The door was closed and Oswy sat on a bench by the window of the inner room with one foot up, resting his forearm on his knee. His blond braided hair was untouched by grey and fell to his shoulders. He wore a gold circlet at his brow, a leather sleeveless jacket over a white linen shirt, brown leggings and shoes whose laces were crisscrossed over his calves in typical English style. Even seated, he had a powerful presence. He stood over six feet tall and his frame was broad, lean and well-muscled. If his younger son was a wolf then this one was a lion, regal, confident, massive. The eyes that regarded me from the bearded face were clear grey-blue and unblinking but I returned the look for a few seconds of silence before respectfully dropping my own. We had been followed into the room by the civilian, possibly a scribe - although he walked with a limp and breathed heavily, so more likely he was a trusted officer, invalided out of the army. I felt the nature of a maimed bear.
“Who are you, master monk, and where have you been?” I half-looked towards the third person in the room. “Godwin stays. Don’t make me repeat my question.” I bowed briefly.
“My name is Anselm, I am from the community of Iona and I’ve been to Dumbarton. I have a message for you from King Owain.” I pulled the parchment from my bag and handed it over. Oswy examined the stained exterior and looked at me. “A problem with the tide at Lindisfarne. My own fault, I was in too much of a rush to get to the island. My bag protected it from serious harm.” Oswy nodded as if the explanation was familiar, opened the letter and read it and then handed it over to Godwin. The adviser finished, turned the page over to see if there was more and looked quizzically at his King. Oswy linked hand and wrist casually.
“I am always pleased to receive a fellow monarch’s good wishes, especially when it’s couched in such sweet language. And even if the author is a jumped-up warmongering whelp who will have his hide tanned by me personally when we defeat him. Him and his brother both. He has enough sense not to come within reach of my sword arm though, I’ll give him that. Why was it necessary to put it into my hands alone?”
“Sir, the letter is really only to establish that I am charged with delivering Owain’s personal message to you.” Oswy nodded. Get to the point. “He has more to convey, which is so secret that it was not committed to writing. He is concerned at the possible influence that outside forces may exert over some kingdoms and offers an alliance if these forces try to push their power too far, to your mutual detriment.” The King swung his legs off the bench and sat straight up, very attentive now.
“An alliance! Owain proposes an alliance?” his voice rose to something approaching an astonished squeak. “He knows I’ll have his head the next time I see him: we’re lifelong enemies, him and his uncle before him. Is he mad?”
“No, sir,” I said, and fell silent.
“An alliance against who?”
“Outside forces in general and the Roman Church in particular. He is concerned at its secular influence.” I let it rest there and let the English King think the matter through himself. He did so, walking slowly up and down the chamber, now stroking his beard with one hand, now folding his arms.
Oswy understood Owain’s meaning. The Romans were very keen on power and influence - witness the hold they had over Eanfleda - and the way they ruled the lands around their monasteries angered him: they seemed to regard them as private fiefdoms. In his own Kingdom, his own Queen had handed over most of the land the priories and monasteries now had! Without her, he thought (and not for the first time), things would be a lot more straightforward. He preferred the Irish Church; they mostly kept to their monasteries and their duties with the people, didn’t seek to interfere with his running of his affairs and could even be prevailed upon to bless the odd army here and there. They would come and tell him off for his womanising and expansionism from time to time but that never bothered him. The Romans, by contrast, wanted their people at his ear, whispering like a lover all the time. They were eager to get involved with the fray, they held Masses before battles and some of their younger and more inflamed actually fought: but Owain was right, their motives were suspect. But ally with Strathclyde? Join with his most implacable foes? Make common cause with the one kingdom that defied him - and had the power to back up that defiance? It was unthinkable!
He paused.
Actually, he considered, it had its attractions. The two greatest kingdoms on the island, side by side, together in harness -
They could carve the whole island up between the two of them - Strathclyde to the north and west, Northumbria to the south and east. Then they could even consider taking on the Franks. Or the Jutes. Or anyone, even the tattered remnants of the Roman Empire itself. Could it be done? Could it be?
And then, when all common enemies had been vanquished, could he not turn against them in the moment of triumph and have all for himself?
“What sort of alliance does Owain propose?”
“A defensive one, sir.” Oh. Maybe Strathclyde wouldn’t be so keen on taking on the Empire, then. That still left Britain. Yes, quite possibly. He looked at Godwin and smiled. The smile was returned hesitantly, but wolfishly. His adviser could see the possibilities, too. He turned to me again.
“Your few brief words have given us much food for thought. Thank you Magister. You may leave us, we have a lot to discuss - but be ready to come and talk to me again. Keep this secret, as I’m sure you have done up till now. No-one must know of the proposal. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, sir,” I said, and bowed and left the chamber.
I couldn’t resist eavesdropping. While I walked through the main chamber and out into the yard I left my spirit in the room, hovering above the two men. I wanted to know whether Strathclyde could trust Northumbria’s answer, whatever it turned out to be.
“What do you think of that?” I heard Oswy gasp, as the door closed. Godwin snorted and shook his head. “There are possibilities - “
“Great ones,” Godwin smiled the wolfish smile again.
“And pitfalls?”
“Oh, yes. There are always pitfalls.”
“But what we could do - “
“What we could achieve!”
I left the building and sat on a bench just round the corner from the door. I could do two things at once – walk and send my spirit out to watch, unseen – but it was difficult and often gave me a headache. Not least, from walking into walls and doors to which I wasn’t paying enough attention. I was in time to see Oswy throw his head back, laugh out loud and slap his adviser on the back.
“Oh, Godwin! Would you be alive any other day? Such a time we can have!” Godwin laughed in return, then Oswy’s face fell and he was thoughtful again. “Damn!”
“What is it?”
“I forgot to ask that monk – what was his name?“
“Aldhelm? Alban?”
“Anselm. I forgot to ask Anselm what the hell he said to Owain to get him to even consider an alliance. No matter. We must think long and hard on this before we speak to him again.” Godwin nodded agreement. “And there are real problems. The Druids still hold sway in Strathclyde. Even the Irish monks may draw the line at an alliance with a pagan kingdom.”