Dragon Osmund: The Saxon Annals, #3

By Michael F Leggett

This is a novel about a young Saxon who gets caught up in a conspiracy to overthrow the King of England. The book is set in England in the year 937. King Athelstan is on the throne but his kingdom is threatened by a coalition of two invading armies. Osmund is sent to protect the Kings brother but there is a deadly plot. Betrayal and lies abound and Osmund leaves the country for his own safety. He takes up with a Viking longship and heads to the Mediterranean and returns to England three years later after surviving a great storm at sea. He endures adventures and battles and an assassination attempt. He is saved by a young woman from a tribe of ancient Britons who he finds he has feelings for. Finally the fight for the very lifeblood of England is fought out at the Battle of Brunanburh. Can Osmund get close enough to the king to tell him the truth about the plot and the whereabouts of the kings brother Edwin and can he fight in the battle for his own honour and that of Edwin the Atheling?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dianom
• Release date: Feb 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386002444

Michael F Leggett

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Book preview

Chapter 1

The King betrayed!

It was cool and dim in the great hall, under the broad carved-oak roof, to which the great tree trunks that held it high rose into the dusk. There was the glimmer of a wood fire on the wide stone hearth in the centre of the hall – high summer though it was – for the fire in the great hall burnt all year round. The smoke rose blue and thick and drifted out of the opening in the eaves. A light draught drifted across the floor, which set the wall hangings a-flutter. Grim-faced spearmen stood guard on each side of the doorway, still and silent.

At the opposite end of the hall from the guards stood a raised dais. A small group of people gathered there and whispered quietly amongst themselves. The occasional flash of light from the fire twinkled on the jewellery they wore. A great carved chair stood in the centre of the dais and on it sat a man, deep in thought. Before him waited a younger man who was unguarded, but unarmed, carrying a troubled look upon his face.

The man on the chair was the Saxon King, Athelstan, grandson of Alfred the Great. He wore crimson and ermine robes and a small gold crown on his head. His great battle sword, ‘Brain-Biter’, sat sheathed across his knees. The man facing him was his young half-brother, Edwin the Atheling. Edwin was just twenty years of age; slim and pale, he had the look of a studious man.

There was tension in the air. The group on the dais, all important folk in the Country of Wessex, thanes and bishops alike, wore concerned looks about their faces. A small group of courtiers, friends of Edwin, stood to the back of the hall with puzzled and frightened expressions.

There were one or two amongst them who seemed ill at ease. A tale had just finished, a heavy tale, judging by the silence in the hall. The King’s cupbearer, Orgar the Frisian, looked particularly worried.

Athelstan the King broke the silence. ‘There is no more to say. What am I to do with you?’

‘My King, my brother,’ said Edwin, ‘it is true that I have been foolish. It is true that, on occasion, I have said that, were I King, I would do some things different to you, but who amongst this company has not done so? However, I know it is wrong to do so, for not even in thought should a subject judge the ways of a king.’

‘I know,’ said Athelstan, in reply. ‘Every man in my realm thinks himself fit to judge me, which does not bother me. However, men listen to the words of the brother of the King, and that can lead to harm. But that, of course, is not the worst of it.’

The Atheling steeled himself and responded, ‘It is true, my brother, that men have dared to speak to me of trying to lead them to overthrow your throne. But I have not listened to them for a moment. I rebuked them. If they are honest men, let them say now that this is the truth.’

No man stirred in the hall. Only Orgar and one or two others looked at each other secretly.

‘Honest men they may well be,’ said Athelstan, wearily, ‘but they are enemies of mine. I will deal with them when I find them. At least I am forewarned of their plotting.’

The silence in the great hall weighed heavy in the air. Edwin said suddenly, ‘Brother, let me go into a monastery and let me take the vows. There, men will let me be in peace and there will be an end to this scheming.’ A hubbub ran around the hall. Some muttered in support of Edwin and some against.

Just then, a young man stepped forward. He was a tall lad, around fifteen years in age. He had wonderful golden hair and flashing blue eyes. Being young, he had little fear of kings and courtiers. He stood close to the King and spoke in an accent from some outland region. His name was Hakon, he was the son of the mighty king of Norway, Harald Fairhair, and he was King Athelstan’s foster-son. ‘My lord. Give my brother Edwin a good ship and let him take to the sea and win a land for himself like his forefathers. This is how my father, Harald, would deal with this matter. Let him go to my father, or Olaf of Dublin. I pray, do not listen to those who say Edwin the Atheling is false to you.’

