“Don’t you know him, Magister? Come, Father Druid. Refresh his memory.” Owain was smiling.
“My greetings to you across the years, Ciaran,” the old man said in Gaelic and I stiffened. “Don’t you remember me? Your old room-mate from the College at Innisgarbh?”
I looked at him more carefully, and studied the eyes in particular. I couldn’t resist a sensation of horror as recognition crept up my spine like a chill. If it was who I suspected, then the old man in front of me was only a few years my senior.
“Ieuan? Ieuan ap Talog? Is it really you?”
“It is. I see the years have been kinder to you than I.”
“Only of late, I think. Since I joined the Community I’ve fared well.”
“I think your new God demands less of you than the life you rejected, Ciaran.”
“Anselm,” I said. “My name is Anselm.”
“I knew you as Prince Ciaran MacAidh, the Dark Twin of Donegal when we were young. I’ve always thought of you thus.”
“I’ve not been called by that name for nearly ten years, Ieuan,” I replied. “I’m honoured that you thought of me at all, but you were always kind to me. Kinder than I deserved. Nonetheless, I’m Anselm now, and have been since I was taken in by the community of Iona. I’d rather you think of me so.”
“If I must, I will. But you were a legend, and mothers frightened their children to bed with tales of you. Prince, Druid, kin-slayer, wanderer and madman.”
“Kin-slayer is just another way of saying murderer, and you can add mercenary to the list, if you wish,” I said, evenly. Ieuan shrugged.
“They said you could disappear when the very fingers of your enemies were around your throat and take refuge in the Hollow Hills for as long as it suited your purpose. Until Winwaed – I heard you had died at Winwaed. You must tell me how you got away that time, without your old friend to help you.” I shivered. I had been too close to death in the past, more than once. The last time I’d seen the old man in front of me, thirty years before, he’d helped me to achieve one of those escapes. “You were like a Sidhe of Erin’s stories, you know. It’s not everyone who can say they knew a legend.” I asked that he did not remind me of that life, insisting that it was behind me now. I preferred not to be connected with those tales.
“As you wish. I’m glad to see you settled and part of a Community again, brother,” Ieuan addressed me as a fellow-Druid even though I’d converted to Christianity. “Cha dhuine duine Ôn aonar - the man alone is no man.”
This exchange had been carried out in low voices and in Gaelic, the common language of our youth. In anyone else this would have been a gross discourtesy in the presence of the King but the High Druid was not bound by normal rules. He was a figure of wisdom and fear and no-one - not even a King - would make any public criticism of his behaviour. But the eyes I saw as I glanced around the hall were very curious and Owain himself was looking fretful at his exclusion from the conversation. It was no surprise that he liked to know what was going on, particularly at his own table - and Gaelic was the language of the Scots, with whom relations were rarely peaceful for long. It was an enemy’s tongue. I asked Ieuan to speak in British from now on, to include Owain in our discussion. He agreed, reluctantly, but warned me that the King was curious about me – a figure of legend, returned from the dead.
“My Lord King, please forgive us: we did not mean to be discourteous,” he continued, in British. “Saint Anselm and I have many years to bridge. The language of our earlier days together helped to span them.”
“My Lord Druid, I know you will do as you wish,” he smiled, it was formal and slightly forced. “but I wouldn’t have Magister Anselm feel himself outside the circle of my hospitality.”
“He himself requested that we converse in British. We shall do so whenever we speak again in your presence. I’ll leave you to your guest now.” With that, Ieuan moved stiffly back to his place. He had reserved the right to speak to me in Gaelic whenever we were not in the King’s company. It was not just in other halls that the King had his spies and the point was not missed by either Owain or me. His mood had changed.
“Magister, I would talk to you about your mission, and soon. When you’ve finished your refreshment, I’d like you to join me in my chambers.”
“I’m at your disposal,” I replied as a wooden platter with a small loaf of soft bread and crumbly white cheese was placed before me. I asked for the beaker of whiskey to be replaced with plain water; this was done almost immediately. I felt impelled to look down the bench towards Ieuan, who was looking the other way. Whiskey and I had been close friends and it fired up my heart and soul; if there was no fight to be had when I started drinking it, I would find one soon enough. Or start one myself, if need be.
Owain was talking with Gawain: he was all business now. His companion to the left was speaking to one of her ladies. I presumed she was a royal consort; speaking to her without formal introduction would be a gross breach of etiquette and likely to result in a challenge to swords, even to a Christian cleric. I would be unable to respond and would have to leave the British court. The repercussions would have been serious, so I directed my thoughts elsewhere.
