Below is "Scriptorium -- they wrote the Book of Kells"; above are links to the "Dream of the Worlds Trilogy -- 1. Deam of the Worlds, 2. Power of Maya, 3. Promise in the Amazon", and other novels: "Aegyptus, and Queen Tiye" and "Giammai -- Black Messiah".
Readers may, per 'fair use', copy and paste into their own machines, and other sites, provided the author and source is revealed:
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Ivan D. Alexander, author
ivan@humancafe.com
Ivan
By Ivan A. on Thursday, October 27, 2005 - 09:19 pm:
SCRIPTORIUM
Iona Abbey , In the year of our Lord, 800.
[they wrote the Book of Kells]
by Ivan D. Alexander
SCRIPTORIUM
-they wrote the Book of Kells- c. 800 AD
Chapter 1. Scriptorium
2. The Book of John
3. Monologue
4. Osla
5. Beltane
6. Easter
7. The Root Cellar
8. Peace
9. The Bishop
10. Blackmac
11. Plain Page
12. Herbarium
13. Journey
14. The Bard
15. Blessed Land
16. The Letters
17. The Return
18. Parley
19. The Trial
20. Peril
21. The True Tale
22. Attack
23. Sanctuary
24. Wise Council
25. Kings
26. High Mass
27. Compline
1. Scriptorium
It was in the year of our Lord, 800, when the Viking invasions had begun, and we feared for our lives. We had set to writing the fourth Book of the Evangelists, the Book of John. It was to commemorate the death of our dear Saint Columba by our Abbot Father Cellarch, who says our great abbey was named when our founder first laid eyes on our island and exclaimed "I see her! The island of John," and thus was founded the Abbey of Iona more than two hundred years ago. The books of Saints Matthew, Mark and Luke, are now near completion, and thus we begin with the image of John. Together, the Book of the Gospels will be a gift to our sister abbey at Durrow, in the hands of our Bishop Ailebe. May God help us in our glory to Him.
We six who are the writers and illustrators set long ago to work together in diligence and love for our Lord. Brother Fiotan colored and gold leafed, while Brother Ronant, whose mother was a Pict, drew the beautiful designs. I and my fellow scribe Brother Ion, the Alexandrian, wrote the text in our fine hands, which were identical. Brothers Eogan and Enon, both from our sister abbey in Durrow, were the parchment makers who also mixed the inks. When pressed, they too painted illustrations for the small works. I, Aedan, am master of works and writer of letters, and designer. It was also assigned I be the chronicler of our works. By our Lord Jesus Christ, we give you His word. Amen.
* * *
It was the leeward of Springtime, on the dawn of a new year, and a new century, entering the month of the Resurrection, that woke on that early gray morning. After Matins prayers, while the brothers were finishing their breakfast of porridge and milk, as was my habit, I was preparing the scriptorium for our day's work. This usually meant restarting the dormant fire in the central pit, which I did today, satisfied that it was not too smoky, watching the smoke curl up into the roof timbers, escaping through the small hole there. A cheerful glow soon dispelled the darkness, and first light came filtering through the thick windows. The usual inks were placed in their horns on the writing tables by the small windows, there were six of them, and the freshly cut goose quills laid by each one. The pigment inks were then likewise distributed with their brushes, each to their work station, and the parchment cases were taken down from the rafters, where they stayed dry and safe from vermin. The room filled with warmth and all seemed to my satisfaction. Now came that moment I daily cherished, when I open the page on which I am working, thanking God and asking for His help in that I am to do His will today.
"Good morning sweet Brother."
It was the voice of Ion, as he first entered the scriptorium. Then followed by Ronant, who in his usual cheerful manner greeted us with a great smile.
"Peace to you in our Lord, my brothers," I answered.
"Enon will bring your porridge shortly," Ronant let me know.
Ion walked in his usual calm manner to his work table, looking out the window into the cool light, the water of the sound laying still and gray beyond.
"We start a new book today," he mused aloud, "it is fitting for Pasqua."
Ion sometimes used his native word for Easter, since his family came to Ireland from Alexandria many years ago. His face was darker than ours, and so his humor, but he loved us in the same we love him, as brothers in Christ.
"The Resurrection is most fitting," answered him Ronant, "for new beginnings. So much already done, and still so much to do, when does it end?" He looked up smiling. "I hope my eyes do not fail by the time we are done, or what good is a blind scribe?"
"Your images are gifts, Ronant, and may you always have them for us." As I said this, Enon entered holding a large cup for me, with a thick wooden spoon standing in it. "Ah, my breakfast! After Matins, I thought I would faint from hunger."
"Why not join us first, and then here?" Enon wondered, though he knew the answer.
"After song and prayer, my stomach does not want food, though does my mind," I answered same as before, "so I come here instead." Enon left the cup on my table. "Thank you sweet Brother."
"Eogan will be at the skin shed this morning," Ion voiced to us. "The brothers have been sheering sheep, and new lambs are plenty. So we will not want for pages, as happened when we were finishing Lucas."
"Father Cellarch assured us, Ion, we will not be short... Blessed Saints!"
Through the window I could see two skiffs just landed from Mull. This was a day of pilgrims coming to our shore, to do penance, pray, and be blessed, or be healed. For this they usually pledged gifts, for which the Abbey is most grateful. The Abbot and a small welcome group were already at the landing. More than a dozen people were getting off, all dressed in the habit of penance, white smocks over their clothes.
"They will be here momentarily," I announced, "after they stop at the chapel."
"This gives us just enough time to appear busy," added Ronant.
"And we must look good," spoke Ion, almost under his breath.
Enon went over to the window and gave off a low whistle, "There is a king amongst them."
I went over and too could see deference, both from the monks and penitents, as well as from Cellarch. The Abbot paid special attention in the manner required of great personages, so we knew this was likely a king, or high lord. Just then Fiotan walked in from the door that leads to the Abbey chapel, which is adjacent to our scriptorium, with his usual sleepy look. His large nose bobbed as if he were to sneeze, which he did, and then he walked over to his table.
"Good morning, sweet Brother," I offered.
"Good morning Aedan, but I still feel poorly. My nose is itching, though I do not feel to have a cold. But one must not complain, if it is God's will." He then looked up and smiled, which did not make him look better. Fiotan was not cheerful this morning, but he was amiable just the same. He must have a cold.
"We must set up quickly, Fiotan, all, and put on a show of hard work."
All knew this and were already spreading the parchments they were working on before them, pressing them down and securing the corners so that they would not slide, and then inked their brushes or quills. I did the same, as Ion was already hard at work on his part. In a few moments, we could hear the Abbot speaking from within the chapel through the open door. Other monks were now coming and going with their duties, only Eogan absent at the animal sheds. Outside the fine morning mist had lifted, and it appeared the sun would show .
The words began "In principio bid erat verbum," and so began the Book of John. We worked like this in silence, only the sounds outside the door and gulls flying over the channel calling their high pitched cries. My quill carefully formed each letter, which gave me an inner tranquility at once. This I could do for hours without pain or thought. Ion was lettering the last page of Lucas, and Ronant was working on his design of the lead page, where was found the likeness of John. Fiotan set up and added color to the letters marked on the last pages of Luke. We quickly fell into our patterns of work, as we had been working on this manuscript these past three years. The pilgrims were coming through the chapel door.
"And in here, my dear Blachmac, is where we are doing our most important work. These brothers are crafting the manuscript dedicated to the two hundredth anniversary of our founder being called to the Lord."
King Blachmac stood tall and bear chested amongst the small throng of pilgrims, his strong arms filling out the white smock he wore. Though we were all bearded, his was rich and red, framing a large mouth set with strong teeth. He was a northerner, we could tell. The other pilgrims filed into our scriptorium behind him.
"May I see your work, Brother?"
He came over to Ronant's table and examined his rudimentary drawing, still devoid of color.
"It will be finished in the style of these pages, my Lord", Ronant held up some finished folios.
"Such fine lines, such color. It is beautiful." He looked over at the rest of us, the Abbot hovering close to him, solicitous and slightly bowed. "I could commission a book like it for my kingdom, to celebrate our entry into Christ, my good Abbot. But we are plagued still by the heathen barbarians in our land, so it would be a shame to have it fall into their barbarous hands. The devil take... oh, I beg your forgiveness, my Lord."
Cellarch raised his hand to signify no offense was taken.
"Ach, the heathens are a plague, so we hear. Their long ships steal in the night and attack at dawn."
"We have men ready to protect our settlements," Blachmac answered. "They find if difficult, but they do strike, and we must be ready."
Just then, the last of the pilgrims entered through the small door of the chapel. She stood wide eyed for a moment, and all eyes turned on her, as did mine. Ronant had a wolfish grin, when he looked at me, and Ion studied her quietly. She was tall, long full ringlets of dark golden hair fell to her shoulders, slim of build, and in her sandalled feet looked natural in her white robe.
"May I present to you my daughter?" the king addressed us. "Osla."
"Thank you father, I was most curious to see their scriptures. May I?"
Osla came over to my work, and looked at the first few lines of the page on which continued John's Gospel. She studied my rounded letters, and looked at my quill, then at me.
"Your hand is very fine, my brother. Mine is not so even." She smiled at me.
I smiled in return, feeling lost for words, but managed to answer. "It is in the practice, my child." She was no more than a child, having just reached early womanhood, and she was elegant to look at. "We do as the Spirit guides us. Can you read this?"
"Yes, a little, but I am still in my studies."
"She is a bright scholar," her father quickly intoned, "not without letters like me."
"We can teach, my Lord, without difficulty, to read in both Latin and your language, if you wish." So saying, Cellarch quickly came to his rescue. "Your gifts have already greatly benefited our little Abbey, and we are most happy to show you the way to the Word."
"Perhaps my daughter, when she is of age, but not now."
This brought air back into my lungs, but the group, after all had a chance to look at our folios, were now turning to leave. Osla lingered, as she had done in the chapel. Cellarch now directed them to see the crosses of the stations of Christ. The Abbot gave us one quick kind look, in appreciation for having been gracious in our appearance, and they filed out. Only Osla remained.
She did not speak, but casually walked over to the fire to warm her hands, and then looked up at the rafters, as if studying the smoke curling there. The brothers tried not to show they looked at her, and fained studious industry, while I held off the quill from the page, fearful I might blot ink. My hand was not steady enough to resume. So I rose and walked over to her.
"Would you like some dried apples?"
"Oh no, I could not, for I am fasting from yesterday." Her eyes did follow the bowl I placed back on the table. I looked over at my bowl of porridge, with the spoons still standing it in, but dismissed it.
"Do you have a scriptorium at your abbey?" I tried to make conversation.
"Yes, we have scribes there who copy our holy texts, but much smaller than yours. And the work is not so fine."
I fought off pride, knowing it a sin. The others now looked at us. Ion had a smile on his face. Ronant also. Fiotan turned back to his drawings and Enon stirred his inks.
Osla seemed content in silence, so I also silently turned away, when she called to me.
"We also have heathen scribes in our land, who do very fine work, though not for our Lord Jesus." She looked at me wide eyed. "Is it wrong to encourage them?"
"Ah, well, no, not to discourage them from the written word." I thought about it a moment, not sure of her reason for asking. "If their work is dedicated to the love of God."
She stayed silent a moment longer, pondering. "I suppose so. They do worship witchcraft, and magic, which is against the Church, so I am told. But if their work brings them closer to God, then it is not evil."
"Tolerance is too a virtue. And magic is no sin if given in the name of the Lord. Our Lord Jesus brings to Himself through the Holy Spirit even those who are lost. To forgive makes us all soldiers of Christ."
Osla liked my answer, and thanked us for allowing her to stay. Then she turned away from us as if in meditation, and silently went out into the chapel door. In a few moments I could see her outside joined with the others, and my heart fell quiet again.
"You are a king at heart, Aedan, by your birth. But you are a brother now, given to chastity," reminded me Ronant, with a roguish smile.
"I am a man given over to God, but I still find God's work wonderful," I answered him with a grin.
All became jovial, and an air of lightness reentered our midst. Even Ion fixed a smile.
