Culann slumped down, his head on the ground, overwhelmed with grief. “Why does everyone who trusts in me have to die?”
* * * * *
With Culann straddling the wall, Fergus looked behind and saw some of those still struggling to escape through the clogged doorways. He decided to run over to them and grabbing the hindmost, pointed toward the now growing number of escape holes being punched in the roof along the far wall. He was still re-directing people when some of the blazing roof rafters began crashing down. There were now flames consuming great swathes of the floor area.
It was then he saw he was cut off from those escape holes by the flames and burning timbers. “Ah well, so be it. I started it anyway,” he said to himself as the smoke swirled around him. He shielded his eyes from the burning embers thrown up by the latest lump of burning timber to hit the floor nearby. Then he turned and blinded by smoke automatically reached for the person standing in front of him – and found no one. Gasping and choking now, he stumbled forward and suddenly his hand hit a door post. Everyone was out. Still half blinded and coughing, Fergus staggered out through the door to safety, enveloped by smoke and sparks.
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2.3 – Aftermath
The leader swung his left fist and smacked Colmán full in the face, knocking him over. Fergus raised his sword to strike but one warrior smashed his shield into Fergus’ chest. The force knocked Fergus backwards. Sinead threw herself over Fergus to protect him from the potential further attack. Sinead’s brother simultaneously leaped at the nearest warrior, barehanded and grabbed his sword hand, in an effort to distract him from killing his sister. Another warrior struck at the young Pict with his sword, slicing the youths shoulder. Then a blurred white-clad figure running full tilt swept in ~
Culann eventually rose and looking round found Colmán and Bryan comforting the Picts, gathered together, now well away from the still burning building. The King and his entourage stood off to one side watching open mouthed as the great hall’s roof slowly disintegrated.
The Picts’ hands were still bound by their leather thongs. Culann realized his new sword was somewhere inside that inferno – with Fergus. He shook his head trying to dismiss that dreadful thought and taking his small eating knife monks always carry, he began sawing through the thongs binding the Picts.
“Try this Culann, its quicker.” said a slight, singed, soot blackened figure who had quietly walked up behind the monk.
Culann looked in disbelief at this apparition from hell – all black except the whites of his eyes and his wide smile. “Fergus? Is it really you?”
“Well this is your Gladius isn’t it?” replied Fergus drawing the short sword he had stuffed in his belt.
Culann placed his hands firmly on Fergus shoulders and looked in amazement at the young man he believed had perished in the inferno. “Thank you friend. I am very pleased you are alive.” Said Culann as he released the young Pict and gratefully took the proffered sword.
“So am I.” smiled Fergus.
Colmán and Bryan came up and after offering thanks to the Lord for Fergus safe return, both indicated they should move the newly released captive Picts to the safety of their boat below. “Our boat won’t carry everyone.” pointed out Culann as he finished separating the Picts bonds.
“Yes of course.” agreed Colmán. “I shall talk with the King.” And he walked over to the King surrounded by now not only his courtiers, but a growing number of angry warriors.
Colmán pushed his way into the throng. The ex-Abbot of Lindisfarne was not used to waiting for anyone. He was certainly not in awe of any earthly king, “Excuse me Your Highness, we wish to begin our return journey, but we do not have sufficient boats to carry all the Picts to Iona. Can you provide them?”
The King looking distracted, turned to Colmán, and said “Yes, yes alright, I’ll arrange transport. Just get those damned people away from here.” He waved a hand to summons one of his advisors and instructed him to provide as many boats as necessary. Now! The advisor bowed and pushed his way through the gathering throng toward the path leading down to the jetty. Colmán waved Bryan, Culann and the Picts to follow.
The Iona group with their Pictish colleagues had to push their way down through the narrow defile to their boat below, passing people endeavouring to climb to the top of the rocky plateau, no doubt wanting to see the still smouldering building and check on friends and family.