I thought about Ieuan. I’d been under the impression that Dyfrig, an old and harmless man who was aware of his limitations, was the official chief adviser in the kingdom; I had no idea that Ieuan had taken his place. I personally knew a small number of the dwindling band of prominent Druids and a few others by reputation. Most of that religion had, like myself, converted to Christianity but we retained contacts with our old lives, to a greater or lesser degree. It might not, strictly speaking, be in conformity with the monastic life but in a world of ignorance, the educated were drawn towards each other. We lived in uncertain times. It was important to know what was going on, who was allied with whom, or otherwise, and who could be relied upon as a defender. The Abbots tolerated these ongoing connections in the interests of preservation. For all my interest in the outside world, I had heard nothing of Ieuan, for nearly 30 years. He must have kept himself well hidden. The sight of him tonight had been a shock.
Owain’s voice pulled me back out of my reverie.
“Magister, I’m sorry to interrupt your meditation but would ask you to come with me to my chambers. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I’d like to begin before the night gets much older.” I’d finished my food without being aware of it. The young King and his brother led us out the back of the hall and into the private rooms beyond.
4
The King’s Counsel
Owain’s apartments consisted of an ante-room, an audience-chamber, and two further rooms whose doors were filled with fabric hanging across them. Our party included the two brothers, Ieuan the Druid, the young girl I’d sat near at table, two more young women, me and two of the King’s attendants. Two further servants were attending in the room itself, one looking after the fire. The fat-soaked torches gave off more smoke than light and more smell than either. They cast flickering shadows into dark corners, which would have made anyone nervous of dark spirits, not only the superstitious. The shadows seemed to fly away as we came in.
“Leave us,” Owain ordered the servants. “Magister Anselm, may I formally present my wife, the Lady Gruach,” indicating the young girl from the dinner-table, “and her ladies, Olwen and Morag. Lady Olwen is our cousin, Lady Morag is my wife’s kinswoman and best friend from childhood.” The three girls curtsied and smiled, and I bowed politely in return. All three were about sixteen or seventeen, I guessed. Gruach was dressed in a fine green woollen robe with a light brown cloak edged in gold. Her red hair curled gently to below shoulder-length and hung free of any restraint but a narrow circlet of gold at her brow. Her bearing was upright and confident and she was undoubtedly pretty, in a youthful and unformed way. She could grow to become a rare beauty - if childbirth didn’t wear her out first. The other two were pleasant looking enough but without whatever extra dimension it was that their mistress possessed.
“Lad
ies, an honour and a pleasure it is to meet you all. To see you brings youth back to an old man’s heart.” The two ladies smiled; Gruach laughed out loud.
“You’ve missed your calling, Magister,” she said, “you should’ve been a courtier or a Bard. Your silver tongue would have brought you great fame.” Owain was smiling, too. I thanked her for her kindness and assured her I was in the right place, tucked safely away from the temptations of the world, which made her laugh all the more.
“Well answered, Magister. My Queen likes to tease,” Owain said. “Away with you now Gruach, if you please, and take your ladies with you. I have some taxing questions to ask Magister Anselm.” The three girls retreated, whispering, to the further chamber.
He removed his crown and tossed it casually onto a fabric-covered bench under the only window. It was little more than a war-helm made of leather and iron, with a crenelated circlet of dull gold at temple-level. It was strongly reminiscent of a Roman helmet but the neck-guard had been cut short and there were no cheek guards.
He unclasped his cloak of wool, dyed red, edged and braided with gold thread, and threw himself into a high-backed wooden armchair, which was already covered with layers of red cloth. He hooked a leg over one of the arms and immediately began swinging it. His hair, now released from the crown, was dark and braided and hung to his shoulders. His green tunic and leather leggings, bound at the calf, and solid-looking shoes were suitable for either riding or walking. In the privacy of his own chambers and the company of his most trusted advisers, he was quite relaxed.
I hadn’t been advised that he was married, although there had been reports that he had sought to forge an alliance with Fife. He nodded.
“I did, but Gruach isn’t from Fife,” he said. “I went there seeking a peace treaty, to be sealed with a marriage to one of the King’s daughters, the more senior the better. But every one they showed me looked like a horse’s backside, and I concluded that they were not really interested in peace with Strathclyde - or maybe more interested in an alliance with the Lothians and through them, Northumbria, for I learned that the oldest had left for Dunedin[6] shortly before my arrival. If she looked anything like her kinswomen, it was a lucky escape.” He chuckled again. “Anyway, their heart wasn’t in it, neither was mine, and I think we were both relieved when we encountered an insurmountable obstacle.”
“May I ask what that was, sir?”
“It was the dowry,” Owain smiled. “I demanded - or rather Ieuan demanded - an enormous amount for doing them the favour of marrying one of their mule-faced women, and they weren’t prepared to pay it. I tell you,” he continued cheerfully, “a lot of research went into finding the right amount. Just high enough so that they knew that negotiation wasn’t going to bring it down to a reasonable level, and yet low enough to avoid giving insult. Ieuan whispered and plotted the whole night long to come up with the right figure, didn’t you?” Ieuan smiled in agreement. The wrinkled, leathery smile of an old man.