"The ladies of Alexandria were devout too, and just as pretty. Perhaps someday we will be the pilgrims and go there."
This launched us into a discussion of the holy places of the world, a topic we often bring up while working. Now that we were back to our task, I looked again at my breakfast bowl, but my heart was not in it, so took it to a side door that led out of the scriptorium.
"Luru!" I called. "Here boy!"
My faithful friend came trotting over, hints of gray around his muzzle, and eagerly lapped up the contents of my bowl. Afterwards, I took a handful of dried apples, and returned to my table. My involuntary fast forgotten, the apples tasted as if they had been blessed.
2. The Book of John
We resumed our work in silence, as is our habit for long stretches of time. Though our order is not given to silence, we prefer it to preserve the spirit whenever it is called for. Only the swift sandalled feet of acolytes or brothers bringing refreshments, or called for fire wood, could be heard in our scribe's hall. Brother Domnall would send us milk, or on rare occasions mead, as he saw fit, which we accepted gratefully. His secret wish, though not secret to us, was to paint his likeness somewhere into the manuscript, which we did into Luke, as a small Abraham. His happy thanks continue still. Tierce prayers had long been held, and I had seen the penitents filing into the main church for them. We did not attend this, for the need to make up for lost time. Now it was Sext, and the bell was ringing the noon hour.
"Stretch your legs my friends. It is time for chapel."
We laid aside out works and filed into the chapel and took our places. Father Cellarch was in the sacristy, wearing his vestments. The Deacon Fergus prepared the Psalters. Acolytes took their place at the rear, with the penitents standing amongst them. The chapel was very full. We were nearly a week away from Celtic Easter, so more pilgrims arrived from abroad daily. Our chapel was smaller than our church, though much older, the church built later during Saint Adomnan's tenure, blessed were those times, and only now nearing completion. The thick old stone walls of the chapel date back to blessed Columba's time, ColumbKil in Gael, so it was used with great reverence. Light from a pale sun came in through the vaulted windows encrusted with multicolored glass, and the air of the chapel carried the sweet incense of its venerable presence in the Holy Spirit. This was where our Saint Columba placed his staff upon arriving, pointing it towards Jerusalem, and thus was built our chapel on this consecrated ground.
"All rise," called the Deacon.
The brothers in the front raised their hands palm up to receive the blessing, and the sound of hymnals opening could be heard from the rear. I tried consciously to not look behind me, though I felt eyes were focussed on us monks. The Abbot entered and took his place at the lectern near the altar, facing us, and in his clear voice commenced the singing prayers.
Brothers who were out in the distant fields of the machair on the island would have stopped their work upon hearing the bells, and faced towards the Abbey to pray. We in the chapel raised our voices to God, to our Lord Jesus Christ, and to join with the angels above so that the whole world could hear us. We sang well, the mellow chords of the brothers mixing with the clear bell like voices of the acolytes, followed at times by hesitant singing of the lay pilgrims. From within that rear chanting could be heard the high well timbered voice of a young woman, singing flawlessly the words of the prayers. It warmed me to hear her sing with such devotion, so pure of heart, for I knew from her voice who she was. The chanting carried well over the Abbey, and far out over the sound and fields around us. Sometimes, I imagined we could be heard, if the wind favored, all the way to my native Ireland. In some part of my heart, I believed we could be heard as far as Rome, and Jerusalem, for the Glory of God.
"Peace to you my sweet brothers."
"And peace to you in the Lord dear Abbot," we answered.
Cellarch had approached us from the sacristy, as the other brothers and laymen were filing out the chapel. The penitents, being on fast, would go back to the big house where they would meditate and pray. The brothers not fasting were making their way to the midday meal at the dining hall off the kitchen sheds, and we lingered a moment.
"May I walk with you?" Our eyes met, and Ion and I looked at each other. Though it was not uncommon to have Cellarch join us for consultation, we wondered the depth of it. "I just this morning received from Ireland a letter. It was from Bishop Ailebe, he is now at Durrow. And he has a visitor from Rome, Father Claudius, who came with a message from the Holy Father to instruct him to spread the word to all the abbeys in Pictland."
We had fallen behind the others now, so could speak freely, though we spoke softly.
"Is it on the question of Easter?" I inquired. With this highest holiday approaching, knowing this was still on the Church's mind, we of the Irish Church were urged to follow the calendar of Rome. There were those who wanted to resume the old ways.
"Indeed, Aedan, it is, for fear that we should celebrate the wrong day."
"But that is dependent on the full moon, and the Hebrew Pesach," Brother Ion reminded us. His was a greater knowledge of these matters.
"Yes, we know that Easter always falls after the full moon preceding Passover. And we of the Abbey have observed this day from the days of our dear Saint. However, there are those, and our prominent guest King Blachmac amongst them, who want to celebrate it earlier, saying Roman Easter is too far from the new year this year."
"Hmm," we pondered this. "So there is the conflict, that we are to celebrate, by way of the Church of Rome, on 19 April, and those who oppose would celebrate it 22 March, as does the old Church, to usher the new year. What do you plan to answer, Father?"
"Enon, do you have a suggestion? Fiotan?" Cellarch asked.
"No," they both regretted.
"Then why not celebrate both? Ronant added. "If Easter is just after the full moon, it happens twice. And thus both Churches can be satisfied."
The Abbot pondered this in silence, as we were about to enter the dining hall.
"Then this is a solution I believe acceptable to both the Bishop, and our King present. Ion, do you think it right?"
"Yes, my Lord, I believe so. There has been precedence at Antioch for this, and Alexandria, where both days were honored, in the name of Jesus Christ."
"Then it shall be, and I will answer Bishop Ailebe thus. The Roman Easter will be celebrated, though I suspect more quietly than will be Celtic Easter." Cellarch seemed inwardly satisfied with this, his wizened face smiling to himself. He was thinking of the old ways, when bag pipes and dancing was the joy of our Lord's Resurrection. "Thank you Ronant, and you sweet brothers. I will now go and bless the bread, to join you presently."
We returned after our midday meal of thick bread and hard sheep's cheese, washed down with good Gallic wine, which we ate in silence while a brother read to us from Romans 13 and 14. The acolytes served the monks, and when done sang a hymn to close the meal. The pilgrims observing a day of fast had spent the time in their cells dedicated to prayer for their souls. Eogan had joined us, and now after the meal was bringing in freshly cured parchment folios. We stood in the door facing the sound, enjoying sight of the sunfilled grounds of our abbey, watching the lay men and women about their chores. Some of the priests were married, and their wives worked in the abbey as attendants to what always needed doing about. The air was cool, but the sun pleasant, and thin white clouds hung in the sky. A fishing skiff was upon the sound making its way back to its village, to the accompaniment of a flock of gulls.
"The lay butchers slaughtered more lambs on Mull, so not to disturb the pilgrims here with the cries of the butchering," he volunteered to us.
"Even Jesus was a shepherd," Ion answered. "So we are only following in His footsteps."
"Though our sweet Saint Columba would not harm a fly, yet the skins are needed for our work," replied Eogan, without ceremony. His was the way of reason without embellishment, and he took his office seriously, though the killing of lambs was left to those outside the order. We ate no meat at this time, it being Lent. Shearing of sheep was another matter, performed gladly by the brothers, however, for the wool brought the abbey much needed revenue. When we resumed our labors, Ion felt the need to speak.
"Why would you think that Love worketh no ill to his neighbor, therefore love is the fulfilling of the Law?" He was referring to a line from the readings. "Would it not be truer to say that the Law is the fulfillment of Love?"
Our quills stopped a moment in contemplation, as I had just penned The light shineth in darkness, on the second page of John, having worked on the drawing of the first all morning. Then our work resumed, and only Ion seemed poised to answer his own.
"That was the way of the Hebrews, who put Law of God above all."
"Yet Christ came to simplify the Law, by saying Love is the Law," I finally answered.
"The Golden Rule is Thou shall love thy neighbor as thyself," Ronant reminded.
"So it is, but is it not better to obey God first?"
"Unless God sends His son to teach us a better way," Fiotan spoke through his nose.
"That is the fulfillment of Scriptures, that the Messiah should come to us as God's Word," as Enon now felt the need chime in.
"So is it with Easter, which is of Love, and which of the Law?" Ion tempted us again after a spell of silence.
"We love our Church, so we obey her," answered Eogan with finality. "If it is the law to hold Easter as Rome decrees, then it is for her love of Jesus that we remember that Christ had risen."
"So this is it, that the Law is fulfilled in His Word," pondered Ion. "And that word is Love."
"And so that love is the spirit of the Church, in her law," I finished his thought.
"Love came to simply the Law," Ion mused again after a moment of silence. "Therefore, Love is more powerful than the Law."
We again found silence in our work, with only the sweeping sounds within the chapel for company, where two women were making ready to wash the stone floor on their hands and knees. The fire had died down, leaving behind its natural incense mixed with the smell of blossoms outside, to remind us of the fragrance of the beauty of our Lord.
We were near Nones, the ninth hour of the day, and I stopped to stretch and look outside. The monks in the apple orchards, trees showing white bloom, near the rocky knoll at the back wall of the monastery, were stopping their labors of clearing the brush in preparation for garden plantings. Many of our healing herbs will be grown there by the wall, in the care of Brother Ernan. We suffer for lack of greens in the Winter, except for cooked cabbage, so they will be eagerly awaited in late Spring. The apples will not fruit until the Summer, though cherries will be out sooner. All was peaceful in our Abbey on this lovely afternoon, as it should be. If angels were about, they would have been visiting here now.
This said, there was a sudden commotion outside at the grounds near the boat landing. A large ship was seen in the distance, approaching our island. It was a coastal longboat, the kind sailed by the Northerners of western Pictland. It was approaching fast, yards high at full sail. One of the charwomen who cleaned the chapel came running in.
"Master Aedan," she cried, concern on her face. "There is word the sailing ship is hoisting danger flags. What does it mean?"
"I don't know, good woman, but we will find out shortly, I am sure."
As the ship approached our shore, wailing women could be heard aboard. I turned to the dear woman, she was the lay wife of Lugad, who tended cows in his Lord's service to us, and said: "Go down to the landing and see what they are wailing about. And then report to me."
She ran holding the hems of her skirt as fast as her wooden shoes would carry, down the sloping field to the banks. There she raised her voice in a shout, wailing back to the women aboard.
The prayer bell rang, more furiously than usual, and we turned to give thanks to God.
The service was shortened, for all were eager to hear the news, and some of us sang a bit hurriedly. When I stepped into the doorway of the church, Lugad's wife hurried over to me, she had been waiting. The ship was now docked, and there was much excitement about.
"They said they had seen long ships attacking a coastal village yesterday, so they have been sailing here with God's speed. They are from the kingdom of our visitor's, Blachmac's people," she was running all her words together, "and the king is now with them, and they had gone three days, and he is going back with them to attack the Vikings."
She stopped to catch her breath. I placed my hand on her head, that I understood, and she lowered her face, glad to have delivered her charge as asked.
"Thank you, good woman, you are a kind soul to give me this. You may go."
I then awaited for the others, who had helped putting away the Psalters. The ship stood regally in the Sound, her long oars up, her prow tied to the pier. Blachmac stood tall amongst his kinsmen, Osla by his side, and another woman who also made up his retinue. She did not appear his wife, far too young I judged, but she and Osla were speaking together.
"Let us see what is at hand, sweet brothers," I said when Enon and Ronant exited.
"What is all the commotion?" they asked.
"A northern Pict village had been attacked. Let us learn more."
We approached the landing, and Osla left her companion to come to us.
"Have you heard the terrible news?" she asked, her eyes wide, but without terror. "They attacked one of our villages. The people scattered into the hills, and their properties were burned. All on our ship could see the smoke."
"Did they stop to help, God help them?" asked Ronant, clearly concerned.
"They did not have enough men, most of the passengers were women, so they could not. It grieves them terribly that they could not, so placed on shore further down the coast two couriers who are to make their way home, and raise armed ships to pursue the vikings. My father will be sailing after the sailors stop to rest, maybe tomorrow."
