Author: Duncan MacDonald
Category: Cook books
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A large curach launched ahead of them, with at least a dozen warrior aboard. Fergus increased his paddling rate and tried to steer his little craft toward the far north side of the narrowing channel.
The larger curach hoisted a sail. He wasn't going to make it.
He tacked out further toward the far side of the loch. The Scotti craft quickly bore down on him, the warriors swarming to the side ready to throw their spears. As the two craft approached each other, Fergus tried to think what he would do if he was on land. Take the high side. Run through and don't stop. I'm more nimble. That's it!
The Scotti craft was now running parallel with Fergus across the loch. It was within four boat lengths and closing fast. The spearmen were almost in range, but waited, arms cocked, until they could be sure of a killing throw.
Suddenly Fergus drove both hands into the water on his left side, one hand holding his bailing cup to give more thrust. His little curach spun around almost within one boat length, and sped back toward the opposite shore.
The larger Scotti boat tried to do the same as the helmsman pushed the tiller hard over. The spearmen surged toward the rear of the boat, all now on the side nearest Fergus so they could throw their weapons. The sail whipped around and the heavy wooden boom knocked some overboard, the rest slid down to the lower gunwale, their boat rolled dangerously, paused for moment, then capsized.
* * * *
Fergus was alone with the open bay ahead of him. The low outline of an island straight ahead some distance off must be Veridis Insular, the Green Island. All he had to do now was turn left and find the island of Mull.
He reached for his bailing cup. It was gone.
Stunned, he realized he must have let go of it when he was desperately trying to evade the large boat. Worse, the tide had turned, and now was carrying him further up the sound, away from Mull. The sun was almost gone behind the low island. The curach was filling up with water. Time was running out.
* * * *
It was now dark. The silhouetted skyline of Veridis Insular grew closer. Fergus could see he was being pushed ever further north, away from Mull and Iona. Water now more than half filled the curach, which was moving very sluggishly. He moved so that he could cradle Culann's head in his lap and keep the monk's face above water.
Earlier he noticed Culann's chest wound had reopened, as blood mixed with the sloshing salt water that soaked the monk’s clothes.
Fergus was fighting a losing battle against the rising water. Small waves now splashed over the gunwales of the curach.
He was going to have to try and swim to the Green Island, supporting Culann and the codex. It was all or nothing. Either they would all make it to shore, or he would die in the attempt.
He was still trying to estimate how far the shoreline was away when the curach suddenly slipped beneath the waves. Fergus automatically lifted the unconscious form in his arms so Culann's mouth and nose remained above water. The two sets of codex leather coats floated on the surface, further obscuring his view of the shoreline.
Fergus realized he had lost his battle with the elements. He stopped struggling and simply sat in the submerged curach and waited for death. He hoped it would come quickly. It soon became apparent to him, that it would not be quick. His head was just above water and Culann's nose also. Small waves washed over them making him cough salt water. He wanted to just relax and get it over with, but some inner force of self-survival kept his and Culann's face above water.
This was taking forever; splash, . . . cough, . . . cough! What was the matter with this bloody curach? It was just sitting in the water, the gunwales awash, a couple of hand spans below water. They were still moving up and down with the swell; he was still kneeling on the floor of the boat; the boat was still moving north and now somewhat closer to shore.
Fergus thought he must be hallucinating, perhaps this is how one feels when one is dying. The boat still rocking with the waves, the sky above now becoming very dark, the sound of waves breaking, water occasionally spilling over him, more of the sky now dark.
Wait a minute. That's not the sky. That's the shoreline. They were close in to the island's lea shore. The sound now was waves breaking on rocks. He could see the phosphorous in the white water. The current was carrying the submerged boat and its occupants to a small headland. Fergus struggled to hold Culann higher in the water.
Suddenly he pitched forward and his face went under water. Their small craft had hit some submerged obstruction, possibly a rock. It shuddered momentarily, then refloated on the next swell. Fergus violently coughed up the water he had swallowed.