For the first time, a small smile passed across the lips of the King. ‘Edwin would make a poor Viking, Hakon. Yet I thank you for your kind words.’

Several of the thanes muttered their approval of Hakon’s suggestion. It would be an honourable banishment. It was certain that there was a plot to set Edwin on the throne. Letters had been discovered; they lay at the feet of the King. But it was not clear who the plotters were. All the more need for the King to deal with this matter now. Athelstan needed a way out of this situation because, despite his wrath, he loved his half-brother. He did not relish listening to those who accused Edwin, but he had to. He was the King.

There were men of Wessex who thought that Edwin had more right to the throne because his mother was nobly born, whereas Athelstan’s was not. However, Wessex needed a strong hand on the throne right now, and it was true that Edwin would be better suited to a monastery.

‘Hakon speaks well.’ A man stood forward. He was Brinstan, the Bishop of Winchester. ‘Let the lad go on pilgrimage to Rome as did the Great King Alfred before him.’

‘I beg you, my lord.’ Edwin spoke with a very quiet voice. ‘If my fault has been so great, let me atone by pilgrimage.’

‘You shall go, brother,’ said Athelstan gravely, yet kindly. ‘You shall see lands across the sea and hopefully learn some wisdom. That is how Egbert learned how to win and keep England for our family to rule over.’

‘Brother! Brother!’ cried the Atheling, in a choked voice. ‘I would not learn to rule. I have no wish to rule, I am unfit.’

Athelstan said, ‘But others wish you to do so, that is how this plot is woven.’

Edwin said solemnly, ‘Then it is best I go immediately. Besides, when I am gone, it may be that you will miss me, brother.’

‘Bare is a man’s back without his brother to watch over it,’ Hakon said, in a sorrowful tone.

‘Amen. So may it be,’ said Brinstan, the bishop. The King rose up and left the dais, then went through the door to his private chambers accompanied by the bishop.

The King spoke first. ‘See to my brother. I set him in your charge, Brinstan. It is not that poor lad I fear, but those fools who would set him against me and against the peace of England. I owe Hakon much for his well-chosen words, for I was at my wits’ end trying to find a solution.’

The Bishop replied, ‘Travel is the best path for the Atheling to take, my lord. He is a clever boy and will return the wiser. He will be a prop for your throne, not a danger.’

Athelstan looked at the Bishop and said, ‘I agree. We need to put him beyond the reach of evil men with evil tongues. He needs to go as soon as it is safe to do so. Hadda, the thane of Wareham, has a ship. We can send him there. You must go with him, bishop, to oversee his safe passage. I will have no man think that I would make a prisoner of my brother.’

Brinstan answered readily, ‘Very well, my King. I will accompany Edwin all the way to Rome. I have a fancy to see it, anyway! Be assured, I will keep the Atheling safe.’

‘I don’t doubt it, bishop. I will have an armed guard escort you,’ the King replied.

The bishop began making notes to arrange the journey and the King summoned Hadda to his chamber to discuss the passage in more detail.

The King selected the men chosen to act as escort for Edwin and Brinstan. Amongst them was one Osmund, son of the Earl of the Isle of Wight, a distant relative of Edwin. The King beckoned Osmund to come to him. The young thane stood before Athelstan. He was broad shouldered and tall. He had brown hair and grey eyes and was tanned by wind and sun. The King looked upon Osmund approvingly. He spoke to the young man.

‘There are troubled times ahead, Osmund. What are your thoughts?’

‘May I speak openly, sire?’ the young thane replied.

‘Speak freely then,’ the King said. ‘Rather the truth openly, than a lie spoken.’

‘My lord, I believe the blame for this plot lies not with Edwin, but with those men who scheme against your rule. Why they chose Edwin, I do not know, but I can say this, my King: they lie to you when they say that Edwin is false to you in any single thought.’

The King answered with a lighter heart, ‘That statement of yours will be proven one day, Osmund. I pray it is correct. Now I am sending Edwin abroad. I want you to go with him and watch over him. See that he keeps clear from these dark matters.’

