Author: Duncan MacDonald
Category: Cook books
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The swell was increasing as night fell, so the sailors suggested they pull into shore and spend the night at urbs Coludi (Colud's Fort), now known as St Abbs. This deserted 5th century fort was now a dual monastery run by the Abbess AEbbe, the sister of King Oswy.
The sailors dragged their boat well above the high water mark, and led the way from the small sandy cove up a steep path to the headland high above. There they saw a number of bee hive huts made from wattle and daub surrounding a larger timber hall, which was lit up.
The dwellings were enclosed on the landward side by a substantial three-meter-high turf rampart. No doubt the remains of the original fortifications, built 100 years earlier.
Entering the main hall, they were brought to Abbess AEbbe herself. When Culann explained their mission AEbbe insisted they sit at her table. Fergus was amazed to see monks and nuns together. Not just in the same room, but sitting and talking together.
"Have you seen anything like this before Culann? he asked.
Culann smiled, remembering. "Why yes. I visited a similar monastery many years ago, in Ireland. But it was much bigger."
Abbess AEbbe said to Culann "Brother Culann, we have been expecting you. Your friend Brother Bec was here just last night. He said you may call in. He asked you meet him at North Bere-wic."
[ North Berwick, East Lothian, on the Firth of Forth. The name North Berwick means North 'barley farmstead'. Bere in Old English means 'barley' and wic in Old English is 'farmstead']
"Where is that?" asked Culann.
"Oh I know." said one of the sailors. "It's on the mouth of the Firth of Forth. A fishing village. Not far."
Culann noticed there were, what he assumed to be, local people as well, not just monastery personnel, enjoying the food. A bard was entertaining those dining on the far side of the hall, reciting poems in praise of a local Laird, [A landowner of a large estate; Scots variant of Lord] who was sitting with some of his followers. The noise level was increasing, so much so, that Culann had to lean forward at times, to hear the conversation between Abbess AEbbe on one side, and Fergus on the other.
Serving girls brought plates of venison and beef. Casks of mead and milk stood at intervals behind the tables and the diners mugs were filled regularly. Whiskey was also served and Fergus took a cup.
Abbess AEbbe explained that tonight, the local Laird was celebrating the birth of a new baby son. He was providing the food, drink and entertainment. The Abbess allowed him to use the monastery hall, 'for a small consideration', as his had burnt down some months previously.
Fergus expressed a wish that the same fate didn't befall this hall tonight. The Abbess smiled in agreement.
Culann and Fergus both took venison shanks from the serving plate as it circulated. Culann, Fergus noticed, in this environment, reverted to his warrior days with the Fianna, by slicing meat from the bone of the shank, then stabbing his knife upright into the wooden table while eating. This was not done in the more refined refectories at Iona or Lindisfarne. So Fergus followed suit and did the same.
Much merriment continued during the night. At one stage another group of Anglo warriors entered and demanded food and drink. The local Laird invited them to join his tables. The bard circulated, singing and reciting clever poetry. Some of those he entertained, tossed him an old Roman coin, or a broach or other articles of adornment.
Culann, who was keeping a wary eye on the Angle warriors, noticed some were holding animated conversations with the local Lord and began turning and pointing in his direction. Of course they could be pointing to the Abbess, so he did not become unduly alarmed.
The Bard swept passed, playing his lyre, but as he was well versed in these events, did not tarry, as he knew the monks and nuns, having no worldly goods, would not throw him any donation.
Culann leaned to one side to address the Abbess, when he became aware the Bard had returned and was standing in front of him, strumming the lyre. Culann looked at the Bard who sang softly, in perfect Irish Gaelic
"Brother monk, Brother monk, upon my life,
"I don't believe I've seen, such a wonderful knife."
Culann closed his hand around the knife handle, standing upright in the table, and still looking at the Bard, responded quietly in Gaelic. "The knife is mine, master Bard, it is not for sale, nor for giving."
"I know, quite so, forgive my preamble,
"But does it have the letter "P", on its bone handle?"
