Author: Duncan MacDonald
Category: Cook books
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/duncan-macdonald/page,13,12271-culann-celtic-warrior-monk.html
"Have you ever seen anyone at a monastery write with their left hand?"
"Well no, but I haven't taken any notice."
"I write with my left hand because my right hand is useless. The monks believe if you write with your left hand it's because the Devil possesses you."
"That's silly." said Fea getting angry.
"All the monks believe it. Please don't tell anyone what I've told you. You promised." pleaded Hesus.
"Very well." said Fea with gritted teeth. " But I will think of something. This is such a waste. Brother Hesus, please do me a great favor." Hesus nodded. "Please just read to me in Latin, what is written on the Greek scroll."
* * * *
The milk maid nuns returned later that afternoon to find Fea seated on a wooden trestle and Brother Hesus squatting next to her on the floor of the cow shed.
"Well did you find out if he reads Greek" enquired one of the nuns later.
"Oh no, I don't think so." said Fea with a straight face. "His mother was a slave I'm told. You can't expect a cow herder to be literate." and the topic was dropped.
Back to top
* * * * *
6.6 Visiting Curach’s
The two nuns watched the curach pull into the jetty far below. “Sister Fea,” said Sister Tamara, “the boat from Iona is not due today. Whatever could they want?”
The two nuns watched the curach pull into the jetty far below. They were shepherding the small herd of cattle on the hillside. "Sister Fea," said the younger nun, "the boat from Iona is not due for another two days. Whatever could they want."
"I'm not sure." replied Fea shading her eyes while trying to identify the small figures as they climbed out of the boat. "Abbott Ecne is greeting them so they must be important." They watched the visitors for a while, then noticed farewells were being said as the men climbed back into the boat.
"How strange." said Sister Tamara "they haven't stayed for a meal. Everyone stays for some refreshment. We won't be able to meet them." disappointed.
The two nuns watched the boat as it pulled slowly away from shore, heading south. "They are not going back to Iona. That's unusual" said Fea. Gradually the curach and its crew were swallowed by the sea mist and disappeared.
Sundown was upon them when Fea and Tamara reached the refectory for the evening meal. The assembled nuns were still discussing the visitors that had left earlier.
Fea listened while the monks' proposed pilgrimage to Lindisfarne and then to Whitby was related. Many of the nuns knew Brother Bryan as he had visited before. The two scribes were new, but most conversation was about the tall broad shouldered monk, who stood silently at the rear the whole time, watching and holding his staff. Some were certain they saw a sword hilt under his cloak.
"Did you remember their names?" enquired Fea to one of the nuns who met them. "Why of course. There was Brother Bryan and the scribes Daire and Eamon. Eamon looks a little old for such a long journey don't you think."
"What about the one with the staff." persisted Fea. "Oh the warrior monk." smiled her companion "He was called Culann."
* * * *
Over the next month, after the curach carrying Culann had left, Fea made a point of meeting the scheduled weekly boat from Iona. They did stay overnight before leaving. Normally the curach would sail next to Islay and then back to Iona on its weekly trip.
One particular trip however, one of the sailors mentioned to Fea that they would instead be sailing to Lios mòr, on the morrow.
"Lios mòr - that means 'great garden' in Gaelic." said Fea, wondering. "Where is this Lios mòr?" [now known as the island of Lismore] enquired Fea of the sailor.
"A day's sail Sister." replied the sailor. "It's north in the Firth of Lorne. A lovely little island. The monks there grow all sorts of vegetables and fruits. We try to get there every few weeks."
"Vegetables and fruits? Hmmm - perhaps dandelion and liquorice? "mused Fea.
"Good sailor, can you take an extra two passengers tomorrow to Lios mòr?" said Fea smiling sweetly and grabbing the hand of a startled milk maid, Sister Tamara, standing beside her.