Osmund bowed to the King. Athelstan held up his hand and continued, ‘I send him out of the way of wrong. I ask you to guard him with your life. Give me your oath, on the line of the kings of your island that you are descended from, that you will do so.’

Osmund replied solemnly, ‘My oath is given to you willingly, my King.’

Athelstan accepted the word of the young thane and said, ‘I trust you, lad. Now, go with the bishop and make haste. If I need to send word to Edwin, I will do so through your good self, then I know it will reach his ears. A letter sent direct to Edwin may well be intercepted, but I believe one sent to you would get through. There is treachery afoot, young man. Be aware.’

The King finished his speech and held out his hand for Osmund to kiss.

***

On the next day, Edwin the Atheling and his retinue set out towards the town of Corfe in the land of Dorset. They would wait there until the ship had been fitted out and made ready to sail. Edwin and Osmund had spent the previous evening talking about the countries they would travel through and the wonders they would see. The conversation had an uplifting effect on Edwin and it was with a light heart that he set out on the journey.

Athelstan had not seen the party off. He stayed in his private chambers and was attended by Orgar the Frisian, his cupbearer. Letters were to be sent to the King of France and the Pope in Rome, to inform them of the progress of Edwin’s party.

But, as the days passed, rumours kept flying around that Edwin was continuing to plot against his brother. Athelstan wearied of the continual tales of treachery. He summoned Orgar. The King spoke in a very angry voice: ‘My brother must sail at once, Orgar. No more delays. He must leave this kingdom immediately.’

‘But the ship is not ready to sail, my lord.’

‘He will leave now, even if it means him rowing in a cock-boat!’ The King slammed his fist down onto the throne in fury.

‘Very well, my lord,’ said Orgar, backing away from the dais. ‘It will be done, even as you say.’ Orgar left the chamber. There was something of an evil gleam in his eye, as he made his way out of the palace. Orgar summoned one of his companions to accompany him to Wareham. It was believed that they were going to see the King’s command obeyed properly.

In truth, they were set out on their own wicked adventure.

Chapter 2

Orgar the Frisian

There was no sort of restraint placed upon Edwin the Atheling at Corfe Castle. Throughout the week following his arrival there, all the thanes who were to accompany him on his journey arrived, one by one; each and all were excited by the prospect of travel to faraway lands. The days were spent hawking and hunting, followed by feasting and drinking, with much laughter and great tales told. The dark clouds of treachery seemed very distant from this happy group.

Edwin and Osmund rode out one day to Wareham, to see Hadda’s ship taken from its shed and launched. It would take a few days to complete the fit-out to make ready for sea. But the young lords felt no great urgency because no word had come from the King, and it appeared that the worst of the ill feeling had passed.

A few days later, the young men were making their way back to Corfe Castle, hawk on wrist and hound at heel. They were alone, save for one servant who attended them. It was getting on for dusk as they approached the steep-sided cleft in the hills that was called Corfe Gate. Two men sat on horseback at the entrance to the small valley. In front sat Orgar, the King’s own cupbearer. Just behind sat a man who wore the golden bracelet of a thane, but who was a stranger to Osmund. Edwin seemed to have at least seen him before.

‘Greetings, Athelings,’ said Orgar. ‘It is full late, but I would ask you to ride back to Wareham with me.’

‘Why so?’ asked Edwin. He disliked Orgar and most certainly did not have to take orders from him.

‘Business of the ship, I’m afraid, my lord,’ answered the Frisian. ‘The King would have you see the fitting-out of the ship and I must report back to him at Winchester that you have done so.’

Edwin laughed out loud. ‘You speak as if we had a long voyage ahead, but we are merely crossing the narrow sea. I will not trouble you to alter anything on board, for I have seen the ship and am well-content with her.’

Orgar seemed to hesitate and then he said, ‘Yet the King will ask me if you did indeed see everything. I shall be blamed if you did not.’

‘Well then, I will come,’ said Edwin, smiling. It was not in his nature to cause any man trouble. ‘It will be late when we eventually get back to Corfe. I must send word to the bishop of my whereabouts.’ Edwin turned to the servant and gave him a message to take to the bishop in Corfe Castle. They then turned back and headed once more for Wareham.

