by H A CULLEY
Eochaid and his friends had managed to kill all the other eighteen Picts on board. It would have been more of a feat had more than three of them managed to reach their weapons, but even so, the boys had good reason to feel proud of themselves. However, their euphoria was short lived once they realised that Oswald was wounded. To make matters worse, the crew of the other birlinn had realised that their prize was no longer following them and had turned around to investigate.
Unlike the unprepared men they had just slain, this ship had a crew of twenty, all fully armed and ready for a fight. Six inexperienced boys – Oswald was too wounded to be of any use – couldn’t hope to defeat them.
~~~
Aidan knelt beside Osguid as they took their vows to become monks. Both had completed two years as novices and at sixteen and fourteen respectively, were considered old enough to progress to become full members of the Iona community. The previous night had been spent in prayer and at dawn they had been shorn of the hair from their foreheads to the crown of theirs heads. This form of tonsure was exclusive to the Celtic Church and gave both monks and priests a distinctive look.
After the ceremony was over, both monks visited the abbot separately in the beehive hut in which he lived. Osguid was told that he would join the other monks who farmed the land and looked after the livestock on the island; Aidan would become the assistant to the new infirmarian. This monk was responsible for looking after the sick and the injured and had himself been the assistant infirmarian until two weeks ago when the previous incumbent had died in his sleep at the age of fifty-five.
Aidan had been healthy during his time as a novice and so he hadn’t had occasion to visit the infirmary, but of course he knew Brother Brendan and from what little contact he had had with him, he’d liked him. For his part, Brendan knew that Aidan was a kind boy with a pleasant disposition and was a hard worker. Of all the monks available to assist him, Brendan had asked for Aidan. He was not to be disappointed.
Aidan had enjoyed his time as a novice, although he shared Oswald’s dislike of the Master of Novices, who he thought was too strict and lacking in any attractive qualities. He had managed to keep his nose clean, though and had never been beaten. Not so Osguid and his brother Oslac, who always seemed to be up to mischief. Aidan was therefore surprised when Osguid had asked to remain as a monk instead of leaving to train as a warrior like his elder brother. When Aidan asked him why, Osguid confessed that he had spent his life to date in Oswald’s shadow and although he loved his brother, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life being known as Oswald’s brother. He liked the life on Iona and he was devout in his way, so he had decided to stay. However, he had been fascinated by Aidan’s stories about Brother Finnian and confessed that he would like to become a missionary in due course.
Aidan thought long and hard about what Osguid had said and wondered if that wasn’t what he himself wanted to do. However, there was a great deal to learn if he was to become a good healer and he concentrated on that for now.
‘This is how you make a poultice,’ Brendan was explaining, when Osguid came bursting into the infirmary.
‘Brendan, come quickly,’ he panted, forgetting in his agitation to address the infirmarian as Brother. ‘You too, Aidan. Oswald has just been brought here from Tiree. He’s been badly wounded.’
~~~
Eochaid had taken one look at the approaching Pict birlinn and realised that he had but moments to act.
‘Quick, get the mainsail up.’
The others obeyed without question. Now that Oswald was out of action, they looked to the Irish prince as their leader. They undid the sail ties and hauled on the halliard to raise the yardarm from which the sail hung. It took scarcely more than a couple of minutes before the sail began to fill with the wind coming from the west, but in that time the other ship had narrowed the gap between them to about half a mile.
Eochaid directed them to let out one rope and pull in another until the sail was set to take them to the south of the Picts’ birlinn. Predictably, the other ship turned to intercept them. However, they were now picking up speed and the Picts’ shipmaster had failed to allow for this when setting his new course. His men were putting their backs into extracting every ounce of speed out of their vessel, but they were rowing against the wind and the shipmaster had steered a circular course in his attempts to come alongside Eochaid’s ship. They had therefore rowed further than necessary.
The young Dal Riadans cheered when it became obvious that they would be able to slip past to the south of their foes. But Eochaid surprised them by suddenly changing course towards the enemy.