Just then her father saw us and came striding over, clearly anxious.
"It is the first of Springtime, and those marauders sea-wolves have started already, those heathens. I believe they had been camped all Winter and are now beginning to raid." Blachmac looked like a man with suddenly much on his mind. "I will leave first light with the ship, but I want my daughter here, safe from danger, kept company by her cousin."
This was when we first looked over to the new woman, who had a family resemblance, rounder of hips than Osla, and not as long legged, but sweet of face with the same doe eyes.
"They are welcome amongst their new friends here," I answered. "May God show favor in your journey home.
"Her name is Dolina," added Osla, "and we will do penance together."
"Welcome Dolina," both Ronant and Enon and I answered earnestly. "It is a solemn time on these shores, "I added. "You will be safe here." Dolina lowered her eyes in answer to us. Blachmac spoke again.
"I am also leaving behind some men to help the monks of the abbey to protect my kin."
Blachmac was now alive with strategy, thinking war, like a military man, putting his daughter and niece first under his protection. "I must seek the Abbot and speak with him, for these raiders may make it all the way south, to here, if we do not stop them first."
By evening, in the time approaching Vespers, all in the Abbey knew of what had happened. Cellarch held council afterwards, attended by all, including the brothers in the fields and laymen. It was decided to set up defenses, and to empty the guard towers at the rear walls to hide all who could not escape into the fields. Doors were to be strengthened with fresh oak floated over from the mainland, and special prayers would be held to call on the help of God, and our Lord Jesus Christ, in the event our Abbey was attacked, to protect the churches and properties, and our cattle and orchards, and all the monks and people present. A blessing was called upon from heaven for all the living things of our island. Cellarch ended the meeting with these words, "All the people of the One God, who are under His cloak of Blessedness, who are in service to His Son, Jesus, in the name of our dear Saint Columba, may the Lord protect us with His Power and His Love. Amen."
We finished what needed doing at the scriptorium, putting away our tools, and securing the folios in their leather cases, safely suspended from the rafters. Fiotan and Eogan cleaned the quills and brushes, while Enon put away the colored inks and cleaned out the jars and ink horns. I carefully gathered on what we were working, and put that away onto a shelf in the stone, and then covered it, so that vermin could not eat at the parchments. I had written by day's end, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness." And thus by nightfall, I put away our pages of John.
When done, we turned in for the evening meal, and prayers for our salvation. The pea soup and cabbage was heartily enjoyed by all, the penitents free to break their fast, while the candles cast their warm light upon our dining hall.
Compline rang in the silence of the Abbey, and all who could attend made their way to the chapel. I stood behind the others this night, to better see by the torch fires and candelabras all who were present at prayer. Osla and Dolina were amongst them, as was their king and his attendants. Having broken their fast, they had all shared in the fruits of the labors of our brothers. There was a large moon outside, ushering in the week of the new year, and the silence of the heavens was broken by the voices of song escaping our lips into the dark world outside. I knelt with the others in prayer of thanks that those who had arrived did so under God's grace, and that we shall all be protected. If there was fear in our hearts, it was cast out by the strength of our song. A lay brother, not yet taken of the vows, read the solemn closure of our mass. In it, he said "And God sent us His only beloved Son, followed by a host of angels who sang Hosanna to Jerusalem, to bring Love to His Kingdom. Peace be upon the world, for He is come. Amen."
When we dispersed into the night, shadows walking to each his or her quarters under the pale light of the moon, I thanked God that all were safe in the Abbey, and that God protected us with His powerful wing.
So ended the first day of the writing of the sacred Book of John.
3. Monologue
I knelt on the cold floor of my cell, as I always have done, upon undressing down to my thin gown for the night, ready to enter into that world of my much needed sleep, and dreams. Upon my lips were the prayers I had always recited, prayers to the angels of the night who watch over my soul. As I whispered the words in the cold room, my small bed to my side, a lone candle upon the bench beside it, my mind ran back to the events of the day, to let me ponder them in the solitude of my spirit alone.
In the earthen bowl, I washed my hands and feet, and then let the soiled water into my chamber pot, which I covered carefully for the night. My candle flickered in the breeze that came through the small shuttered window, casting dancing dark shadows on the walls. There was room to stand, or sit, or even lie down, but not much more than that. Yet, in its smallness I found comfort. The breeze had picked up in strength, and the candle flickered more violently, the only other sounds heard were the muffled footsteps of other brothers making ready for the night. I could hear a chamber pot emptied outside, then more footsteps. My cell was the northern most corner facing the Sound, so the cold entered here first, and then spread like a spider's web throughout the great house. I thought of the pilgrims housed at the other end, where it would be cold last. Then I resumed my prayers.
I began reciting silently a prayer of St. Patrick.
"I surrender to you my Lord
Through all my strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
I surrender myself to You
Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,
Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,
Through the strength of the resurrection with his ascension..."
As I was saying these words in my mind, different images began coming to me, images I could not repress, for they were with me same as the angels who come when in prayer.
My knees began to hurt on the cold stone floor, but these I dismissed immediately as weakness of the flesh, and turned more inwardly my mind to forget them, same as I forgot the creeping cold.
Then images of the day danced before me like so many temptresses, trying to pull me away from my meditation. I could see my hand penning the letters carefully, each one a separate creation. And the birth of images beginning each important sentence, creatures of God blessed to be here on Earth with us, their lives equal in His love to ours. The songs of the hours once again rang in my ears, like the sweet bells of the angels singing the praise of God. And I could hear my brothers talking, Ion doubting the Trinity is really an equality of three in one, that in Alexandria, there were those who believed Christ was only the Son of God, but not God, same as the Holy Spirit was with God, but not God. I puzzled over this a moment, while reciting my prayers. Why would someone believe such a thing?
Then I thought of the long ship, and the women wailing, and how we could all feel in our hearts their fears. The news was not good, for though we had never been attacked, there were stories aplenty of what savagery the norsemen were capable of. Why were they coming this way? What did they want? Surely they were called to these evil deeds by the Devil.
Then I thought of evil things, why do we have them? Why is God, who is so perfect and good, also a God who allows such terrible things? Are we not visited by demons enough, in sickness, in injury, in lies? Why add these vikings to the list? What could we give them to stop their savagery? Why were they heathens and could not see the beauty and simplicity of Christ's love?
These things were swirling in my head like a troublesome breeze, then new images came to the fore.
My prayers continued.
"I summon today all those powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul..."
And now I could see the penitents entering our scriptorium. Osla was amongst them.
Osla.
My prayer stopped a moment. Then I remembered my tired knees and resumed.
But her images was most persistent of all, and I could see how she looked at me, the sound of her voice, how she almost took the apples from my hand, but her mind did not let her. How she walked to the fire to warm her hands. I remembered the warmth of the fire, her face lit by its glow..
Why was I thinking of this? I was not thinking of her in the flesh, but saw her in the light of the spirit. She was beautiful to look at, and so pleasant to be near. My mother was beautiful. Why did she have to die so young? I was but nine when she went to the Lord. But I had taken my vows, and unless I were to renounce them, to become a village priest instead, I could never know her as a man knows a woman when they are married. This did not trouble me much, since I had made up my mind long ago to dedicate myself to God, and to His Son Jesus. They are the most beautiful of all, so a woman's beauty pales by comparison. But she is tangible, a living person made by God, whereas Jesus is now but a powerful memory, and God unfathomable as the Creator. Would it be so wrong to enjoy God through the joy of His creations? No, this cannot be. Surely the Devil put that thought into my head. By the Grace of God, I must be more cautious in my meditation and focus on the His goodness instead. I must forget idolatry, for the flesh is only a carved image. I must be stronger than my passions, with the firmness of a rock, or the demons will find ways to invade me. My love is reserved for the Almighty, for the Trinity, for our Lord. Still, she was an image in my mind who would not go away.
I heard of brother monks who whipped themselves at night when these images came to them, and they would have difficulty sitting or walking the next day, for they had hit every part of their body with a brambled branch. None had died, but sometimes their sores were infected, and they could not work for a day or two. I decided my work was too important to risk infections, not out of pride, but out of necessity, for we had to deliver the finished books to our sister abbey at Durrow as a gift to the Bishop appointed by Rome. The Papa had decreed the blessedness of this holy man, Ailebe, and we should not divert our labors. Though, we have had to write other manuscripts on demand to educate newly converted kingdoms of the Picts, so our labors never cease. Enon and Eogan sometimes did not have enough time for their preparations of inks and folios, and were instead assigned to write and draw designs, in their hands less fine, so we all could finish in time.
The room was getting colder, and I had to hurry and get under the blankets. And now the beer was calling also, so there was need to be done with prayer. Why did God make beer so good, but also so demanding?
"Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down..."
But her image did not fade, and rather grew. I knew she was under the same roof. Oh God, do not make me have to whip myself. I beseech Thee to grant me an easy sleep, for I am tired. You have decreed in your infinite wisdom that I take the calling, the habit of a Benedictine monk, and for which I gladly surrendered my body to you. But what about my soul? How could beauty and love be evil things? Surely you did not make woman for man so to punish them both. Is there not some compromise that can be found to allow for a love of God and a love of woman? No, You say? The Scriptures are firm on this point? Christ said to leave all behind and to follow Him. I have done that. Am I a bad servant for thinking of beautiful things? It is not out of lust, I assure you, but out of the love of spirit, for though she be flesh, she is also a fine being full of the love of God. If this were not so, she would not be here as a pilgrim of penance at our sweet Abbey. Is this not so?
But Father Cellarch had warned me before that it is not good to argue with God, for in His wisdom, my arguments could never win. I am beginning to sound like Ion, I thought.
"I arise from my prayer
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
In the multitudes, I am
In the oneness of One."
I rose on my stiffened knees, and rubbed back into them circulation of the blood that fed all my limbs. My hands were warm, though the rest of me shivered inside my thin gown of coarse linen. It is good to suffer the cold, to remember the warmth of heaven. When done, I slid the chamber pot into its corner, too tired to empty it now. And then pulled on my stockings for the night, careful not to dirty them on the floor, so in one step swung over to the bed and slid under the cold sheets. This lasted only a moment, and in the growing warmth of the blanket, sleep soon called to me. My eyes looked over at the candle, and I let it flicker a moment more, then I blew it out.
4. Osla
Father Cellarch was in the scriptorium early on the next day to remind us that we needed to add new songs to our Abbey's Psalters. When he left, his man servant, Brother Colman, remained to help us with the Abbot's notes describing how he would like the pages to be drawn.
"Sweet brothers," he instructed us, "the margins are to have braided borders. We want to continue the patterns already on the first pages. Same as we used in Deuteronomy, or was it the Song of Solomon?" Upon pause, he added, "Aedan, would you be so kind as to have Brothers Enon and Eogan assigned to the letterings, as I know you and Ion are working on the Book of John. Fiotan can help them with the drawings, if that does not interfere. The Abbot would like to leave Ronant to continue on the design of the images of Christ and John."
"As you wish, good Brother," I responded. "Father Cellarch has a good understanding of our need, as he is eager to not disappoint the good Bishop of Durrow."
Colman smiled, knowing that not all agreed that Ailebe was a good bishop, but he let it pass. It was not of his office to share in our private joke. When he felt satisfied all will be set as requested, he returned to his other duties, but paused at the door.
"Do you think you can have our ancient baker, Brother Norix, the Gall, included somewhere in the illustrations? He is aged, but a good baker, and we bless his bread daily. Perhaps we can do this little momento for him, it would please him greatly."
"Of course dear Colman. We value Norix's bread as you do, and it would be an honor to include him, blessed be his baker's hands."
Ronant had remained silent through this, and then felt to ask.
"Should we show him as he really is, hunched over, gray of beard, or should we make him look a younger man?" Ronant had a smile with his question. Colman smiled in return.
"As you wish, sweet Brother, it is by your hand. My preference..?" He paused, thinking. "I would show him as he is, an old man. A face would please him, so to hide his crooked body."