It was past sunset when they had seen all that Orgar would show them about the ship. Orgar offered to escort the two lads back to Corfe, accompanied by the unknown thane, whom Orgar had introduced vaguely as ‘coming from Mercia.’ It was a still evening, with a light northerly wind that whispered in the reed beds by the watercourses. Orgar was no dull companion, but the Mercian lord had little to say. Osmund, who rode beside him, thought him surly or, maybe, ill at ease with strangers.

Evening mists rose from the water meadows and swirled around the fetlocks of the horses. They were crossing the levels, perhaps halfway between Wareham and Corfe Castle. It was full dark, as the moon had yet to rise.

Suddenly, there was a rush of men, who came out of the bushes on each side of the track. Without a word, they fell upon the little party. Through the dimness, there could be seen the glint of steel from spear points and axes. Osmund shouted and tried to draw his sword. But three men were upon him quickly and he was pinned from behind and dragged from his saddle, falling roughly on the roadway so that, for a moment, he was stunned and could not make out what was going on. His head cleared a little and he saw Edwin surrounded by a throng of armed men. Orgar trotted around the group, shouting orders. The Mercian thane sat, unspeaking, astride his horse.

Osmund felt his arms pinioned against his back. A rough sack was thrown over his head and he sat, muffled and helpless, and saw no more. Next, he was lifted onto his horse. The noise of the attack had ceased. Osmund heard one voice speaking. It was Orgar, issuing orders. The party moved off and Osmund could hear men marching alongside his horse. Not another word was spoken.

A while later, more horsemen could be heard approaching. Angry voices carried plainly through the cool night air.

‘Better kill him now,’ growled one. ‘The fewer who know of this evil work, the better.’

‘No, you fool!’ replied another man; he spoke with the accent of a Frisian. ‘We need to keep them together. He would not leave the Atheling alone. They will both find the same end, but not here.’

Another voice persisted, ‘I saw a magpie today, alone – that is bad luck. I say kill them both now and let’s be done.’

‘That is indeed bad luck, but for you alone,’ came the threatening rebuke. ‘I am but carrying out the orders of the King. His will be done!’

Despite being covered in a sack, Osmund heard all that was said. At the mention of the King’s name, his blood froze. It seemed impossible to him that the King would order such a thing. Athelstan was known for his openness and honesty. If he had wanted to harm Edwin, he would have ordered it done in open court and explained why. Maybe he had meant to send Edwin into hiding. But these men were talking of murder. A sickness rose in Osmund’s throat.

The riders spoke again. One of them laughed and Osmund recognised that sound; it was indeed Orgar. He knew his laugh, and it was a sound that was not good to hear.

‘Then let us hope the little boat is unsteady.’ Osmund realised that the stranger’s voice had to be that of the Mercian thane.

‘Unsteady is hardly the word for it,’ said Orgar. He laughed out loud and was joined by some of the other men. It was hardly a reassuring sound for Osmund to hear.

The party was soon on the move again. A short while later, Osmund heard the lapping of the waves and, despite the stench from the sack, smelt the salty sea breeze. His ears were keen and he could make out the sound of small waves against the hull of a boat. There was the rattle of an oar, and a few grunts from the men as they lifted something. The man who was leading Osmund’s horse said something about the tide.

‘It is time enough,’ said Orgar. ‘Get them into the boat.’

Rough hands hauled Osmund off his horse, bound his feet and dragged him along the soft sand. There was a splash of water and then they lifted him into the boat. He lay there, helpless. Then another body was dumped alongside him. He heard a groan.

Osmund whispered, ‘Edwin Atheling, is that you?’

A voice, wracked with pain, answered, ‘I am Edwin.’

There was a guttural laugh from the other men. The boat was shoved off and began to rock in the deeper water. Osmund felt a sharp tug as a tow rope tightened and then a slash of oars from some other well-manned boat could be heard. The voices from the shore soon faded away and there was silence in the boat. All that could be heard were the oars from the towing vessel, cutting through the water. Osmund whispered to Edwin from time to time, but there came no reply.

The young thane was fearful. What if Edwin were dead? He had given his oath to Athelstan. Osmund struggled with the bonds tying his wrists. They bit into him and drew blood, but eventually, and after great effort, he managed to release one hand. The rest was easy. At first, he wanted to