Back to top
* * * * *
Chapter 7 - To Lindisfarne
Beblowe Craig on Lindisfarne
Lindisfarne is a tidal island off the north-east coast of England. It is also known as Holy Island. The monastery of Lindisfarne was founded by the Celtic Monk Saint Aiden in AD 635. It became the base for Celtic Christian evangelizing in the north of England (Northumbria).
In 793 the Vikings raided Lindisfarne. This caused much consternation throughout the Christian west, and is now taken as the beginning of the Viking Age.
Bryan was pleased their task on Jura had been concluded so quickly. Although Abbott Ecne had invited them to stay for supper, Bryan insisted they had to leave immediately, as they had a long journey ahead and he wanted to reach the mainland before dark.
The curach pitched occasionally as the small craft rode the swell that was building up as they sailed through the dangerous Sound of Islay. Bryan moved aft to sit opposite Culann, who had been fidgeting with nothing to do, and offered to relieve one of the sailors rowing.
"Culann, if I remember correctly, you arrived with a letter of introduction from the Abbess of Saint Brigid of Kildare, yes?"
Culann nodded, while continuing to pull rhythmically on the oar.
"Why I ask is, Abbott Ecne invited us to stay for dinner. I said no of course, but standing next to him were two nuns who said they were from St Brigid's. They also pressed me to stay for dinner. A coincidence is it not? I see it as a good omen for our journey."
Culann half missed a beat on the oar. "Did they tell you their names?" he asked.
"Why no. I didn't ask. I only thought of it when we were pulling away from their jetty."
Culann went back to his rowing but his mind was elsewhere. Why does the thought of her upset me so much? The woman is long out of my life. She is almost certainly dead from the plague. I had not even thought of her since we were told of our great journey, two days ago. I will never see her again in this life. Why do I keep thinking about her? He pulled on the oar with even more venom.
Their boat reached the mainland just as the sun was setting. They found lodgings in the small church at the top of the hill above the harbor. It took four more days to sail around the Mull of Kintyre and up the Firth of Clyde to reach Dumbarton Rock.
That morning, with their long packs containing a change of their simple cream colored clerical robes, wooden plate and spoon, and five days supply of oats, tied securely and slung over their shoulders, all four monks set off overland, heading due East to the upper reaches of the Firth of Forth.
Christianity had been developed in this region for over one hundred years. Most of the farmsteads they encountered would willingly give them food and lodging. There was a sprinkling of small wooden churches along the way, particularly at the collection of fishing cottages on the mighty Forth river.
The land they travelled through was initially populated by Irish Scotti. As they pushed on they were met by the Picti who were noticeably taller and with fair hair compared to the
Irish monks. Later they encountered the Northumbrian Angles, or Anglos, as they were commonly called.
This was a well-travelled route and the Irish monks had been very successful in converting much of the local population, over the years.
Bryan related stories in the evening of the various tribes which still fought each other occasionally, but resorted now mainly to cattle raids to 'blood' their young warriors. As they pushed further east, they began hearing news of the Anglos of Northumbria raiding north of the Forth, into the land of the Picts.
* * * *
After more than three weeks the small group stood on the beach on the east coast of Northumbria, opposite Lindisfarne Island. It was early mid-morning. While they were waiting to see when and where it was safe to cross the black sticky sands,
a young Pict student from Lindisfarne approached them, carrying two large skins across his shoulders, which turned out to be milk for the monastery.
Seeing the monks standing and staring at the island, the young Pict asked "Are you wishing to visit Lindisfarne Brothers?"
"Indeed we are." replied Bryan "Can you advise us the best route to reach yonder shore?" pointing with his wooden staff.
"Just follow me Brothers. I know this path well. But we have to make haste. The tide has already turned and we shall get wet if we don't hurry."
Although the young Pict was speaking to them in Celtic Irish, Culann had to strain to understand his accent. "You are one my friend, and we are four. Pray let us help you with your heavy load." offered Culann.
The young Pict smiled and replied "A most kind offer Brother, but I tread this path every day. It is quicker for me with the load balanced thus." And with that he set off at an alarmingly fast pace.