‘Trim the mainsail,’ he ordered brusquely and when they hesitated, unsure what he was doing, he added, ‘quickly now!’
They did as they were bid and then they realised what he was attempting to do. It was risky, but it would put an end to any pursuit. He was headed directly towards the side of the Pictish craft. At first their shipmaster thought Eochaid intended to ram them, so he turned towards him whilst his men prepared to board. At the last moment Eochaid pushed the steering oar over and the two ships passed within two feet of one another.
Two Picts had grappling hooks ready and they swung them to couple the two ships together, but then the prow of the Dal Riadan birlinn hit the first oar, which was still in the water. The oar snapped with a crack and the inboard end of it smashed into the rower’s chest, caving in his ribcage. The sharp ends of the broken bones pierced his lungs, ensuring his death in due course. The same thing happened all the way along that side of the birlinn, except for the last oar. The rower there realised what was happening and just managed to haul it inboard in time.
The Dal Riadan birlinn sailed on undamaged, apart from a few scars on its hull, leaving behind a ship full of dying men with only eleven oars instead of the usual twenty. By the time the Picts had sorted themselves out, Eochaid and his small crew had rounded the point and disappeared from view.
The problem now was that they didn’t know where Cael and the rest of their crew were and if they stopped to try and find them, they might run into more Picts ashore, or more likely, give the other birlinn the chance to sail after them and catch them up. Eochaid came to the conclusion that the sensible thing to do was to make for the Isle of Coll and hope that he could find Lorchan and the other ships.
In the event Eochaid found them quite quickly as they had landed on the beach in Brechacca Bay at the southern end of Coll. However, to get there the boys had to run directly into the wind, so they lowered the sail and got out two pairs of oars to try and row. They were making barely any progress against the wind, but they were spotted and another birlinn soon came out to investigate.
‘What’s happened? Where’re Cael and the others?’
‘We were left to guard the ship, but it was captured by a Pictish birlinn. We managed to re-capture it and they’ve lost most of their crew, but they’re just behind us,’ Eochaid yelled back. ‘Oswald is badly wounded,’ he added.
Lorchan was dying to know how a handful of boys had managed to kill most of a Pictish crew, but that could wait. At that moment the other ship appeared and Lorchan immediately set a course towards it.
The Picts tried to raise their sail and escape, but they had scarcely managed to get turned back facing the way they had come before Lorchan overtook them and came alongside. The fight was brief and bloody and within ten minutes the only Pict left alive was a boy of about twelve who kept spitting at Lorchan and trying to bite his captors.
‘Tie him up and knock him out if he keeps that up. He may be able to tell us if there are any more of the pagan devils around.’
‘And so I killed the treacherous dog and fed him to the fishes,’ Eochaid told Lorchan after explaining how well Oswald’s plan had worked.
‘I never liked Ultan anyway, but I’m not looking forward to telling the king. How did you evade their birlinn?’
When Eochaid had finished his tale, Lorchan was tempted to congratulate him and the others for
their cunning and their bravery, but he was wary of his king’s reaction to the killing of his nephew. He confined himself to nodding sagely.
‘Well, we’ve killed every Pict we found on Coll, but it will need to be re-populated. We rescued most of the women and children who the Picts had taken as slaves, but they’ve killed all the men and older boys. It’s too late now to go and find Cael and as far as we know, the birlinn you encountered was the only one sent to Tiree, so he should be safe. Still, he won’t be going anywhere.’
‘What about Oswald? He’s been sewn up and bandaged, but he’s lost a lot of blood and my stitching is not very good.’
Lorchan grunted. ‘It was his plan that saved your birlinn and your lives. I’ll send someone back to Dùn Add with tidings of what’s happened and they can drop Oswald off with the monks on Iona on the way. You’d better stay on Iona with Oswald for now; that way Connad will have time to get used to the death of his nephew without you there for him to take revenge on.’