"So we can add Norix into the third folio of the Book. I have an idea where to put him, as Ronant already designed which letters will be illuminated. Ronant, what do you think?" I asked.
"Let us put him into the N, where his grizzled face can peer from inside, like when he stands before the vaulted oven. White hair and Gallic nose, that should describe him, no?"
Ion then joined in, putting down his quill.
"I will pen that page, so show me where, and I will draw him in. Then Fiotan can color it. He should be pleased, Brother Colman, as Ronant still has much to do on the image of John."
"So it shall be sweet brothers. The Abbot owes a small debt to our good baker, and by this all will be very pleased. I will not disturb you further, as there is so much work to do. The Psalters need to be finished by Roman Easter, as the Bishop will be here with us to celebrate the Holy Eucharist."
"Ah, that is most wonderful!" I exclaimed. "To be blessed on the day of Resurrection by the Bishop appointed by Rome, how wonderful."
"Do keep this a secret, for now, my dear brothers, as the Abbot is still in a quandary about Celtic Easter, which he must celebrate too. Let it be a surprise to our fellow monks, that this year, they will have two Easters." At that Colman gave us a wink, in the true tradition of conspirators. "We do it in the name of Christ."
Blachmac's ship sailed after Prime, as expected, loaded with some returning pilgrims, though the women were left here for safekeeping. This led to a new feel to our Abbey, having so many women who were not penitent pilgrims, staying with us. But they made themselves useful and helped with the animal pens and the gardens. I might add that this added a certain level of merriment we do not have daily, and even the dour monks had smiles on their faces. The lay men and women took to them instantly, so we found lodging for all. In the afternoon, after the midday meal, I watched Osla and Dolina amongst the women, their penitence forgotten for now, enjoying the company of their kin and kith. The day rose rainy, but cleared, and by afternoon, it was a pleasant Spring day. Ion took up finishing the second folio, while I resumed on the design on the first, recto, having finished lettering the first verso. Our hands were such that Ion could take it from where I left and continue. By the bell of Nones, we were hard at work in silence, with only the movement of our hands to be heard in the scribes hall.
We had already forgotten the threat of heathens from the north, and instead thought of the celebration soon upon us. A Celtic Easter is celebrated in the manner of old, before Saint Patrick's days, and the day of Easter and first of Spring, the new year, were all enjoyed as one. This being also the beginning of a new century should lend us more merriment, I thought. It is good to have the women here, so that the preparations for the feasts should be easier on our kitchen monks. In fact, Brother Domnall already had made arrangements how to use the new arrivals.
"Would they think it proper to help us with the feast?" I asked Ronant, as we were ready to leave for the office of the hour.
"The women? I am sure so. Blachmac gave them instructions to help us in all ways they could, so they will do it without complaint. And if they complain, they know they will have to answer to him later, so I am sure they will be very happy in their work."
Ronant smiled when he looked over at Osla beneath the apple blossoms.
"And what about her?" he asked.
"Well, she will help, I am sure of it. Why? Should the king's daughter be treated unequally in our Abbey?"
"Oh, I was not thinking of work, sweet brother. Only how she had affected you. It was plain to see that you blush when she comes near." He eyed me sideways, as he said this. I blushed again, for I felt it on my face.
"The breeze if freshening again," I quickly responded, as to not think of her. "Do you think we may have a squall?"
"Only in your heart, dear Brother. Watch that the faeries of love do not sink their barbs into you too deeply, my dear Aedan, " he grinned, "or you might have to use the whip."
I shuddered at the thought.
"No, I am pure of heart, as I am sure so is she."
"Then let us go and sing our praises to God, and listen to her sing hers."
Angelic voices could not have surpassed us that afternoon in our church. The chapel was being made ready for Vespers, as it is our tradition to use both churches. I examined a Psalter nearest me to remember how the pages looked in the first part, and thought it simple to duplicate the patterns in the new. I tried to keep myself from looking towards Osla, same as I noticed, without being obvious, that she was doing her best to not look my way, as we both stood with luminous faces towards the altar, where Cellarch conducted the mass. When came time to prostrate ourselves to renew our vows to our Saviour, I did so with as much elegance as I could, lying face down with my arms stretched out, while the lay people stood at the rear. Then service was over and we filed out into the bright sunshine.
As we walked back to the scriptorium, the other monks went back to their labors, and the lay people to theirs. Norix came running over to us, as I was walking with Ion and Ronant, and he hobbled next to us.
"I am so happy what you will do for me. That I shall be eternalized forever." He said this in his Gallic accent, which was never unpleasant. "Will you paint me a little handsomer than I truly am?"
"Vanity is not a grace," reminded him Ion solemnly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon to have suggested it." Brother Norix was about to turn and leave us.
"Not at all, sweet Brother, your likeness will be a handsome one," quickly replied Ronant.
"Ah, thank you, thank you. God had not been easy on my body, but I am of clean spirit."
"And so it will show," I said to him. "We will be happy to do as you wish. But it will be a small likeness, I hope you understand."
"Not too small for me, dear Brother, not too small. I will leave you an extra loaf after dinner, if you like, to enjoy while you work into the night."
"No doubt we will, as we have to complete Psalters as well. Maybe Domnall could add a little pitcher of beer?"
"I will see that he does, dear Aedan, that he does."
He left us happier than he arrived, now that his immortality was assured. Ion smirked at us as we entered our room.
"You do the poor man kindness, this Gallic brother of ours. Who knows where our work will be a hundred years from now. But with God's grace, it will live forever, and he with it."
That evening, after Vespers, we were again at our work tables. Though dinner was a sparse stew of cabbage and parsnips, the bread was good. And now a new loaf found its way into our scriptorium, soon followed by an acolyte bearing a pitcher of beer. By the light of the candelabras, it looked a veritable feast to our eyes, so hunger would not gnaw at us in the night. We were about to break into it when we had visitors.
"I came to show Dolina the fine work you do, sweet brothers," Osla announced upon entering. "Surely we are not disturbing you?"
"Oh, no, not at all, dear ladies," Ronant picked up before I could answer. "You are most welcome into our scriptorium to relieve the tedium of our work." His eyes were shining as he looked over at me.
Osla came over to my table and made herself comfortable on the bench, sitting next to me.
"See, Dolina, how beautiful this work is?"
"Ah, the colors are beautiful." She examined the first page. I could sense that Dolina was not lettered, so did not press her on the words. "And you have so many."
"Do you like the filigree designs? They are Ronant's." I tried to take attention away from myself. Ronant was pointing to his cheek knowingly, to let me know I was blushing.
Dolina examined other folios, again with vacancy often seen when people cannot read, but she admired the drawings. Osla started reading the Latin, slowly, then noticed the loaf and beer and became more cheerful.
"Oh, you have fresh baked bread!" she exclaimed gleefully. I judged she was perhaps no more than five or six years younger than me, but seemed to have a child like joy about her, when not in the presence of her father. Her penance fast over, she looked inquiringly at us.
"Let us break bread together, then." Ion came to our rescue, since I seemed simple of speech, and Ronant was trying not to break into laughter.
"Do you have to say a prayer first?" Osla asked wide eyed.
"The bread is already blessed," Ion answered, so we may eat it as we wish. "Here, Aedan, bring it here." I did as told. "Now, you Osla take one end, and you, sweet Brother, take the other." Ronant turned away not to give himself away, while I turned to Osla as told and took hold of the other end of the loaf.
"Now, this is an old Alexandrian tradition, but you must both pull, and he or she who gets the larger piece is doubly blessed."
It was a game just invented, since I was sure Ion made this up on the spot, but Osla thought it wonderful and began pulling with strength, almost pulling the loaf out of my hand. I held tight, and soon the loaf parted right down the middle.
"Oh? Who wins?" Osla wanted to know.
"Why, I am sure you did, my dear young woman," Ion said, as he examined the bread. I do believe your piece is slightly larger. I am sorry Aedan."
"Oh no! The glory goes to the more deserved, of course. You were right to win, Osla."
This brought a smile to the girls' faces, and they then broke their loaf in two, leaving us four brothers, since Fiotan was a shyly silent but jovial observer through all this, to share the remainder. So we broke bread, and poured beer into empty ink jars, so that all could enjoy a good toast and fill our bellies some more, to the merriment of all.
In the days that followed, our brothers and the lay women became more comfortable together. This raised eyebrows for some of the older monks, who did not have memory of this happening before at the Abbey, but it was looked kindly by our dear Abbot, who said we are all God's children. When not in the scriptorium, Enon and Eogan were out in the animal pens, helping prepare the parchments there. So mostly, only four of us were working at the same time on the Psalters. The Book of John also got attention, but only in the times we waited for each other's pages to come to us for our task. Fiotan's nose had healed, stopped dripping, and now he was as his usual cheerful self again. By the Grace of God, our work progressed well. Norix was immortalized under the letter N, and when he came to deliver a loaf of bread to us, was most ebullient, dancing about the scriptorium in his hunchbacked way. Same as Cellarch, and others before him, their likeness was worked into the images of our work for the Glory of God and our dear Saint Columba. On Good Friday, our work ceased by Sext, the noon hour, and we joined after our meal in the preparations for the Easter Feast that was already well underway throughout the monastery.
The Abbot had ordered the carpenter monks to use the oak we had stored for strengthening doors, all doors, even those of the root cellars. The chapel doors and church doors were the first reinforced with extra thick planks and cross beams. The same was for the stone great house, though the dining hall, being a wood structure, was left. Cellarch's reasoning was that if the heathens needed to break into the pantry, they are welcome to the food that is there, since it was already blessed by God. The moon was just past full, so we worked at night as well, to prepare not only for the great feast, but also to protect our monastic village. Some of the monks lived in beehive huts, and those had their doors strengthened also, though windows were left with merely thicker shutters, when possible, since they were too small for a man to climb into, though he might throw in an arrow, or fire. Many left their fields at the machair to do this work.
These preparations were also being done in the lay village of Fionport across the Sound in Mull, since word had carried to them. Our currahs cross the Sound daily, and now they were bringing us slaughtered animals for roasting, as the Lenten fast would be broken day after the morrow. Our cooks were preparing mutton stews, now again seasoned with herbs and salt, saving the other meats for Easter Sunday. But some celebrations were already taking place this evening, this being the eve of the new year, coinciding with the Spring equinox, and our brothers were very happy to share in the joys of the lay men and women as they ring in the new year. By Vespers, the fires of the old Beltane were already lit, and bagpipes had been brought out for the special night of revelry. The second Beltane, or new Beltane, was in May, for those who are to be betrothed, but here we rang in the rites of Spring, where unmarried women can chose their men, and dance. The air filled with the cheerful tunes of our homes in Ireland and Pictland.
Complines were short tonight, as many of our guests did not attend. Outside, under the rich moon low over the Sound, and many fires, the Feast of the New Year was in full progress. By God's blessing, the night was clear, with the moon hiding only occasionally behind passing clouds. Then all would fall into darkness, except for our bright fires, only to realight again when the clouds passed. A light breeze blew from the North, but it was calm. It promised to be a magic night.
I walked with Ronant and Ion to see the fires, joined by Fiotan when we got there. The Abbot was already amongst them, sitting in a circle around the largest blaze. Horns of sweet mead were passed around for all who would take them. Fish from the sea had been roasted and allowed for this feast, though meat was not. Bones were tossed into the flames, and happy faces were all around as the bagpipe players raised their tunes to heaven.
"Ah, dear sweet brothers, what a wonderful night. It reminds me of the old days," Cellarch greeted upon spotting us. "Come! Join in and be merry! Tomorrow we do silent vigil, but today we celebrate like in olden times!"
"There are so many here, more than last year, to celebrate," Ion answered matter of factly. "Thank you Abbot, I will take a place by you." He took a seat at the bench. "Aedan, here is a place for you too. Brother Fiotan." Fiotan took a horn and sat down. Brother Norix on break from baking was there too, a broad florid smile on his old face.
"I will walk a little, to see more, dear brothers. But enjoy!" I took Ronant by the hand and we walked over to where the music was loudest. We knew Matins would ring two hours before first light, so could not stay the full night, but we were determined to partake in the meriness, even though we may fight sleep at first prayer tomorrow.