* * * * *
Eventually the group gained the wooden jetty where their curach with its trusty sailors, along with three other boats were moored. The local curachs each had four pairs of oars with a steering oar aft.
“How many boats do you need Sir?” enquired the King’s advisor. Colmán did a quick head count and conferred with Brother Bryan. “Two of the larger boats together with our own curach should be sufficient.” concluded Colmán.
Fergus was asked to instruct the Picts to board the boats. He sought out Sinead and asked, ‘Who was the Picts’ leader’. “We are from different clans.” She replied. “My brother, over there, is probably senior in our group. And I think the man with the red beard is influential with some of the others.” Fergus walked up to the two indicated men, with Sinead following behind. As he was conferring with them, a commotion began near the defile leading from Dunadd, which they had just exited.
Five warriors armed with swords and oval shaped shields plus one with a spear, spilled out of the defile and headed for the Picts. Their leader, a big man, shouted as he ran toward the boats being loaded with people “Stop! They are my prisoners. Give them to me.”
The King’s advisor held up his hands as he confronted the angry warriors. “The King has granted these people their freedom. They are on their way home.”
“Sez you” sneered the leader, pushing the advisor to one side. “Most are mine, not the King’s to give away.” The warriors drew up in line, swords out, on either side of their leader.
In front of them was Abbot Colmán, Brother Bryan and now Fergus, together with Sinead and a small group of Picts who had not yet boarded the boats. Fergus drew his sword and noticed in amazement, Culann fading away to the left.
The King’s advisor scampered away toward the defile “I’ll tell the King on you.” He cried over his shoulder as he ran.
Colmán marched up and confronted the armed leader “I demand you leave this place and let these people go in peace, In The Name of God!” The leader swung his left fist and smacked Colmán full in the face, knocking him over. “That’s what I think of your god.” Things then got out of hand.
Fergus raised his sword to strike but it was blocked by one warrior’s spear who then smashed his shield into Fergus’ chest. The force knocked the Pict backwards. Sinead threw herself over Fergus to protect him from the potential further attack by the warrior. Sinead’s brother, Sreng, simultaneously leaped at the nearest warrior barehanded and grabbed his sword arm, in an effort to distract him from striking his sister on the ground. Another warrior struck at the young Pict with his sword, slicing the youth’s shoulder. Sreng collapsed bleeding profusely.
“Stop” thundered the leader “don’t harm my slaves.” Both sides drew back for moment. In the background a small group of villagers’ watched in awe. Fergus struggled to free himself from Sinead’s clutching arms.
Just when it seemed inevitable the Dál Riata warriors were about to recapture the unarmed Picts, a blurred white-clad figure running full tilt, crashed into the line of warriors – their unprotected sword arm side, screaming a Fianna (small independent Irish warrior band) war cry and savagely wielding a short sword. Most warriors were knocked off balance by the sudden onslaught, staggering into their next in-line comrade. In the few heartbeats before they regained their composure, two of the end warriors lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding from the stab wounds caused by the Gladius wielding monk; then three; then four. The two remaining warriors turned to face their now blood covered wild-eyed
adversary, who was in the process of pulling his sword from body of his latest victim. As they both raised their weapons to attack the monk, one screamed in pain - his leg severed by the sword of the soot covered Pict who had swung his weapon while still on his knees. Culann clinically dispatched the sixth and final adversary. Fergus shakily regained his feet, nodded at Culann, then methodically began hacking off the heads of the slain Dal Riata warriors.
When Brother Bryan protested “What is he doing?” Culann calmly told him “Don’t worry, it’s his custom. Let’s get the rest of these people on the curachs before more trouble arrives.”
The small group of villagers’ watched wordless as the Picts then boarded the boats. Brother Bryan arranged for the five Pictish women to sit in their curach along with the injured brother of Sinead and Colmán who was semi-conscious and bleeding from the mouth and nose, while the men were distributed among the other two boats. Bryan boarded the third curach. Culann and Fergus looked at the remaining fourth boat. “Let’s punch a hole in it” suggested Fergus “so they can’t follow us.”