A couple of large evil looking black rocks passed them on his right. then a larger wave deposited the curach and its two occupants on a rock strewn, sloping strip of land, covered in seaweed.
Fergus scrambled onto his backside and with waves washing over them, pushed further up the beach with his feet, dragging Culann with one hand and the two codex containers in the other. His progress was marred by small rocks and great globs of seaweed. Finally, when he determined they were above the high water line, totally exhausted, he collapsed.
The waves lapped over their feet. The bottom half of one codex floated listless in the water.
* * * *
The peasant couple paused and the man arched his aching back. "Have we enough for tonight now wife?" he asked. "This basket is killing me."
"My basket is still not full" she replied. "This next cove usually has plenty. I'll just have a quick look. You wait here." She moved deftly over the rocks out of sight, while he sighed, dropped his dripping basket of seaweed, and flopped onto a rock.
"Husband - quick, come here quick. There's something here."
"If it's another dead seal, it can damn well stay there." he shouted."
"No, no, it's two men. One of them is alive. The other one looks like a monk."
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* * * * *
Chapter 10 - Culann
Where am I? Images of past events. Blackness. A face; a curach, rocking. Wet. Cold. Very cold. Shivering. Flickering light; a woman’s pale face; I know those eyes. Shock! Fea. But Fea’s dead. Ahhh . . . I am dead too
The boat trip down Loch Earn was a godsend for Culann. He sat in the curach and the throbbing pain in his chest diminished. It came back however, when the trek began again, particularly when they started climbing.
He tried to hide the pain he was in, as he did not want to slow down the others. The days and nights blurred and he lost track of time.
Culann knew something serious was wrong when he stumbled for the second time and then had trouble standing. Gratefully, Fergus took his codex coat. He was not too proud now to accept help from one of the Pict warriors.
Time blurred once again and when his head cleared he noticed two men were now helping him walk. The pain increased and the throbbing now seemed to be in his head as well as his side.
Shadows and grey images. Much talk, some shouting. He was in cold water up to his neck. He must be dying. Good - if he died the pain would stop.
It was dark. He couldn't feel his arms or legs. Tired, very tired.
Where am I? . . . Images of past events . . . Sleep.
Movement, shaking - go away. Leave me alone. .Darkness . . .
* * * *
Something was out there. What was happening. Still dark, but there was something out there. Light, some sort of light.
Where am I? No feeling; no arms; no legs; no pain. Small light flickering. Something near the light. His eyes could not focus. A face; very pale; a woman? Black all around, but a pale woman's face, flickering. She was saying something, lips moving. I know those eyes. Where have I seen those eyes before?
Shock! Fea. But Fea's dead. Ah . . . that explains it; smile - I am dead too.
Darkness.
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* * * * *
10.1 Lios mor Infirmary
Sister Fea with
her ‘Milk Maids’ and Brother Hesus, in the Lios mor infirmary
There were never less than six Scotti warriors in the infirmary. Fea requested it be extended and a separate smaller building was added next to the original. In the larger one she kept the men who were suffering from wounds, and in the other, those diagnosed with sickness or disease.
Initially, most of the warriors with severe wounds died. Quietly, before they were wrapped in shrouds, and given to their relatives for a Christian burial, Fea investigated their wounds to try and determine why they died.
Some, she discovered had foreign bodies deep in the wound. Pieces of clothing, sometimes soil and occasionally the tip of a spear or sword she would find. This led her to, where possible open the wound as much as possible when the patient first arrived, to wash and clean it.
One of Galen's Greek texts describe how he had great success by washing the gladiators' wounds in special water from the sea. He filled a special urn full of this sea water and kept a fire underneath to keep it continually heated. He would top the water up each day to compensate for the evaporation. Fea was particularly interested in his description of the salty crust which accumulated on the urn's inside.
Maybe the sea water in the Aegean Sea had special qualities that sea water here lacked. But Fea thought it would do no harm if she tried his technique in Lios mòr. It seemed to work, but Fea did not understand why.