5. Beltane
"There is you new friend, Aedan," Ronant pointed her out to me. "She dances well."
Upon seeing us approach, Osla came running over. She, like other young women, had garlands of flowers in her hair, and looked the prettier for it, dressed in a new gown of gold rimmed cloth. "Come on Aedan, you can dance, and if you have forgotten, I will show you how!"
With this, she skipped merely away to join in with the others who were in a lively circle, bagpipers to one side, fire to the other. Ronant and I joined in, and lifted our gowns to step lively in tune with the music. We danced until our legs hurt and were verily out of breath, but Osla and Dolina seemed tireless, laughing as they skipped and twirled.
"Oh, come Aedan, Ronant, let us stop and have refreshments. Hah! I am so out of breath!"
"Oh, Osla, it's been a long time since I danced like this!" She and I sat down on a bench by the fire, while Ronant danced some more with the others, paying special attention to the village girls, and Dolina, dancing close to her. She returned his smiles.
"When did you dance before you took the vows?"
"My father's house had many festivals like this, when mother was alive, and we entertained guests and nobles alike, and inviting the common folk as well. Those were grand times."
"Is it true what they say, that you are a king?"
"No, my two brothers are kings. It was passed to them when father died."
"Then why..." she paused not sure if this was proper to ask.
"Why did I take the cloth?"
"Well, yes, that was what I wanted to ask, but dared not, for not to offend."
"Oh, no offense, for I took to joining Iona gladly. I was called to the work of our Lord by our family priest, who was also my tutor, and he said that my spirit had come to him in a dream, and begged that I be allowed to be amongst the brothers of Saint Columba. This is how I came here. We all have similar stories, when a special moment came into our lives and we were called. I was so happy when I found out, or else..."
"Or else?" Osla was more curious.
"Or else I would have to take up arms and be a warrior like my brothers and kin. This I did not want to do, not from fear, but for serving God instead, to bring in His Kingdom to Earth."
"And that Kingdom has no violence? But how would we protect our villages?"
"I know that in the world as it is now, so possessed by demons, the Kingdom is not yet. But when it comes, when all the world understands the message of God's Son Jesus, then there will be peace. He is the Prince of Peace, you know. His message is Love."
"Like love for a man and a woman?
"Like that too, but still more. This is why I write what I write."
"Your hand is beautiful." Then Osla looked away into the fire.
We drank our mead quietly, and our breath steadied. Osla looked earnestly into my eyes, her eyes sad, though they had a smile in them.
"I understand. Your Abbey is such a peaceful place, that I could almost believe that someday the whole world will be like this. But you know, for how things are, men of arms are needed. Though not all men are called to this."
"You are wise, Osla. I am who God had decreed me to be, so I must follow my calling." The thought of this also made me sad, since it placed a distance between my world and hers. It was an impossible distance. But then I gave it no more thought.
"Come, let us dance again!" I took her hand. She gladly took mine.
As late evening turned into night, the revelers continued their merriment, but the brothers were now sitting quietly by the firesides, enjoying the last of their mead. Some had already stolen away to their quarters, though Cellarch was still amongst those present, and Ronant had not stopped dancing until now. Ion was gone, as were Fiotan. Enon and Eogan, being the youngest, were long gone, having put in the hardest day, working at their labors both at the scriptorium and helping in the skin sheds. The same for the acolytes, younger still. Some of the lay people were also gone, but for reasons different than ours, for Spring was also a celebration of the joy of being alive as man and woman. But young girls were forbidden this, until they had found the man who they would marry, with approval of their parents and elders. So many young lasses were also now alone, talking excitedly with one another, though most of the village girls were gone.
"Will we need to keep this old Beltane from the Bishop, Father?" Ronant asked, now that he had rejoined our quiet circle. The fires were still roaring, with fresh wood added as needed. This was also on my mind, as I am sure it was on Cellarch's.
"We will tell the truth, and the cause why. The Bishop will understand our reason. Even the good Bishop Ailebe is an Irishman, so he will understand. The question is, do we let it be known to the emissary from Rome? That is a more difficult question."
We pondered this, watching the remaining dancers slowing their pace, the mead now taking hold of some, so they had to be held up by others. Then abruptly someone shouted "Happy new year! Happy Beltane!"
The cheer was answered by a chorus of others, and soon we were all shouting so that all the demons would be chased away, and the new year dawn pure and true. The moon shone brightly at that instant, but the shouting stopped as abruptly, for all eyes turned to the Sound, and we fell into silence.
A ship was passing by in the night, which is not common here, unless one was expected and delayed by weather. This was most strange. The fires now were the only sound, crackling their sparks into the night. Trouble struck into our hearts, for though it was far, we could see it was a viking ship. We could see the curved prow and square sail, shields reflected in the moonlight. All their men were silent, watching us to assess if we were easy to take. Osla came over to my side and held my arm. I squeezed her hand to not be afraid.
"Be still everyone," Cellarch warned. "If they come for shore, you know to give the alarm, and then we run for shelter. But be still." He then motioned to some of the brothers who had been soldiers, and directed them to watch after the ship. Just then clouds once again darkened the waters, and the ship was lost from view. When they parted again, the moon revealed nothing there. They were gone.
"Let us pray to God they will not return."
That night a watch was posted at six locations, so that each man could easily call to the other. Upon Cellarch's orders, all the food and mead were left on their tables, only the knives were removed. I walked with Osla back to the great house, as we all turned to our quarters. The night was full of demons, she had said. But I assured her that we were on holy ground, and that God will watch over us.
Prayers were held audibly in the great house when we turned to sleep. No one ventured outside for fear, but the night watchmen did not call an alarm. Still, sleep was light for me, and I suspect for all the others. The great house is stone and solid, so not easy to breach, but my fear was for the village people, and the brother monks who were in their small beehive cells, as they are unprotected. Fire is a favored weapon of the norsemen. They are well known to burn whole villages, and kill everyone they find. What manner of men they be, I wondered, who would kill so wantonly, and what for? For gold? For glory? Why would God allow such things? I thought of young Osla, and the other young girls, and how unprotected they are, though some of our order came from fighting men. But could they resist if so outnumbered? Though it was only one ship, there may be others. The thought filled me with dread.
"Where are you Jesus, Son of God? We need your message of Love so urgently tonight, for we are in the company of evil. Is the power of your message strong enough to overcome the weapons of evil men? If I have doubt in my heart, it is not for myself, but for the others, who are more innocent than I am. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, please hear my prayers. Save us from these demons of the night."
I closed my eyes, for I very much needed sleep, but it came slowly. In the stillness of the night, a solitary piper filled his bag and played a slow mournful tune, almost as if to caress us all to sleep. As the fires died down to embers, the night watchmen were heard calling to one another. I remember nothing else until the bell for Matins.
Before dawn there was much commotion from outside as I was finishing my morning prayers. A shout rose, and others answered. I could not see for the dark, and only torch lights moving about were seen through my window. I washed my face and dressed quickly to go and see what had happened. No alarm was called, so it could not have been an attack.
When I came down the stone steps, men were running in and out of the great house, brothers with them.
"What happened?" I asked to the first who came my way.
"All the food is gone! Blessed Virgin, how could it be? It must have been demons, for no alarm was heard. The night watchmen, saw nothing!"
Indeed, when I got to where the tables were, the pots and dishes were empty. Murmuring was heard all around us as we puzzled how this could be. Even the mead barrels were empty. This was a mystery indeed, for thieves would have been spotted and called. But there was no report of anyone entering our monastery.
"Have you looked for tracks?" I asked one of the night watchmen who had just come off his duty.
"Yes, Brother. They had dragged what they could to the beach landing, not where we tie up our boats, but where the sands are. But no damage to any of them. Very strange, isn't it?"
"It was God's protection over our Abbey," I answered, though only half believing it.
"Why did they not attack, if they were here?" he replied.
"Because we prayed for deliverance from their evil."
"It was God's will indeed, Brother. Your faith is greater than mine, for I have known war, and had to kill. God Bless you in your good faith in our Lord."
I found the Abbot. Cellarch was as puzzled as all the others, but his was a serene quiet puzzlement, not frantic as for us. Now that I think of it, he knew what he was doing when he ordered the food left behind. The vikings no doubt knew we were a holy order, so had no booty which they were after. Our gold is only on the altar, though they may not know this. And if we were threatened for it, I am sure Cellarch would give it to them in the spirit of Christ just the same, if only they did not harm the living.
"We were saved, Father, by your hand." I approached Cellarch saying this.
"Yes, sweet Brother, we were saved. But more by the Grace of God than my deed, I suspect. For how else can we explain the stealth with which the food was taken?"
"They are called sea wolves, for their stealth," I answered. "But even they cannot be so clever as to steal so much without anyone alerted. Truly this is a mystery."
"Mystery is the way of heaven sometimes. Remember how our dear Saint who founded this Abbey would go alone into the machair to pray, and how the angels would come down to him in a tower of light. That was a true mystery, and yet none can answer it."
He put his arm upon my shoulder, and squeeze it lightly for reassurance. It brought instant calm into my soul, and I was grateful to him.
After the long night, and the mead, the brothers of the scriptorium were more quiet than usual. We moved slowly. Prayers and songs had lapses in them at Prime, where the flow rose and fell as we either remembered our words, or forgot them. We continued to press on with the Psalters, since our hands were not steady enough for the Book of John, so all six of us took to penning the Psalms to be added. There would be twelve new books in all, our work was progressing well, though without as much joy and enthusiasm as for the great work. But these too needed doing in Praise of the Lord.
"Do you think they did not attack because of all the fires?" Fiotan asked, in his quiet way.
"That is a thought, isn't it?" Enon replied with a question. "Would they have thought the same of the bagpipers? That we had an army here?"
"Strange to tell, but I felt fear from them when they passed in the dark," added Eogan.
"I thought over this when at breakfast," returned Fiotan, "though we may not speak then." Enon spoke again.
"The porridge went down slowly, even with milk. I thought of it too, why not attacked?"
They were working steadily as they spoke softly, each in his own hand concentrating on letters, though their minds were elsewhere. Ion and I did not intrude on their thoughts, though Ronant wanted to add his.
"I think they were jealous of our celebration and were sad they could not attend. So by the Grace of God, they could enjoy the feast, which they stole, though not our company."
"They are the enemy, are they not?" asked Enon.
"Only enemy of the teachings of our Lord Jesus," finally added Ion. "In the ethics of ancient Greece, it was called Summun Bonum, which Saint Augustine mentioned in his writings. The Good is an end in itself. This is why we forgive."
"So the heathens are the enemy of that, of the Good, which is the Peace brought to us by our Lord?" asked Ronant.
"Verily so, though even our own people here do not always know this," continued Ion. "We have wars amongst our tribes too, same as there were wars amongst the Christians of Alexandria. And Constantinople." Ion became solemn in his speech.
"Christians fighting Christians in the Holy Land cannot be possible. Yet, I have heard of it," I finally joined in.
"The enemies of Christ are even within us, same as when we have to fight off devils within our selves," replied Ion.
Enon and Eogan stayed quiet, listening, since we were now speaking at heights they were little familiar. Then Fiotan asked again.
"Do you think evil is not just a heathen thing?"
"Surely not. Every man of free will can have evil thoughts, and do evil deeds. It is God's way." Ion thought of his words some more. "But how do we teach to do Good? That is the question."
We worked again in silence, waiting for the bell to ring in prayers at Tierce, but this was still some time off. Fiotan, breaking his characteristic shyness spoke again. The threat of danger had made him bold.
"Had Jesus told us everything he knew to bring it all to the Good?" he wondered. "Can it be that we have not yet heard all of it, for if so, then there would never have been wars amongst the Christians?"
"But the Christians of Rome never war on each other. Is this not so Ion?" Enon now asked.
