purse and as we walked out of the king’s hall, to collect our weapons, I whispered to Edwy, “Not a word about our money or our other gift. We don’t want envy spreading through the ranks. We should keep the gold for when we get home, you could use it for the mill and I’ll save mine to buy more goats and skins. Father will be pleased—” if he recovers. Reluctantly, Edwy agreed to follow my advice.

Some of our comrades looked the worst for wear at the morning assembly. It seemed that the mewing gulls, making a din, provoked many a curse from those with aching heads. Edwy and I had consumed but two measures of ale, for, apart from the king’s gold, between us we had but four silver pennies. Edwy grumbled when I prevailed on him to be thrifty, but recognised that there would be the right time to spend our unexpected wealth.

The king came down from the hall wearing his mail shirt with a sword strapped to his side.

He stood before us and in a ringing, kingly voice told us that we were to set sail for Ériu to put an end to the British mercenaries serving the Irish kings, whose depredations in Northumbria he would tolerate no longer. We all cheered raucously, owing to the state of their heads, some were more raucous than others. Ecgfrith was careful not to mention that the foe was the same Britons he had driven from their homeland of Rheged. I discovered this years later. For now, my main concern was the sea voyage. I’d never sailed in my life and now we were marching down to the shore to board the boats. Four ships were at anchor and each had twenty pairs of oars. Fifty men to a vessel meant that we had a force of two hundred for this campaign. Lord Berhtred said it was more than enough to defeat the Britons. Four ships did not seem a lot as I looked from one to another.

“You two, bring your group,” Berhtred said. He knew all about raising morale. So, we collected Sibbald and the others and crewed on the king’s ship, where Lord Berhtred kept us all on our toes. This voyage promised to be tough.