The monks had to half run in order to catch up. Some of them sliding into deeper water at times, and relied on help from their brothers to regain the path. By the end they were sloshing though water at times above their knees. The young Pict was waiting for them on dry land as they finally made their way to the end of the causeway.
"Many thanks my friend. You have done us great service. May I ask your name here?" asked Bryan panting still from the exertion.
"I am Fergus mac Ciniod, of Fortriu."
"We shall remember well your service Fergus. One final question, where can we find Abbot Colmán?"
Fergus pointed to one of the larger wooden buildings not too far distant."You should find him in the scriptorium I think."
And with that he nodded goodbye and jogged off toward what they would later learn was the refectory, his load still balanced easily on his shoulders.
And that is how Bryan, Daire, Eamon and Culann came to Lindisfarne. Little did they think that events of great importance were about to take place, which would engulf them all.
* * * *
Culann spent the next few days attending prayer sessions and looking around the island which was very flat. The only high hill, called Beblowe Crag which comprised hard dark colored rock, was located on the southern tip of the island. There were more buildings here than on Iona and a larger population of monks and students.
It was on the second day Culann was passed by a group of students, when one detached himself and came over. Culann recognized him. "Greetings again young Fergus mac Ciniod. Have you come from class?"
The youth smiled, flattered that Culann had remembered his name. "Indeed Brother Culann. Are you enjoying your stay? I understand you will leave shortly for Whitby."
"Well to be honest, there is not much for me to do here at present. Lindisfarne doesn't appear to have any martial training programs."
The Pict lad looked at him sharply. "You train with weapons?" he asked incredulously.
"Mainly just with staffs. We are not supposed to show our swords."
Fergus looked around furtively. "Brother Culann, I am Picti of the Fortriu. I have not been able to practice my swordplay properly since I came here three years ago. Can you instruct me?"
Entering into the tone of conspiracy, Culann smiled and also looked around furtively and whispered "But young Fergus it would be frowned upon here on this island. Anyway you don't have a sword."
Wide eyed Fergus said "But I do. I keep it on the mainland with one of the farmers who supplies the milk. We could practice over there."
Culann thought for moment. It is true he was now bored here. All he could do was join in the prayer sessions and walk around the island. And he needed the exercise. "Why not. When?"
"Now."
So it came to be that Culann accompanied Fergus to the mainland again at low tide, and onto the small dairy farm where Fergus, after introducing him to the farmer, claimed his hidden sword from the barn.
Culann inspected Fergus sword closely. "A good blade young Fergus, but a little too long for you at present I feel."
"Well it's all I have so it will have to do." stated Fergus practically.
Culann became serious and began his lesson. "The first thing to learn about swordplay is do everything possible not to begin a fight. I say that because you never know how it will end up. He may be better than you, or have friends nearby, or both."
"That's the monk talking, not the warrior." said Fergus sarcastically.
Culann became suddenly silent. After a long pause, with a steely voice "You asked for my advice. Don't waste my time with your flippant comments. Either listen and do as I say or I go home."
Fergus, mortified, blurted an apology. "I am sorry sir. Please don't go. I will listen, I promise."
Satisfied for the moment, Culann relaxed. "I know you Picti, like many Celts, think the highest honor you can achieve is to be killed in battle. But blindly getting yourself killed is not smart - it's stupid. You are here at Lindisfarne to learn and gain wisdom. Don't throw it all away in a rush of blood to the head." Culann suddenly realized what he had just said.
Although the mantra of his former foster father Breuse, it was almost the words Fea had scathingly used at their last meeting, so long ago. He shook his head and continued.
"You are younger and more slender than your most likely opponents. So if you have to fight, here are some tips.
"Don't take on another man, one on one. You'll lose. The idea is to kill or maim him, not get yourself killed. Forget about the bards singing about how gallantly you died. They won't anyway. They'll just sing about how good your opponent was in killing you."