"I do not know if so or not. I do know that it is their teachings that had brought Christianity to our shores, though there are those who believe we already had the teachings here by the time Saint Patrick came to Ireland, that these teachings were brought to us by Joseph of Arimathea." Ion looked over to us to see our response. We were puzzled to hear this, as he expected. "But this is not certain, though the old ways do not go easily. To Rome's regret, I am sure."
"Then we should have had peace for a longer time, if this is so, that the teachings of Jesus had reached us first," again ventured Fiotan.
"You are a philosopher, Fiotan, and I agree, that would be true. However, heathen tribes have plagued us since the beginning, so peace is as much a cause of their evil as it was a cause of our own." Ion was beginning to speak in riddles. "Our Lord only gave us the teachings. It is for us to make them real if the Kingdom of God is to be with us."
"The Romans brought peace to The Britain," I reminded them. "And they were pagan."
"There peace was of the sword, whereas our peace is of the Word," Ion replied.
"The vikings would understand the sword," Fiotan answered. "I am not certain they will understand the Word. Or turning the other cheek."
We all nodded in agreement on this.
"Yet, being soldiers of Christ, we must try with the Word, and not with the sword," I finished their thoughts. "Sometimes prayer is more powerful. God works in mysterious ways."
"Such as not being attacked," Fiotan added. We again resumed our work in silence.
The fire pit had died down when Tierce rang. By Sext, all the festivities had been cleaned away, with the help of our many guests, and the Abbey once more regained its usual serenity. Tonight would be the vigil, so preparations were made at the church. We delivered the finished pages to be added to the Psalters, only for three books, which were sewn in by the brothers there. The rest will have to wait until Roman Easter.
That evening, after Vespers and when we had done with the evening meal, the church filled with all in attendance. We prayed silently in the dark. Leeward of midnight, the candles were lit, and the Glory of God was proclaimed, for He is Risen, and a great joy was proclaimed by all. Cellarch, dressed in his finest vestments, and carrying the shepherd's staff, his Deacon carrying the flabellum, as had the angels, and they both approached the altar to break the bread and pour the wine of the Eucharist. This was a most solemn moment, for we thus reenact the words of Jesus Christ at his Last Supper.
"He who eateath my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life. And I will raise him up at the last day, and he shall live forever."
The Abbot then brought the sacraments to us brothers in front, and we took them. The rest of the congregation then lined before him, kneeled, took a morsel of bread, and drank from the gold chalice, as the Abbot said his blessing over them. They crossed themselves, and then rose and returned to their places. This took a long time, as there were many. By the end of the service, all sang Hosanna is the greatest, in praise of the Messiah, and then we ended with the Psalm of David, to deliver us from evil men. Inside the church was now a blaze of light.
My eyes met with Osla's at the end of the service, and she had an illumined glow on her face, so enraptured she was with our Easter service. She smiled at me, to let me know her inner joy, and I smiled in return. Later, when we stepped into the dark night, for the clouds again obscured the moon, she came over to me.
"Listen to the bells!" she exclaimed upon reaching me. "The whole Abbey is ringing!"
"For the Glory of our God, that He is Risen."
"It was the most beautiful service I had ever witnessed. The Eucharist brought tears to my eyes, and when the candles were lit, I thought I had gone to heaven."
"It is when the Holy Ghost enters, and all evil things are dispelled," I answered her. "I always feel His presence when the Abbot raises the chalice to heaven. A strong force takes over me."
"Me too. I felt it tonight, when he blessed the bread and wine." Her eyes were shining. "Oh, but if the heathens only knew this, they too would be like us."
She took my arm, and we walked back together into the darkness, except the moon was now once again between the clouds. We both looked over to the Sound, half in dread, but no ship was there. All the other monks and lay people were filing out of the church also, the chapel bell alone still ringing in the night. A warm breeze blew from the south, mixed with the murmurs of those around us.
"I wish it were like this always, this beauty, when the world is all peace, and there is love in everyone's heart." Her hand tightened on my arm. "I wish my father was here to see this."
"We are all joined in one spirit tonight. My mother is here too, as are all who had gone to the Lord."
"Is this how we have life everlasting?" she asked innocently.
"Perhaps. That is what He meant. Or perhaps there is a greater mystery still."
At the great house, Osla paused before releasing my arm, and then her hand reached over to me and caressed my cheek.
"Thank you, Aedan. You are a dear wonderful man."
With those burning words, she left me, and I returned to my cell.
6. Easter
The day of rest, the Sabbath day, was also Easter. Lenten broken, now all could partake in the joy of food denied for these past forty days, and a great feast was awaiting.
But first there was the traditional washing of the feet during the noon day mass. Father Cellarch came to the brothers and washed their feet. My turn came also, and he gently released my sandals, and placed each foot into the cool water, and blessed it as he proceeded to wash them. Then the Deacon washed Cellarch's feet last. After the sacraments, all were free to join in the food prepared, of which there will be much.
Most of us brothers, as is also traditional, took to the baths before the meal. These were located by the animal pens, a large bathhouse for the men, and a smaller for the women. They were partitioned by a solid wall, though we could hear them on the other side. The cows had been milked, and lounged lazily in their stalls, chewing, while the sheep were let free to range over the rocky knolls beyond the monastery walls, where they can feast on the lush green grasses growing around them. They dotted the small hillsides like so many white flowers, heads down. I came to the baths a little later, having finished putting away into the stone niche the Book of John, for safekeeping, as we were suddenly in uncertain times. The other three Books were already placed there, hidden by a stone that blended like all the others, so none could tell it was there. The Psalters were left open on our tables, for when we returned to our works. By the time I arrived, many had already departed, but Ronant and Ion were still languishing in the warm waters with a few other brothers, steaming water poured at intervals by the acolytes who were ready to serve us. Luru came trotting over upon seeing me, but I told him to stay, outside. The good old dog gave my hand a lick.
"Join us!" called Ronant when I entered, his boyish grin always ready. "This bath will refresh your spirits and take away all the cares of the world."
I answered in kind, that I was ready for just that, and unclasped my gown and carefully folded it on the bench. In my nakedness, I felt momentarily shy, but quickly stepped into the warm bath. It felt instantly good, not too hot but most pleasing.
"Can you tell whose voices those are over the wall?" Ronant teased me. "They are having a merry time, I dare say."
I was glad the water was already murky, so to hide my shame, for the voices next door did have a stimulating effect on me, as I suspected on the others. I smiled. Ion had his eyes closed, enjoying the splendor of the warmth. It rained last night, and the grounds were muddy, the air cool, sky gray. So this was a welcome respite.
"The women, God Bless them, are splashing up a storm, like children," I responded. "Do they wonder why we are so quiet here?"
"They know we monks are not given to loud merriment, alas. I am sure they would drive us into their laughter if they could," smirked Ronant.
The other brothers were also quietly bathing. When one of them left, he would sneak out of the waters, saying "Peace be with you, sweet brothers." And then they would wrap in the great cloth towels to hide themselves.
"Why so much laughter from you ladies?" called Ronant over the wall.
The giggling stopped a moment, and then resumed, as they realized we could hear them.
"For the love of God, why are you so quiet?"
It was Osla's voice who responded, and Ion gave me a big smirk.
"Our misfortune you cannot join us, to make our side more merry!" I called back to them.
This brought even louder laughter from them.
"You could! But not look at us, for we are naked!"
"Blessed Virgin." Ronant bit his lip, as I did mine. Ion continued his knowing smile. The other brothers smiled also.
"Then you would see our nakedness too!" I called back. The laughter intensified. "And you would have to cover your eyes!"
"Why would you need to hide?" Osla called back. "Are you ashamed of being men?"
"No more than you being women!" called back Ronant. Their laughter never ceased. More splashing could be heard, as they no doubt teased each other.
"We are not monks!" called an unfamiliar voice. "So we have nothing to hide!"
"God made Adam and Even naked in the Garden!" Ion broke his silence.
"Gloria!" they responded. So we broke into song, "Gloria, gloria!" and all the brothers joined in.
This exchange of taunts continued until we all decided it was time for the meal. Each rose in his own time, as we could hear the laughter subside on the other side, for they were leaving too. When it was my time, I too rose and grabbed a towel handed to me by an acolyte, who was grinning broadly, for I had to hide my shame quickly. Ronant and Ion were already dressed, and thus we left the baths.
The banquet was spread before us at table, and the usual silence was not observed, for this was for the Glory of the Lord. When my eyes met those of Osla, though she were on the other side of the great hall, her smile continued for a long time, even when she looked away, as did mine.
The roast meat tasted wonderful, after so long an absence, as did the stews. All forms of cakes were also piled high, and good wine poured generously. Laughter would rise in pockets, then move to another part of the hall. With the feast it seemed our cares were forgotten, as was the clean feeling I now had over myself. This was truly a day of Resurrection.
There was no reading today, so we were free to speak as we wished, which made the feast so much the merrier.
"Welcome sweet brothers," Cellarch called to us upon entering. He was sitting with Colman with their plates still full. "Please join us here!"
"Thank you, dear Abbot. Brother Colman. We will be pleased to eat with you," I answered, knowing I spoke for Ronant and Ion too. We seated ourselves as asked.
"Do forgive me, sweet brothers, from bringing up affairs of state on this festive day, but there are heavy things on my mind, and I am in need of council. You here are my best heads, so let me ask." He looked at us all to see if we were willing in this. Satisfied, the Abbot continued. "It has been on my mind as to why. Why did they not attack us?"
We were of one mind on this, as were many others. Between mouthfuls, we responded in turn.
"They were observing us only, is my guess," Colman volunteered first.
All nodded on this. Then it was Ion's turn.
"My thought is this. They are a raiding party, perhaps only scouting to see what lay down the coast, since they had never come this far south before. If so, and they think us defenseless, we should expect them back. At their leisure, they will attack."
Frowns met his remark, but again all nodded that this was very likely so.
"By stealing ashore, they had a chance to see that we are a monastic order, not a military garrison, as they might have feared when they first passed by. And this means trouble, because they will be fearless." I looked around to see if all agreed. They did.
"Then why did they not cause trouble when they were here?" asked Ronant.
"I think Aedan is right, that they stole ashore to inspect the compound, to see how best to attack. This same happened three years ago, when we were all celebrating summer feast at the machair, and then they damaged some, stole what they could of our livestock, but they did not return. Remember, how Brother Norix hid inside one of the unused ovens? The good Lord saw to it that no one was killed that day." Cellarch allowed himself a small chuckle. "So this time also the food and drink was a prize they could not pass up, but it will not stop them." Cellarch looked somber at the thought. "Many at the Abbey think that by leaving out food for them, they will leave us alone, by the Grace of God. But I fear that is simplistic. They will not be deterred if they want more."
"The sea wolves are known for terrible things when they raid a village, not one house is left standing," added Colman.
"Indeed, this is true," agreed Cellarch. "They are to be feared."
"Would prayer stop them, Father?" asked Ion. "We already sing David's thirty-fifth Psalm, to deliver us from evil men."
"We all believe in the power of prayer, for then it is God's will. But we are also free to defend ourselves, for that is God's will also. I think we should be realistic. They had attacked our sister monasteries in Pictland to the north, and we know how much damage there was then. The vikings have no respect for Admonnan's Law of Innocents, which protects women and children, and the clergy. This is respected by our kings, but not by theirs. I fear that the abbey at Hinba may never be rebuilt, since her position was indefensible, and too far for help to arrive in time. We cannot allow that here." Cellarch added emphasis on his last.
"Indeed, we cannot. This is the Abbey founded by our Saint, so it must be defended. And our position is more defensible than Hinba's, which was all flat land surrounded by water." I agreed with Cellarch, that we must defend ours. "Would the good king of the Dalriada help us?"
"He is a powerless monarch at present, so we can only pray his young Lordship, Kenneth, grow into manhood."
"We have the fort tower," added Colman, "so many can take shelter in that in the event of attack."
"But not all," Ion reminded us. "It can hold most of the brothers, but we have many guests who could not join us. So that is a poor solution." We nodded, as we continued eating. The wine helped wash down the mutton and beef. Norix had again proved his skill at the bakery.