Fergus noticed Culann's hand clenched, but his gaze never left the Bard's face. "You'll have to use a better trick, than good eyesight, to get this knife master Bard."
"Brother monk, Brother monk, I do not do tricks,
"I remember the past, and my memory sticks,
"On a dark winter night, a Fianna, a tent,
"With a knife just like that, a slit I did rent."
Culann stood suddenly, hands on the table, leaning across. "Was it you?"
The Bard danced away, laughing and strumming his lyre.
"It is true, it is true, I cannot lie,
"Your bonds were cut, by none other than I."
Fergus looked on astounded, as this little bit of theatre was played out. Culann reached down, pulled the knife from the table, and reversing it, handed it to the Bard. "I owe you my life Master Bard. I gladly return your knife."
"No, no, I'm so glad you're alive,
I've wondered for years, if you did survive."
In my travels I noted, my deed was rewarded
By your saving Miss Fea, it's been so reported
Alone and unaided, you vanquished her foes
No doubt enamored, as everyone knows,
All who have seen her, fall under her spell
I among others, could just wish her well,
When marriage was mooted, to that Prince near-do-well."
Culann stood, head down, the knife still in his hand, "Master Bard, I cannot match your eloquence, and words can never express my gratitude to you, for what you have done. I am forever in your debt. May I know your name?"
A serious look crossed the Bards face. He ceased playing.
"I entertain and flatter great men,
“I slay with satire, lofty fools, beyond their ken,
“I'm known far and wide, as Pampinus Pronuntio [to declare publicly, to recite, to narrate]
“An Irish narrator of much informio [to educate, information]
“My real name is known, to only a few
“Those I respect, and that includes you
“My friends, I ask my long name supplant,
“So you, Brother Culann, please call me Pamp".
Culann grasped the Bard's proffered hand, and held it. Fergus all but collapsed on his bench, overwhelmed by Pamp's command of rhyming skills. The noise around them continued unabated. Only the Abbess noted the communication between monk and bard.
Then, Pamp, bowing his head, danced off back to his main benefactor for the evening, the Laird and his followers at the far table.
Fergus commented "Those nuns seem very friendly Culann. I think a few are actually drunk. Was the monastery you visited in Ireland like that?'
"No of course not. In fact, the monks and nuns were not allowed to socialize. They even had a linen barrier placed down the middle of the church, where they all worshiped, so they couldn't even look at one another." Culann was secretly pleased that Fea was not at a joint monastery like this one. But Fea is no longer at St Brigid's - she is dead. He shook his head to clear that terrible thought.
Culann didn't regret not telling Pamp the terrible news about Fea. Obviously the Bard had met her some time before her marriage was arranged, and fallen under her spell. Let him keep happy thoughts about her.
The noise from the hall carried on, to the wee hours. Culann and Fergus, both agreed it would be difficult, if not impossible, to try and sleep through all the din. So they stayed on, watching the ever changing scene at the table of actors around them, rolls changi
ng as their mead levels rose.
One of the monks hurried to the Abbess' side and whispered urgently in her ear, pointing repeatedly at one of the far tables, where Culann noticed, an agitated group of men, milling around.
The Abbess leaned over and spoke solemnly to Culann. "I fear your friend, the Bard, may have upset one of the warriors with his sharp tongue. Not all Anglo males appreciate his sometimes barbed satire, Brother Culann."
Culann immediately stood and nodding to the Abbess, said "With your leave, my Lady Abbess, I will sort this out." and strode around his table and across the hall.
"Hey, wait for me." yelled Fergus, scrambling to catch up. Culann and Fergus shouldered their way through the now gathering crowd. At the centre was Pamp, being shaken by a large, rough looking, Anglo warrior wearing a black bearskin, his face contorted and spittle running down his beard.
The other warriors were giving him a wide birth, a sure indication that he was the alpha male in this group. Fergus couldn't catch his words, but he was definitely very angry. The Laird stood to one side of the table, a smile on his countenance, obviously enjoying this added spectacle.