Chapter Four – Rònan
620 - 621 AD
Oswald tossed and turned, yelling out in delirium as Aidan tried to restrain him from hurting himself or others. His wound had become infected before he arrived at Iona and although Brother Brendan had cleaned it and re-stitched it, it had started to fester. Brendan and Aidan had cut away the infected flesh and the wound had started to heal, but not before the infection had spread through his body via his bloodstream. Brendan had explained that either the fever would kill him, or it would break and he would slowly recover.
Osguid, Oslac and Oslaph had tried to visit their brother, but Aidan didn’t want them to see Oswald like this and had sent them away, promising to send for them as soon as there was any change. Osguid had taken them to the church to pray with him, but after a while the two novices were sent back to the scriptorium and Osguid had to go back to work. Eochaid had stayed in the infirmary, however and had helped Aidan bathe Oswald’s body with cold water to keep the fever down.
It wasn’t until the early hours of the fifth morning that the fever broke and then Oswald began to recover slowly. It had left him very weak, though and the tightness and loss of muscle in his right side would take some time to mend before he could move normally again.
His brothers came to see him as soon as he was lucid once more, but soon got bored just talking to him and left him alone again. One or another would drop in for a few minutes, but now that they knew he was on the road to recovery, their visits became less frequent and he was left with only Brendan and Aidan to talk to. Eochaid had become bored on Iona once he knew that his friend was getting better and had joined a ship that was returning to Islay. There were a few warriors on Iona, but they didn’t see it as part of their duty to give Eochaid the weapon training he needed. There would be other young men on Islay with who he could train. He felt guilty about leaving his friend, but Oswald insisted he go.
‘By the time you return I shall be fit enough to start weapon training again and I shall need you here so I can beat you,’ Oswald told him. The other smiled back at him.
‘If you are truly fit enough to beat me on my return, no-one will be more delighted than me.’
The two thumped each other gently on the shoulder and Eochaid ran down to the beach to convince Oswald that he was glad to be going, when in fact he had rarely felt so sad.
When Oswald was able to get up for a few hours a day he went for short walks, but soon got tired. When he came back one day Aidan was mixing some herbal remedies and Oswald asked him if he could help.
Aidan explained what he was doing and Oswald sat down beside him on the bench and began to help him, copying what he did exactly. Brendan smiled as he saw that the two were becoming good friends and wondered whether Oswald would now stay on Iona as a monk. However, he soon realised that it was the last thing Oswald was likely to do. He became increasingly irritated at his forced inaction and often had to be cautioned about doing too much too quickly. His response was to glare at Brendan or Aidan and roundly curse them. It was a good job that they both realised that he was just giving vent to his frustration. Deep down, he knew how much he owed the two of them.
~~~
Lorchan had sailed into the loch below Dùn Add, dreading the reception he would receive from the king. However, Connad had congratulated him on his success in driving the Picts out of Coll and Tiree and discussed repopulating the islands with him. He didn’t mention Ultan at first, which worried Lorchan a little.
He had brought the Pict boy he had captured back with him and had him taken before the king. The boy’s behaviour hadn’t improved and he spat at his guards and cursed Connad.
‘My, he’s feisty, isn’t he? He’d make a good warrior if he could be tamed. I’m not sure he’s going to be much good as a slave, though. What will you do with him? Kill him?’
‘No and I don’t need another slave, but I thought that Oswald deserved a reward after saving Cael’s birlinn, so I’ll give the boy to him when, or perhaps I should say if, he recovers.’
‘Yes, that was a bad business. Why should my nephew try to kill Oswald? I can’t believe that of him.’
‘I gather that the others chose Oswald as their leader, but Ultan couldn’t accept it; he demanded that position for himself because of his kinship to you.’
‘Still, Eochaid didn’t have to kill him. My sister and her husband are furious and demand that I execute Eochaid. However, that would alienate his father and he is my vassal in Ulster. You’ve put me in a difficult position, Lorchan.’