"By the will of God, many can escape to the fields of the machair, except that now they are barren, and it is a long way," Ronant thought aloud. "There are woods and shrubs where they can hide."
"No, I think the best is to further fortify the great house, and the churches. The chapel is all stone, even her roof, and the doors had already been strengthened. Even the scriptorium has a new oak door." Cellarch thought some more. "I think it might suit us to also strengthen the doors to our root cellars, but the monk's huts are too fragile to take shelter."
We agreed, that the monks' huts were made of loose stone, and could easily be picked apart. It would be better to give them shelter in the cellars, since they were underground, or the tower.
We discussed these matters at length in the same vain. It was also decided that guards should be posted continuously until such time that the danger is past. A thought occurred to me, and though it embarrassed me to ask it, I thought the occasion rose above my feelings.
"We have many women from king Blachmac's clan here. Perhaps we should send a courier to warn him of the danger they are facing, since he left them here thinking them out of harm's way."
"Excellent point, Aedan, excellent!" All beamed in approval at my idea. "I will do so.
We will send a courier north next week."
Then the Abbot rose and called across the hall, "Osla, come here my child, please this instant!"
Osla looked up puzzled, and came over, quickly passing through the many guests, a questioning look on her face. She looked at me, and I only nodded at her, to let her know she did not have to worry.
"How fast can a courier reach your father?" Cellarch asked her.
"By sea in maybe two or three days, if the wind be fair. By land a little longer, maybe aix days. If I may inquire, my Lord, why you ask me of this?"
"Do you think your father would send us armed men, if he felt we were in danger?" Cellarch could see Osla set her jaw, so he added, "Do not be alarmed, we are only exploring all possibilities."
"Yes, I am sure he would. Perhaps enough to guard the island, and Fionport across the Sound, if that is your question."
"Indeed, well indeed, for we may have to beg of his generosity, if trouble should arise again." Osla was relieved that it was not now. "Would you like to join us here for a spell, so we could all talk?"
This made my heart pleased, and Ronant knew it instantly. Osla sat down next to me with her meal, and more wine was brought for us. Her face brightened notably. Ion moved a little to give her more elbow room, and we continued our wonderful meal.
"We had been exploring possibilities, only possibilities, that should the sea rogues return, we must be ready for them. But our armed monks are only a few, so I think we should prepare the compound as best we can to withstand their siege." Cellarch did not want her be kept out of what we were discussing.
"They are merely brigands and pirates, not warriors in the real sense, so they will not stand to fight my father's clansmen," Osla added sincerely.,
"I think we should ask for his help soon, if not immediately," volunteered Colman, visibly shaken by our discussion.
"I think Brother Colman is wise in suggesting it," agreed Ronant. "Together with prayer, we may be safe from the marauders."
"We will pray, good Brother," responded Ion. "For God works in many ways that are not known to us, so even when all looks dark, there is light in it."
"Have you hidden your treasure?" Osla wanted to know.
"No, but we will, now that you suggest it. We have never had to hide the gold cross, or the chalice, nor the silver bound Holy Books. But now there is need."
"The Book of the Gospels is hidden in its stone niche," I reminded them. "It is not likely to be found there, though this would be of little interest to the norsemen, since it's silver and gold covers are still being made in Durrow."
"So it is set," finalized Cellarch. "We will hide our treasures, reinforce the doors to the churches and cellars, and for the great house, what had not yet been done. And I will order the work tomorrow to do it in all haste. Not that I am alarmed, for no great grief had visited me in a dream, but I wish to be cautious."
The week passed by without alarm. The sentry had been posted, armed with pikes and swords. It was not common to see monks armed thus, but these were uncommon times. The fortified doors were installed, though the scriptorium had a wooden roof, as did the great church, so there was concern that they could not be fully protected. The great house had a stone layer over wooden shingles, same as the chapel, so it was decreed the same should be done for the other buildings. The church was to be covered first, so it could provide needed sanctuary for our guest, and the scriptorium last. We celebrated the week after Easter enjoying good weather, calm, and much of our work on the Psalters had been done, though not quite finished. And then, as the day broke for the Sabbath, they returned, two ships lay in the mist upon the silvery Sound, still far, but it struck terror in our hearts.
7. The Root Cellar
The alarm was sounded, and all the bells were ringing. Monks released the animals from their pens and stalls, so that now the pigs were running and squealing through the compound along with terrified monks and pilgrims. There was general confusion as to who would go where, but the armed monks directed the lay people to the church, and monks to their tower. Some chose the church instead, and others ran into the chapel. The few who were in the fields would stay there, hidden, as they were instructed at a general council held by the Abbot earlier in the week. It was the Sabbath, so most work had been stopped for the day. The ships had turned toward us, but not yet advancing, as if studying their prey. I was about to enjoy the baths, when I ran to the scriptorium instead, to see what could be saved.
I checked to see that the stone niche was secure, put away our tools into another hiding, and gathered up the folios of the Psalters on which we had been working. These I quickly put into a leather satchel, which I then threw over my shoulder, and was about to lock the door when a lone woman came running my way. God help us. It was Osla.
"Why are you not with the others at the church?" I asked her frantically.
"Do not be cross with me," she pleaded. "I wanted to be where you are."
"Oh, Osla, my dear Osla. This is not a good time, but God save us, we will survive these barbarians." I looked over at the chapel door, already heavily bolted, and then remembered the roof was still unsheathed of its stone. "Come, quickly!"
I took her hand and we ran for the nearest root cellar at the monastery wall, the one that had been carved into the rocky knoll by the wall. "In here!"
We both climbed inside, and I quickly lowered the heavy timbers over the reinforced door. It closed with precision, so the sounds of alarm now seemed a distant muffled rumble. The light had vanished with the door, but a thin ray came in from far above, where a crevasse was cut to let in air. When our eyes adjusted, I looked at Osla. "We can be safe here."
"Unless they are very hungry for turnips," she answered half in jest.
"Or unless they saw us enter," I added more seriously.
The noise outside abated, and soon it was totally silent. Even the bells stopped. Inside our dark shelter, we retreated away from the door and sat down on the mound of roots left over from the winter. Osla took my arm, and we waited.
In the low light, I could now take the time to examine her. She had put her hair up in a braid, and her gown was the simple gown of women who helped around the Abbey, except that on her it looked more elegant somehow. Her hands were fine, not accustomed to hard work, but strong and well formed. Our breathing had not slowed, and we were still fixed on the door, holding each other tight, when our eyes met at last. Then she smiled at me.
That smile lit up the darkness. The fear that had lodged itself in our hearts, like a stone in one's eye, melted away with that smile. Her lip trembled, but she bit it to stop. Then she buried her head into my shoulder like a small child afraid of the dark. I stroked her head, and held her like this, not thinking of anything, only of what was in that strange unknown world outside.
The silence remained a long time, and I had begun to wonder if they decided not to come ashore after all. I knew the armed monks were in the church and other buildings, as well as in the tower. A cow bellowed. Otherwise, all was still. Maybe they decided we were not worth their trouble to attack.
Then it came like a violent storm. A low rumble in the distance which sounded like wolves howling, then broken by what could have been barking. They were shouting to each other. Then audibly and close we could hear "Ulva! Ulva! Ulva!", which at first sounded like "Woof, woof!" Or was I hearing Luru?
"They are calling to their wolf god," said in a whisper Osla. "I can understand some of their tongue, as it is not too different from ours."
"You can speak that barbaric language? I have heard it once, and could not understand it."
"It is different from your Irish, or Pict. Our dialect is closer." She said this in Gael, though I know a little of her tongue. We again fell into silence, wondering what they were doing. Then we could hear things crashing, tables overturned, pottery shattering. Gruff voices calling to each other.
"They are like bulls," I whispered to her. "No. Bulls have more grace."
Osla looked up nervously, almost a smile, but then focussed on the door instead.
"I hope it holds," she squeezed me again.
"I hope so too."
I could hear her heart beating against mine, we were so close. I covered her legs with my gown, more of instinct than for any good reason. The smell of turnips was more noticeable now, along with the dank mustiness of the cellar. The pile behind us was quite large.
"Come, let us hide further back, against the wall," I suddenly urged her, as if going back a couple of paces would make us safer in the small space. We climbed over the mound of roots and huddled there.
The noise seemed to have moved off into another direction, towards the church, I believed, and the cows began to bellow out of fear. I could no longer hear Luru, and wondered where he went to. I should have taken him in with us, but he would have barked and given us away. It was a sad thought, that he may have been pierced with an arrow and lies dying. I dismissed the image from my mind, and strained my ears to hear what was going on outside. How many of them were there?
Then the sounds returned again, and now they were very near, as if searching, banging on doors, yelling oaths. I swore.
Heavy foot steps came to our door. They stopped there, and then called something we could not understand. Then a loud bang on the door made us both jump. Our eyes widened in the dark. We dared not look at each other for seeing the other's fear. Osla slipped her harm into my gown and held me around my bare waist. I reached into her arm and held her there too. The man outside was breathing heavily. Other heavy footsteps ran by. Then another blow struck the door, followed by his grunts. He hammered like this several blows, that I thought the door would give and he crashing through it, but it held. Then he left, where we could hear blows on other oaken doors, followed by more yelling.
"Maybe they decided a root cellar is not worth it," Osla whispered.
"Oh, God, grant us safety and peace in this world," I answered.
We continued holding each other tight, while the noises moved away from us. We could not hear people screaming, they no doubt too terrified where they were holed up, and concluded the noresmen barbarians were not succeeding in their raid. Our arms relaxed, and we looked at each other in the semi-dark, and both smiled again.
"Maybe we win. And they get back to their awful ships." Osla sounded suddenly more optimistic.
"Do you smell fire?"
"Yes, but it is not close, not at our door. I wish I could see where they are."
"Me too."
Then the door gave off a loud blow again, like something big and heavy had landed against it. I instantly thought of a battering ram. Why would they want this root cellar so much, I asked myself in my fear. Surely they must be hungry. Then light began showing through a crack in the oak door.
"Oh, we are lost!" cried Osla in a frantic whisper.
"Not until it is gone," I tried consoling her.
She reached up to my face and looked me in the eyes.
"Kiss me, now, for I may never know the moment again."
"Oh, beautiful Osla."
I put my face close to hers, and the blow sounded again, but we were lost in each other and did not seem to care. Come what may, our lips joined together in a strong kiss that brought our souls together. Then, when the door was starting to splinter in earnest, I quickly let go her sweet mouth, and had a thought.
"Quick! It's me they're after. I will hide you."
The space was so small that it made no sense to hide. I began digging aside the roots into a hollow at the space to the rear.
"Come here and lie down."
She did as asked, wide eyed. I then covered her completely, until only her face was showing.
"What are you going to do?" her eyes spoke with fear.
"I will go out and face them."
"No!" she almost shouted. "They will kill you."
"But not you."
I reached down to her face and kissed her again, and she hungrily kissed me too. Then I covered her face with the shoulder cloak over her gown and covered it completely with more roots, so that none of her showed anymore.
"Be still," I commanded her. She did not make a sound.
Then I went over to the door and, with difficulty, as the hammer blows were still coming at us, lifted the now cracked cross beam. A few more blows, and the door would have given, I am sure. When done, I yelled "Halt!" the only word I knew in their language.
The hammering stopped, and a grunt like from a wild pig was heard the other side, then some strange words I did not understand. I pushed open the battered door, and it gave. I stepped into the bright light, my eyes blinking, and raised my hands to God.
Before me was a great tall man, like a large bear, who stood amazed at my courage to go out and face him. In his hand was a large doubled edged ax, and his incredulous small eyes studied me through the red fur of his large face. He yelled something at me that made no sense, so I held my ground. Then I lowered my arms and held tight the satchel still strapped across my shoulder, and held it out to him, making the sign of the cross. He staggered back, unsure of what magic I was using, and then yelled something else in his barbarous tongue, and began lifting the large ax into the air, held high over him like the devil himself. He made advances at me, as if to strike, but held back. Prayers trickled down the back of my neck and back. But I would not be afraid, afraid only that they would find Osla in the cellar, so started moving away from the door, towards the animal pens. Some were on fire, and smoke filled the air.