Culann, swept up to the pair, reached out, and firmly grabbed the warrior's shoulder. "No need for violence my friend. If the Bard has offended you, I'm sure he will apologize."
The warrior swung around, shaking Culann's hand from his shoulder. "I don't take orders from gutless monks. Clear off, or I'll have you too." very nasty.
Culann turned to the Laird "Good Sire, will you command your man to behave. This is supposed to be an evening of celebration, not fighting."
The Laird, still grinning, and obviously enjoying every minute, replied "I can do nothing Brother. He is his own man. If someone feels aggrieved, then he should seek satisfaction, no?"
The black bearskin warrior, still holding Pamp in one hand, grinned, and spat on Culann's cream-colored habit.
Big mistake.
The monk smashed his fist into the warrior’s nose, who lurched back, dropping Pamp and grabbing his now blood soaked, face. A communal sigh of anticipation went up from the surrounding audience, who en mass, involuntarily took several steps back, giving the potential protagonists more room.
"Brother, leave now. This man is dangerous," called someone from the crowd.
The warrior, a murderous look in his eyes, wiped his face, and deliberately drew his large two handed sword.
Culann swept the codex coat and cloak from his shoulders, and in one swift movement drew his own sword from his back scabbard, and began circling.
Fergus picked up the fallen garments, yelling, to no avail, "Hey, what happened to all this stuff about not starting a fight? What about walking away, eh?"
Culann, still circling, eyeing the warrior, said, "Just get the codex to Iona."
The crowd began yelling, egging on the combatants. The warrior feigned a thrust and Culann stepped nimbly aside, sword still held in front with one hand, while the other held what was once Pamp's knife.
Fergus was aware the Bard, Pamp, suddenly materialized beside him.
"I didn't expect this to happen, or for the night I would retire,
“These Anglos react different to Celts, when I use satire.”
he said, standing now just behind Fergus.
The warrior raised his huge sword above his head and lunged at Culann, who neatly stepped inside the blade and sliced the warrior's sleeve, drawing blood as he glided through to the opposite side.
The warrior turned to face him again. The crowd suddenly realized that this was no ordinary monk. He had real fighting skills, and could have dispatched the warrior then, if he had wanted.
A feeling of rage, born of desperation, swept over the Anglo warrior. He rushed Culann again, swinging his sword, in great figures-of-eight arcs. Culann moved back a few steps, then parried the blade with his sword, lunged forward and quicker than the eye could follow, drove the knife into the warrior’s belly, twisting it up, and out.
The large man dropped his sword and collapsed onto Culann, who held him for a moment, then lowered him face down to the floor. The crowd stood shocked into silence, as the warrior lay twitching spasmodically, then all movement stopped. A dark pool of blood kept fanning out, ever wider.
The silence was broken by Abbess AEbbe, surrounded by monks, who rushed into the circle surrounding Culann, grabbed him, Fergus and Pamp, and bustled them out of the hall muttering aloud "Come this way. I'll fix this. It happens all the time."
Fergus handed Culann his discarded clothes, and under the night sky, he carefully put them on. Pamp stood there shaking his head, repeating the same word over again, "Amazing."
Abbess AEbbe returned shortly, with their sailors, and advised that although there would be no immediate retribution from the Laird's warriors, it would be advisable if they left now, rather than later - just in case. "Please don't think poorly of my hospitality. "she added, "I'm really just thinking of your wellbeing."
Culann said he understood, and graciously said he wanted to get an early start anyway. The monks helped the two bleary eyed sailors, who had snored through all the excitement, and the now three passengers, push the curach into the pre-dawn surf.
At least the rain had stopped. "We should be at North Bere-wic before nightfall." advised one of the sailors.
Fergus said nothing. He felt rotten. Probably drank a bit too much whiskey.
As their little craft bobbed between the waves near shore, the sailors set about raising the mast and setting the small sail. "The wind's favorable lads. We should make good time today" said the head sailor.