The other man was about to point out that the king was hardly being fair; it wasn’t his fault that Ultan was a treacherous dog. He didn’t blame Eochaid for killing the king’s nephew; on the contrary, it was what he deserved. Striking one of your own side during a battle was unforgivable. However, he held his tongue.
‘It would be better if Eochaid didn’t return here, Lorchan, if you understand me.’
‘Perfectly, Lord.’
He therefore sent word to Iona to warn Eochaid to return to the relative safety of Ulster, but by the time the message got to Iona, Eochaid had already left for Islay. The abbot went to find Oswald and told him about the warning, so he paid one of the island’s fishermen to take the message on to Eochaid.
He realised that this meant that his friend wouldn’t be returning and that only increased his foul mood. If he couldn’t start training again - and that meant having a skilful opponent with whom to practice - he wouldn’t be much use as a warrior, even when he was physically fit again.
He became increasingly distant from his brothers, who were frightened by his outbursts of temper and the only one who was prepared to put up with him was Aidan. His soothing voice seemed to calm Oswald down and he came to rely on his friend as his only companion.
Things might have continued down this unsatisfactory path if a ship hadn’t arrived to take Oswald back to Dùn Add. He left Aidan with reluctance, but he knew that he would become unbearable if he stayed. His farewell to his brothers was a little uncomfortable and he apologised for being like a bear with a sore head. However, he was now happy again. Returning to Dùn Add meant that he could start to train once more. As they put out to sea he suddenly felt free and even the nagging residual pain in his side seemed to be less important.
‘Welcome back, Oswald. We have missed you these four months. I hope that you have recovered from your unfortunate injury.’
‘It wasn’t unfortunate, Lord; it was deliberately inflicted by the treacherous Ultan.’
His mother had cautioned him about mentioning the king’s nephew, but her plea had fallen on deaf ears.
‘Be very careful, Oswald. You and your family are here as my guests. If you make unfounded accusations against my own family, you and yours will no longer be welcome here.’
Oswald had the good sense to know when he was flogging a dead horse, but he felt better for having made his complaint.
‘As you know, Lord, we are more than grateful for your hospitality. However, I
hope that whatever trifling service I may have been able to render to you during the re-capture of Coll and Tiree may, in some small way, repay you for your kindness.’
Connad knew that Oswald had neatly turned the tables on him and he laughed.
‘You’ve a clever tongue in your head, boy. Make sure it doesn’t trip you up one day. Mentioning Tiree reminds me that Lorchan has a gift for you, to thank you for what you did that day.’ He beckoned Lorchan forward and he came gripping a boy of twelve or thirteen by the shoulder. The lad was dressed as a slave with a wooden collar fastened about his neck.
‘We captured this little vixen on Coll and I thought you might like a body slave, Oswald. I’d like to say that he’s house trained, but he’ll still spit at you or bite you given half a chance. Beating him doesn’t seem to do any good, but perhaps you can do something with him. If you tire of trying, then perhaps you could set him free and hunt him down with your friends. It would be good sport, if nothing else.’
The boy’s eyes had widened at this suggestion and he looked at Oswald with fear in his eyes. At least he understands some of what we are saying, Oswald thought, even if he pretends not to. He knew that the Picts spoke Brythonic, the language of the majority of Britain prior to the arrival of the Romans, but he had obviously been taught, or had picked up, some Gaelic.
He beckoned the boy over to him and he came after a moment’s hesitation. When he got close enough, he spat at Oswald and the globule of mucus and spittle landed on the young man’s tunic. Oswald spat back, but this time the contents of his mouth landed squarely in the youngster’s right eye. He reared back in astonishment and blinked several times to clear the muck from it, then he grinned at Oswald and knew he had met his match.
‘Take the collar off him, Lorchan. If he runs, he knows he’ll be the quarry for my friends to chase and kill. I know you understand me, boy, so don’t pretend otherwise. What’s your name?’