The great man lowered his ax and came over to me, grabbed my head by the hair and made me kneel. I did not resist, since fighting was futile against this savage man. My nerves suddenly steadied and the fear I had left me, as if lifted by the angels themselves. Inside, I felt only calm, like the Grace of God had entered my soul, and for that I smiled at him. But this only infuriated him more, and he again raised his ax, when one of his murderous companions came over. He was also tall, but of finer build, piercing blue eyes, and thick yellow hair, almost a handsome man. He had a big sword in one hand, and a dead chicken in the other. So I began to laugh.
They quickly began talking to each other, as if deciding how to best kill me. The ax lay limp in the big man's hand, and the sword raised in the others. It seemed they thought to run me through rather than behead me. I did not see anyone else of our kind on the grounds, and only that small groups of noresmen were still hammering at the doors of the church and tower. Other barbarians lingered by their ships, waiting for the signal to attack. But with no one to attack, they were rounding up sheep instead. For some strange reason, they did not pay attention to the chapel or scriptorium. Bless you Saint Columba, I suddenly felt in my heart. Find a way to bless me too, I thought second.
The man with the sword, truly a good looking man, for a barbarian, looked my way when they were finished, and pointed at the satchel I now held to my breast. From the way he pointed his sword at it, I guessed he was curious as to what was it I held inside. I answered him only with my silence. This angered him, though his eyes showed fear, and he stabbed at it with the point of his sword, so hard I fell backwards. There was a hole cut into the leather. Then he came over me, and threateningly, shouted at me again, which I did not understand. So I opened the satchel, and showed him the parchments inside.
He took these in his hands, studied them with a curiosity that almost rendered him human, and then threw them down on the ground, shouting something again, clearly angered. Did he think I had magic there that could stop him, or cast an evil spell? I crossed myself again, though I was sitting on the ground. Then he yelled again something, and raised his sword high in the air as if to strike my head, when a loud woman's voice yelled "Halt!"
All stopped, and we all three turned to see whose voice it was. Listening to all that happened outside was too much for Osla, and she could keep still no longer. She flew out of her cavern like a demonic witch, fury on her face, and rage in her hands.
"Stop you monsters, children of the Devil!" she yelled at them. Then she repeated with the same fury words I did not understand. She said her name twice, however, pointing to herself, and then the name Blachmac. The men stopped, and looked at each other, not sure what to do with this. A woman as prize is always welcome on their raids, especially one so pretty who would fetch a good price on the flesh markets. The first man, the big ugly one, started reaching for her, taking large steps, when the other tripped him, and shouted something which made the first fall and cower. It was obvious who ruled between them. Then the second man, lowered his sword, as I sat watching. And with a gesture that I could only describe as gracious, he bowed to her.
Osla's rage had not disappeared, but now her words poured out, which sometimes were stuck on her tongue as she tried to explain in their language. A few times, as she spoke, she pointed to me, and the man looked like he understood. Then she motioned to all our other buildings of the monastery and explained something, which again was received in silence. The bear of a man, now sat up and listened also, while away from us continued the raging efforts to batter down the doors. Now some had turned their attention to the great house, but this was empty, except they might find food in the pantry. The two men gruffly said something to each other, and the one sitting got up and took his ax. Then he straightened his helmet and walked away to join the others. The tall man stood there, eyeing us both, thinking. I was afraid he saw us as hostages, especially Osla, worth more alive than dead. I looked over to her, and she me, but neither gave away what was inside. Me, because I did not know, and she because she was still engaged in disarming this dangerous moment. And this is what happened. The man threw down his sword at her feet, and expressed something that sounded like an apology. It was as if the devil had left him, and he was human after all, not only a barbarian. Oh, dear Osla, how the angels have worked a miracle through you.
In the distance, I could see the big man ordering the others to stop, and pointed to the ship. The same order was given to those who were hacking pointlessly at the tower door. Then word was spread to others, and those rounding up sheep herded them into their ships. Then the remaining one again bowed to Osla and asked her something, to which she replied hesitantly. She looked straight into his eyes, and he looked away, then picked up and his sword, looked at me once more, as if he had forgotten I was there, and turned. His other men were already returning to their ships. In stunning quickness, they whipped their anchor and sailed away. Calm once again slowly descended on our Abbey. God Bless you Saint Columba. Thank you God.
8. Peace
When calm had returned, and I saw the others hesitantly opening their shutters to watch the departing ships, I finally got courage to rise. Osla stood her ground still in the depth of her fury, but now softened visibly before me. Then she looked once again as she was herself before. I finally found the courage to speak, though I remained sitting, not trusting my legs yet. I gathered the scattered parchments instead. Then she gave me her hand to steady me, and I rose heavily.
"What did you say to them? They were like children before you," I asked.
"I knew the man. And I knew of his father, though I never met either. His name is Vodin." She gave off a sigh and then began to weep softly. In between her tears, she explained what had just taken place.
"He had come to court me not so long ago, and I saw him them, but my father never let him set eyes on me, for I was hidden away for fear they would attack." She wiped off a tear that had come down to her nose. "Vodin had heard of me from others, and wanted to join his kingdom with ours. But father refused him, telling him he is a barbarian, and that we no were longer like him."
"Beautiful Osla, you would be a fine bride for any man. But is this man a king?"
It was beginning to dawn on me what had just happened.
"Yes, in his land, which is the other side of Pictland, though his clan comes from the far north. They had settled there, many years ago, and had taken to our ways. But still keeping to theirs. I spoke to him in my language, to explain everything."
"How quiet he became in your presence," I offered.
"He said he did not know that I was so beautiful, he told me. And this was why he stopped. I am not a vain woman, but I am told that I am attractive to look at."
"This is so," I said to her through my tears, for the depth of her words were sinking into my heart. "And you made him a promise?"
"Oh no! I did not such thing!" She stopped to catch her breath. "I told him that I am a Christian, and that these were my holy fathers, and that to harm even one hair on their heads would rain the punishment of my God on them forever." Then she smiled through her tears, no longer weeping, almost laughing. "And he was afraid of me! Afraid of us!"
Tears again came to my eyes.
"It was the Love of God, that made him afraid. It is so powerful that all who know it tremble, for we mortals are but reeds in his Love."
Osla had relaxed visibly upon hearing this, that there was a force greater than that of the evil barbarians. Then she almost laughed, her tears drying in the sun.
"They were afraid of your leather bag." She held her hand over her mouth as she said this, about to burst into laugher. "Ha! They thought you carried magic inside, that is why they were afraid to touch you! They thought you would let the devil inside go after them, the ignorant brutes. That was why Vodin tested the bag with his sword's point, to see what would come out!"
"Ha, ha!" Now we were both laughing, more out of remnant fear than humor, but it seemed funny at the time. "If only they knew that inside were only words of love sung in our Psalms! The ignorant brutes! Ha, ha, ha!"
We had both visibly relaxed again, the ships now far out over the Sound, moving north, so much smaller than when they were beached.
"But there was one thing that troubles me still," she added when our laughter ended. "I told him that it was impossible for me to ever marry him because he was a heathen."
"Did he reply to this?" I became seriously afraid of the answer.
"He did. He asked me if he took to our Christian ways, would I reconsider."
"And you replied?"
Osla gave me a pained look, almost on the edge of tears once more. She did not answer immediately, but thought silently to herself inwardly, how to answer. Or whether her answer to Vodin was wise. Then she looked into my eyes, and touched my hand.
"I said it might be possible, but that this was not a promise. That is all."
She took my hand and pulled me towards the church, as others were now beginning to come outside, to better see the ships that had caused such terror in their hearts, when they were sure they would all die. Upon walking back to the others, I asked her.
"What was he doing with that chicken?"
"God Bless you my children!" Cellarch came running over to us. We parted our hands reluctantly. "When I saw them raise their weapons to you, I thought you were lost, and I prayed to God, to our Lord Jesus, to spare you. And He has!"
Cellarch embraced us both together as one, holding onto us, tears in his old eyes.
"We were sure we were lost, too, Father," I answered him, "The Lord saved us."
I looked over at Osla, who stood proudly next to me. "But truth be known, it was Osla who saved our Abbey from the heathens. Come, I will tell you all, Father."
And so we did, Osla in turn telling her side of what happened, and I mine. The Abbot nodded nervously as he took in all we had to say. Neither of us spoke of our special moment together, when we held each other tight. God is our witness, but it would be our secret, and none can undo what God had witnessed. Cellarch then said his piece.
"We were all hiding inside the church, for I forsook the sturdy tower for the house of God. They banged on our doors like the demons of hell, but they held firm, thank be to the Lord." He was clearly still deeply agitated. "When we saw they had gone after your hiding place, we prayed deeply. For we were certain we were about to lose our children."
"She saved us, by the Grace of God," I responded.
Cellarch looked over at Osla lovingly.
"You were sent to us by God, my child. We owe you a great debt."
"It was God's will," she answered meekly, dropping to one knee to kiss his hand.
"Amen, my child."
Others had gathered around us, and we again retold our story, being so different from theirs. None had faced the enemy the way Osla and I had, come so close to feel their breath, to see into their eyes. We could not say enough, for they wanted to know more, but to say more would have been a tale. So we merely repeated the story again.
By the time we reached the scriptorium, Ion and Ronant and Fiotan were already there, inspecting for damages. There were none, for this holy place was spared, as was the chapel. Not even the deep gouges of the battle ax were seen, for it was as if they had been invisible to them. And for this, we were glad.
It rained all the next week, hard, as if the heavens were washing away the sins visited upon us. The cattle had been rounded up, as were the other animals, and once again secured in the pens not damaged. We lost many sheep, which were not to be found, and some of the chickens were gone. Luru trotted back to us, tail wagging, when all had stilled. And even the cat mousers surfaced again from their hiding places. Though it rained, and the Sound was gray day after day, a peaceful calm settled on our monastery once again. When the currahs came from Fionport, we told our story again, and by now all knew it, so it was told and retold many times. They in turn told us how when they saw the ships approach our island, all fled into the hinterlands, abandoning property, to save their lives. But the heathens never stopped there, so nothing was lost.
At the Abbey, the inner sides of the doors were reinforced anew, with fresh green oak, so that it would harden in place. Hinges were recast stronger, and the same was done for the great house, for next time. They had been inside, and many things were broken, food scattered in the pantry, and the smell of urine still strong. As a reminder, however, the outer doors to the tower, and the church where the most damage was done, were left as they were, with their deep battle scars. The same was done at the tower, where the inner door was added, but the root cellar was left alone, also as a reminder, though the door was patched. It was decided in council with the Abbot that the heathens will not return, at least not as things would stand. We had with us a daughter of a mighty king they respected, and a daughter they coveted, and would not venture to offend him again. Though we were not formally in the protection of Blachmac, this is how the will of God had decreed it to be. And for this we were deeply grateful.
Life returned to normal, and when the sun came again, all were glad. We began making preparations for the new Easter of the Roman calendar. But what the rains did not wash away, and of this we were not aware until some time passed, that now we had fear. Though no new attacks occurred, we began to feel uneasy. It was as if God had somehow abandoned us, our Abbey, and we were no longer free on our little island to do only God's will. For now we also had to mind the deeds of the devil, and in this our monastery had lost its innocence.
The Psalters were likewise nearing completion, their hymns written with a new sadness. The scriptorium was more quiet now, as we talked less and concentrated harder on the work demanded. Ion and I had resumed working on the Book of John, leaving the others to finish the last pages of the Psalters. Fiotan finished drawing the braided borders and now resumed illustrating our pages of John. Enon and Eogan continued penning the Psalters. Ronant turned his attention to the image of John. It was to be in his own likeness, so we teased him for it, as he had already made his likeness for the image of Christ. Ion's dark beard was seen in the first page of John, and Fiotan's red
was in the image of Matthew. Enon and Eogan, and others, were angels, while Cellarch was reserved for the last page, where it will be written "A blessing on everyone who copies these Gospels faithfully in this form, and not put any other on it.