“No need, “said Culann as he climbed into the empty boat. “We’ll take these with us.” He handed the oars to Fergus then calmly dismantled the aft rudder device. Both men then clambered onto the leading curach and all three boats were rowed the short distance down the river Add, then went west into the wide loch.
When questioned later by King Domangart, the villagers’ who witnessed the event gave a confused description of the leading monk calling on the warriors to let the Picts leave ‘in the name of God.’ When the warriors refused, suddenly an off-white coloured angel swept down from above with a golden sword and smote them to the ground. One of the Picts then methodically beheaded them. The King shook his head, grateful that Monks and Picts had now left before anymore divine calamities could befall him. But he thought it was very strange that the angel uttered a Fianna war cry.
* * * * *
When the three boats reached the Jura Sound, Culann asked the experienced sailors in the lead boat, to manoeuvre so that all boats were along-side each other. Sinead had ripped lengths of material from her skirt and the four other Pictish women with her, and bound her brother’s wound to stop the bleeding. As all three vessels rose and fell in the slight swell, Culann and Bryan discussed where they should head. Both agreed that it would be hard work to row against the wind directly to Iona. As Colmán and some of the Picts were injured and needed urgent medical care, it would be quicker and easier to head north then east to Lios mór. The sailors suggested they not try to navigate the dangerous Corryvreckan Straight in the fading light; best to head between the islands of Scarba and Luing which would bring them directly to Loch Linnhe and Lios mór.
It was also agreed that Culann command the leading curach with Fergus to transfer to the second boat, making it easier to communicate with the Picts in boats two and three. Culann, in the only boat with a sail and therefore faster, should make haste to Lios mór where the injured may be cared for. Bryan would follow and guide the other two boats. The sun was a red globe setting low over the silhouetted hills of Jura as these arrangements were finalised. The sailors on the leading boat raised their sail and moved quickly ahead of the following boats which were manned by Picts at the oars.
As night enveloped them, a near full moon shone down from above. Although covered at times by low cloud, its light enabled the small boats to keep well clear of the white water breaking on rocks rimming the islands on either side.
Bryan noticed all the Picts peering at the shore and skyline as the rowed onward. He asked Fergus to enquire if this was any way familiar with the voyage down from their homeland to Dunadd. An animated discussion followed among the Picts. Fergus translated the outcome. “They say they can’t tell. They were all tied up and covered with large blankets. They didn’t even know how many of their kin were still alive and with them until they reached Dunadd.”
Bryan turned back toward Dunadd and with a look of disgust, raised his fist and shouted in a very un-Christian-like manner “May the Lord make you pay for your unspeakable behaviour towards these poor people.” Fergus quietly translated this curse to the amusement of the Picts
(Note: King Domangart was killed in battle in 672. The stronghold Dunadd was laid siege in 682, most likely by the British kingdom of Alt Clut in collaboration with the Picts of Fortriu and Fife, whose king was Bridei son of Beli )
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Chapter 3 – Lios mór
Sister Tamara assisting Sister Fea supervising patients at the Lios mór Monastery Infirmary
Lauds (morning prayer, at daybreak) had just finished and many of the monks and sisters at the monastery on Lios mór were at work.
Sister Fea was not happy. Most of the other sisters in the Infirmary gave her a wide berth, lest they receive a dressing-down from the woman in charge of both male and female wards. As so often happened when there was a problem, Brother Hesus entered the room. After glancing at the nuns gathered at one end of the room, he walked over to Fea, folding bed clothes by herself.
“Good morning Fea. Is everything OK?” smiled Hesus as he sat down beside Fea.
“Everything is fine,” said Fea between clenched teeth as she roughly shook the bedclothes into place.
“I feel something is troubling you my dear Sister. You once told me it relieved the soul to confide a problem with a friend.”
“Did I?” said Fea wearily, holding a bundle of clothes to her chest, head down.