One of the traditional techniques Fea used, not mentioned in the Greek texts, was to rub garlic into infected wounds. It also worked in many cases. The nuns complained though, as it was difficult to remove the garlic smell from their hands.
One day a boat bought two wounded warriors from the mainland. One was a young Pict lad, the other was a Scotti.
The Scotti warriors accompanying the pair explained that they had been fighting each other and both succumbed to their wounds. When the nuns said it was very Christian of them to bring their enemy for treatment, they said they wanted the young Pict to be healed, so they could execute him later.
On hearing this, Fea arranged for the two to be treated in separate rooms. Luckily both recovered. The nuns then arranged for the young Pict to be taken secretly, by night, to the far northern area of Loch Linnhe, which was Pict territory. They told the Scotti, that unfortunately he had died.
The nuns confessed their sin of lying, to each other, as Personal Confessions.
* * * *
It was just before Vigils and Fea was, as usual, up early checking on her patients. She knew that if there were complications, many times it seemed to occur about this time, just before dawn. However, that morning, all seemed well.
A bent figure carrying a scroll shuffled in the door. "Brother Hesus, you are up bright and early." said Fea. "Will you join us at Vigils?" Fea was genuinely happy to see him, for the last few days he had been absent. Word was he had been sleeping. Sleeping, because he had been drunk.
"Perhaps later," said Hesus, which was his inevitable response to attend any prayer meeting. Hesus was fanatical in his search for knowledge, but had little time for the distractions of religion.
"I have just discovered more information regarding the Asclepieion of Epidaurus, which dates from 350 BC. You know of course that the Greeks built many temples dedicated to their God of Healing, Asclepius." Fea nodded mutely, but course she knew nothing of the sort. She found it better to let Hesus keep talking on his initial subject. Otherwise he would launch into a significant discourse on a side issue, and in the end neither he nor Fea, could recall what his original topic was about.
"Anyway," he enthused, "we have here the case histories of 70 patients, including their complaints and cures. Two of the cures I find fascinating. It involves the opening of an abdominal ulcer and the removal of, what they term as, 'traumatic foreign material'."
"That sounds wonderful Brother Hesus." said Fea. "But what do they do to reduce the pain while these procedures are taking place? You know the trouble we have here. I have to ask the help of some of the strong, young monks to hold down our patients, if we try to cut them."
"Ah yes, I'm glad you mention that, I was going to tell you. They administer a sedative to make them sleep. They call it ‘opium’, but I don't know what it is."
"That's a pity," mused Fea, "if we knew what this ‘opium’ was, it would make our lives much easier, and no doubt even more easier for our patients."
"Yes, yes, "said Hesus, "you know Fea, I have been giving his much thought. I have a suggestion you may wish to try. "I notice you have most success when you use surgery on patients that are unconscious. But if they are so badly wounded that they are unconscious, the chances of them surviving is small."
"Correct." said Fea." The patients who have the best chance of survival are those who are still conscious. But they create so much havoc thrashing around, we can't operate effectively on their wounds."
"Between the Devil and the deep blue sea." murmured Sister Tamara, who had standing by quietly, listening. Fea shot her a withering glance. Sisters should not speak of the Devil in the Infirmary. It may encourage him.
"Sorry." said Tamara, head down, with half a smile.
"Sister Tamara may not be far from the truth." said Hesus.
Both sisters starred at him.
"Have you ever noticed what all warriors do when they feast?" asked Hesus.
"They eat." said Fea flatly.
"They drink." said Tamara.
"Yes they drink." said Hesus, excited now. "and what happens when they drink?"
"They get drunk." suggested Tamara.
"They get stupid, legless, fall-down drunk." said Fea with passion.
"Exactly, and what do they drink? asked Hesus.
"Mead?" said Tamara.