The curach initially turned away from shore to the north-east as the wind bit into the sail but the sailor on the stern rudder oar, dug deep into the water and turned them more north to follow the shoreline, easily visible on the port.
Pamp spent most of the morning staring at Culann, who had closed his eyes and was trying to sleep. Eventually the Bard said;
At first Brother Culann I didn't believe
All those wild stories, of what you'd achieved
In rescuing Fea, from mac Cairill's men,
Outnumbered I hear, by at least ten by ten
But after today, when with consummate ease
You dispatched my attacker, without 'by your leave'
I stand in awe of your swordsman-like prowess
The stories I'll weave of this, will go on for hours.
Culann opened one eye, half smiled, and went back to sleep.
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* * * * *
9.1 North Ber-wick
Brother Bec waiting at North Ber-wick for Culann and Fergus to arrive from St Abbs. Behind him is the local landmark, Bass Rock. St Baldred, a Christian hermit, had a chapel built on Bass Rock in the 7th century.
The island is the remnants of a volcanic plug formed during severe seismic activity 350 million years ago.
All the men relaxed as the wind did most of the work, pushing their boat up the coast. It was late afternoon when the headland marking the southern mouth of the great river Forth came into view. The sailors dropped the sail and rowed west toward the small fishing village of North Bere-wic.
They landed at a small sandy beach and the local fishermen helped pull their craft above the high water mark. On noticing Culann's monk habit, one of the fishermen pointed to small round hut some distance away, indicating they should go there. Leaving the sailors to tend their craft, Culann, Fergus and Pamp climbed up to the hut. Inside they were greeted by an older monk, short in stature, who immediately threw his arms around Fergus. "My boy, my boy. Thanks be to God you are safe. I was afraid I would miss you."
Fergus disentangled himself and with a sheepish smile to Culann explained "This is my mentor, Brother Bec. He is from St Ninian's."
Bec turned and embrace Culann. "Thank you my son. I am grateful you have taken good care of young Fergus. His mother is worried about his well-being and I am relieved I can inform her he is w
ell."
Culann introduced Pamp to Brother Bec, as 'a gifted Bard who had once saved his life'.
"What news have you Brother Bec, that we should stop here." asked Culann.
"I was afraid you would continue up the Forth. There is great danger there for you there. The Anglos are out in force on both sides of the river because of earlier raids by the Picts. I have also heard they are especially looking for a tall Irish monk and a young red headed Pict, travelling together."
"If we can't go upstream, we certainly can't stay here. How do we get to Iona?" asked Culann.
Yes, yes, I know, I know. You will have to go north to Abernethy. Then you can go direct across to Oban and on to Iona."
"But that's Pict country." said Culann.
"That's my country." said Fergus, grinning.
Brother Bec arranged for them all to stay the night and take a frugal meal with one of the fisher family.
Pamp indicated he wished to travel by boat, anyway, back up the Forth river, by himself. He had worked his way through that route, over the past year, and had made friends who could look after him. Plus, he wanted to return to Eire. All his belongings had been left at urbs Coludi, St Abbs.
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* * * * *
9.2 Abernethy
“Don’t . . .” yelled Fergus, but before the words were out of his mouth the Chieftain’s head was yanked back and Culann’s knife was at his throat. “We’ll see who is safe around here.” hissed Culann.
Next morning the sailors arranged two boats. One carrying Pamp to go west, upstream, and the other, north, to Abernethy. Their original crew rearranged the belongings in the boat to take Brother Bec, with his bag. It was a tight squeeze but soon all was ready to caste off. Waved goodbye by some of the women of the village - most of the men were already out in their boats, Brother Bec stood in the little craft and made the sign of the cross to the well-wishers on shore, as they moved once more out to sea.
Pamp stood precariously in the stern of his curach, much to the chagrin of the two sailors who were rowing him, waving his arms and delivering his final couplet;
God speed my comrades, I wish you 'safe journey'
May foes remain few, and friends you gain many.