"What do I do if I'm challenged then? asked Fergus.
"Me - I'd run away."
"You can't be serious!"
"Oh yes I am. I'd run away, or at least let him think I'd run away. He will become boastful and let his guard down."
"And then what?"
"And then come up behind him and slice the tendons behind his knees. With that he can't stand up. When he's on the ground, he's helpless."
"But that's not fair."
"You're not listening," angry now, "I'm not telling you how to impress the bards. I'm telling you, a teenage boy with no clan behind you, how to survive. Do you want to continue?"
Fergus chastened, nodded.
"Learn to fight at night. If there are more of them than you, it helps to even the odds. They can't kill what they can't see."
"But they can see as well as I can in the dark"
"Not if you keep them between your sword and the light. They will have a camp fire or be inside a hut or hall, which will be all lit up. Their eyes are used to the light. They can't see out in the dark. But you can see them silhouetted against the light. Take your time. Pick them off."
"What if it is not dark?"
"Always attack from the high ground. Move so you are running downhill. If there are many, slice your way through them and keep running. Don't stand and fight if there are more than you or they are bigger than you. Before you attack, look for an escape route. If there is none, don't attack."
"What if I am attacked without warning?"
"Always be on the lookout. Try not to be surprised. If attack is imminent, negotiate. Keep them talking. If talking fails, pray - and hope you were born lucky."
Fergus nodded.
"Now it is time to get back. What is the most important thing you've learnt?"
Fergus thought for moment and replied "Do everything possible not to fight."
Culann grinned and gave Fergus a playful slap on the shoulder. "Good lad. We might make a warrior out of you yet." They started back across the causeway.
Back to top
* * * * *
7.1 On to Whitby
Fergus ‘borrowed’ a small curach to follow the Lindisfarne and Iona monks as they sailed down the coast to Whitby
Abbot Colmán was not a young man. His hair was grey and mostly missing from the top of his head. However, his eyes were bright a
nd his voice strong. He shuffled the papyrus in front of him as he began speaking to the small audience gathered in the scriptorium.
It was five days since Brother Bryan and his fellow monks from Iona had arrived. They sat among another ten monks from Lindisfarne.
"We welcome our brethren from Iona, who made remarkably good time on their trek to our part of Northumbria." The other monks murmured their agreement. "We have a vital task ahead of us. The Synod which we will be attending at Whitby may well determine the future course of our Celtic church in this entire region.
"We are all aware of the inroads the Roman church has made in Northumbria over the last few years. Even some of our monks here in Lindisfarne, as you see from their tonsure, come from Roman orders. We are all Brothers under God, but the Romans spend more time in making and enforcing rules, than doing the work of God, in my opinion.
"However I am very confident which way the decision will go at the end of our Synod. King Oswy [also spelt Oswiu] as you will recall, as a small boy was banished by his uncle and spent almost sixteen years living under our guidance in Ireland and later at Iona before returning to claim the throne. [Oswy (612-670) reigned 642-670. As a youth he went into exile with his brother Oswald in Ireland and spoke Gaelic]
"The King is opposed by the courtiers of his Kentish Roman wife and I hear bad things about his son Alhfrith, who I understand has a blind hatred of things Celtic. He has been no doubt indoctrinated by his mother and her Roman clerics. But after all, Oswy is king and will no doubt determine on the side of the Celtic church.
"We will leave tomorrow and travel by two large curachs in easy stages down the coast to Whitby. This is not the season for storms so we expect to make good time."
* * * *
The next morning dawned overcast with moderate winds blowing from the west, offshore. Two large curachs were launched with six sailors manning the oars and a captain steering, aft. The first craft also carried Abbot Colmán and five monks from Lindisfarne.
The second carried Brothers Bryan, Daire and Culann from Iona plus three Lindisfarne monks. An extra one was added at the last minute as Brother Eamon had not recovered from the trek from Iona and it was decided to let him recuperate on Lindisfarne.