"Mead and Whiskey." said Fea. [Whiskey, as spelt by the Irish. Whisky as spelt by the Scots. But as we are dealing with the Scotti here, who were originally Irish, we will use the Irish spelling]
"Correct." beamed Hesus. " Mead and 'Devil's Water' or Gaelic 'Water of Life', as we call Whiskey. And what happens when they get drunk?"
"They get happy." said Tamara.
"They throw up, all over the place." said Fea.
"Right on both counts." said Hesus, now really excited. "And then what happens?"
Both sisters looked bemused.
"They get sleeeepy." pronounced Hesus triumphantly.
"Oh." said Fea, suddenly realizing where this was heading.
"But which one works best, Mead or Whiskey? "asked Tamara.
"The very question I asked myself." said Hesus. "So I decided to conduct a little experiment.
"You did get drunk then." laughed Tamara
"All in the interests of good medicine. "said Hesus with a straight face. Fea smiled.
"Well?" asked Tamara, leaning forward in anticipation.
"First I drank a large quantity of Mead. That was two days ago, I believe. Before I fell asleep, I cut my arm, to see if it hurt." He held up his withered right arm, which had two
bandages near the wrist.
"And?" asked Fea.
"It hurt." stated Hesus. "Then yesterday, I drank a lot of Whiskey, and cut my arm."
"And?" asked Tamara.
"I can't remember?" They all burst out laughing.
"But seriously," continued Hesus, "I think Whiskey works better, and quicker. I think you should try it on your next patient."
"Very well, Brother Hesus," said Fea, "do you have any whiskey left, you can give us?"
"I may be able to find a dram or two." said Hesus innocently.
"Good, in the interests of better medicine, I'll ask you to administer the correct amount, to our next patient," announced Fea.
Just then one of the on-duty Sisters in the Infirmary rushed in. "Sister Fea, come quickly. A farmer and his wife have just brought in two men they found in the water near Balnagown cove. The young one seems to suffering from exposure, but the older one has been badly wounded. I t
hink he is dead."
* * * *
They all rushed into the next room. Two forms lay on pallets at the far side. Fea glanced at nearest body which was covered entirely with a blanket. It was dim pre-dawn light, but she could see no sign of breathing.
The younger red haired one was unconscious, but breathing. His lips were blue from cold. As was their custom in cases like this, all resources were focused on the person who had the best chance of survival - the red headed youth.
Fea supervised as the sisters grabbed more blankets and rudely rubbed his body to increase circulation and quickly packed heated towels between his legs and under his arm pits. His head was raised and warm broth was forced down his mouth. He coughed and his eye lids fluttered. A good sign. They all relaxed.
Fea turned to the figure on the next pallet. The remnants of a monk’s robes lay on the floor. She carefully pulled down the blanket covering the body. The face was turned away. She noticed the livid wound on his side. There was no chest movement. Fea gently turned his head. His lips were white. His eyes were closed. He was dark-haired, clean shaven but with a four day or so stubble. He was stunningly handsome. He was Culann.
Fea screamed, and threw herself on the cold still form. The others stood in shocked silence as Fea embraced the corpse white body, wailing "No! . . . No! . . . No!"
Her predictions carelessly uttered all those years ago at St Brigid's had now come true. The man who meant more to her than anyone, was dead.
Brother Hesus tried to prize her away, but her arms fiercely embraced his shoulders and her head was buried in his neck, her golden hair spread halo wise, over his pale ashen face. Several minutes passed. Fea's wailing subsided to loud sobs.
More nuns ran to the Infirmary in response to the noise, then stood bewildered against the wall, when they saw it was caused by Sister Fea.
Abruptly Fea sat up. "He's alive."
"Come, come now, Sister Fea," said Hesus soothingly. "You've had a great shock. We'll take care of the body" The sisters all looked at each other in embarrassment.
"No," said Fea adamantly." He's alive I tell you. I can feel his pulse." pointing to his neck.
Hesus leaned over and placed his fingers on Culann's neck. "Upon my soul, she's right."