Hesus began ever so quietly, “You remember when you got me to confess to you in that barn, back on Jura, so long ago. You allowed me to relieve myself of all my guilt of not being able to work in the scriptorium because of my crippled right hand. The monks accused anyone who wrote with their left hand of being possessed by the Devil. It was you who arranged for me to come with you and your ‘milk maids’ to Lios mór. It was you who arranged for me to work in the scriptorium translating Greek text to Latin, not by writing but by ‘dictating’ to other monks.
“Sister Fea, you gave me a new great meaning for life. I can never repay you, but please, let me help if I can. What is troubling you?”
“Oh it's nothing. It really just a silly woman’s thing,” said Fea sitting opposite Hesus, her hands clasped in her lap. Hesus said nothing, just looked expectantly.
“That mad young Irishman said he would come back from Iona soon. It’s been weeks. He hasn’t even sent word where he is.” Fea put her head in her hands and her shoulders shook.
Hesus moved to sit next to the distressed Fea and gently put his good left hand on her shoulder. “Ahhh, the young Irish monk, Culann, hero from Lindisfarne. I shouldn’t be too upset Sister. From what I gathered he seems quite smitten by you.”
“Where is he then? He said he was going to leave the order and become a Smithy. They were just going to deliver those silly codexes to Iona. That’s only a day’s sail away. It’s been weeks. Has something happened to him?”
“There, there,” comforted Hesus, “If something had happened to him I’m sure we would had heard by now. Most likely Abbot Cumméne has asked him to perform some special task before he returns to Lios mór. Brother Culann struck me as being a young man with a great sense of integrity.”
The Sisters watched as Fea and Hesus sat together talking for what seem a very long time. The consensus among them was that Hesus would calm Fea down.
* * * * *
A monk ran into the infirmary, “Sisters, quickly, they are bringing in some injured people from a boat that has just landed.”
“Not another group of warring Scotti. We just released the last batch of wounded warriors’ yesterday.” said Fea.
“I think not Sister,” said the monk, they seem to be mostly women.”
Just then a group surrounded by monks entered the infirmary. A tall hooded monk in a bloodstained habit was carrying an injured lad. Another older monk with blood on his face followed assisted by some dishevelled yo
ung women.
Fea took charge. “Put the injured down on those pallets – carefully.” Then to Sister Tamara standing next to her “Take care of these women. Get some warm clothes for them and see if they need any medical care. And food, get the refectory (monastery kitchen & dining room) to send over hot food.” Sister Tamara nodded and disappeared out the door.
“Where are you from?” Fea asked one girl standing in front of her. The girl looked blank and said nothing. “Does anyone speak their language?” asked Fea looking around.
“They came from Dunadd Fea, but originally from northern Hebrides. They are Picti.” stated the tall monk now standing beside the Pict lad he had placed on a pallet.
Fea looked up sharply, then walked quickly in front of the still hooded monk in the blood stained habit. “Culann?”
“It is I Fea,” quietly.
Sister Fea clenched her fists and beat him repeatedly on his chest, crying, “Where have you been? Why didn’t you contact me?” Culann put his arms about her and held her tight. “I’m here now.”
The other sisters smiled at each other as they tended their patients.
“Can anyone here speak Pictish?” asked Culann still stroking Fea. “Yes Brother Wyn speaks Pictish. He should be in the scriptorium. I’ll get him,” volunteered one of the monks.
Fea realising her Sisters were watching abruptly quit Culann’s embrace and quickly regaining her composure began organising the new arrivals.
Culann suggested it would be best if they could be kept together as many appeared to be still traumatised by the events over the past days. Fea said there were still a few Scotti warriors recovering from wounds in the male ward, so she would keep everyone here. It would be easier as they had to determine who needed treatment.
The Sisters set up a long linen screen to separate the males and females. The men were initially reluctant to allow these strange looking women to examine them. However once they saw how effectively they disrobed, washed and bandaged the still unconscious brother of Sinead, they followed the instructions of the Sisters.