“Your counsel and experience was valuable, Ieuan. It was a lucky escape for us and for Fife, too, I think, and you earned your promotion to High Druid that day.” Owain went on to explain that he had asked Alba permission to cross their territory on their return journey and that they had been summoned instead to meet the Alban king at Scone. The British were suspicious of their intent but they were offered a guarantee of safe conduct and Ieuan’s divinations indicated that the augurs were good.
I glanced across at the Druid but he was looking at the fire - very intently looking at the fire, I felt. Divination was usually the province of someone like me, one with the Sight; something I knew Ieuan did not have.
Strathclyde had already concluded a peace treaty with Alba after the Battle of the Fords at Stirling, which had ended in stalemate. Alba wanted to cement the peace with an alliance, an offer that Owain and Gawain received favourably. They had Gawain in mind for the cement, as they thought that Owain was committed but the outcome of the negotiations in Fife eased the path for the strongest alliance possible. Gruach was the third daughter of the Alban king and (more to the point) his queen; not senior enough to be likely to confer any rights of succession in that kingdom, where the ruler was traced through the female line, but close enough to make an honourable settlement.
“So you and the Picts of Alba have cemented your peace with a royal marriage, and have succeeded in outflanking the Kingdom of Fife regardless of their manoeuvres with Dunedin.” I observed.
“Exactly! Neither of them will dare try their luck with either of us. I couldn’t have planned it better myself - and nor could Ieuan, for that matter, devious Priest though he is.” I wasn’t so sure. I thought I caught a slight gleam in the Druid’s eye, though it was quickly hidden. “But enough of family matters. Sit down, Anselm.” I did so, gratefully, on a small wooden chair with a low back, draped with woollen cloth for comfort. Owain unhooked his leg from the chair arm and leaned forward, arms on his thighs and hands clasped together. Now, he was all business.
“Tell me about your mission to Whitby. What exactly is going on, and what outcome do you hope for.”
I found myself under the gaze of two very clear and piercing pairs of brown eyes as the brothers scrutinised me.
“I’m bound for Lindisfarne, sir.” I responded carefully.
“Don’t give me that, Anselm,” Owain responded irritably. “I know something of what’s going on, obviously more than you give me credit for. The scribes and clerks have been preparing the ground since midwinter. I’ve received an invitation from Oswy to attend myself, although I’m not a Christian. I may even know more about it than you, shut away on your windy rock, so don’t treat me like an ignorant fool. There are a lot of problems in these lands and I’m seeking the best outcome for us – for all of us. I’m not one of your cousins from Dalriada, interested only in fighting and cattle rustling.” I bristled slightly at the insult, but had to swallow it. I was a prince no longer. It was clear that I would have to tell more than I’d intended but the circumstances were not as Cunnian had believed when he gave me my instructions.
“I apologise, sir. I was unaware of your invitation and was acting under orders to be discreet. No offence was intended.” Owain nodded and waved for me to carry on. I confirmed that I was headed for Lindisfarne first, and then on to the monastery of Whitby, which was sited near the English town of Streanashalch. “King Oswy of Northumbria wants to see the arguments between the two Christian Churches, Roman and Irish, debated before him. He will then decide which route Northumbria is to follow.”
“And with it the rest of the English kingdoms?”
“That I don’t know for sure, but it may well be so. Since the Winwaed – “ I flinched a little at the mention of the name. My own defeat there remained upsetting, even though it was nearly ten years ago. “It would be logical to assume that other Christian English kings would be likely to follow Oswy’s example, whichever way he goes. The Romans are already strong in the south; Mercia is hardly even nominally Christian, but we have a few monasteries there. Penda never interfered in his people’s worship, so long as they turned out to fight for him when he demanded it.” My experiences of Penda had always been on a knife-edge. We had been both enemies and allies; at the Winwaed we had been on the same side, and had both lost. He was dead and my sanity had been shattered. “Essex is with the Romans but may change allegiance under Oswy’s influence. Kent will stay with Rome whatever, I think, and Sussex will probably go with them.”
“I agree,” Owain said. “So you Christians will spend a few days talking about your tonsures, the date of Easter and Free Will versus predestination. Maybe leavened with a heated debate on how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Why should we be involved?”
We had a discussion that veered several times too closely to doctrinal differences for Owain’s interest but he paid attention again when Gawain asked about reports that Roman bishops had taken to anointing kings – effectively placing themselves and their church above any coun
try’s rulers. I was able to confirm that this had happened; I had seen it myself, years earlier, in a petty mountain kingdom in the Alps. This was uncomfortable for the brothers and was the sort of incursion that they would be inclined to resist
I asked Owain if he would accept Oswy’s invitation to Whitby. He hesitated before explaining his reservations. The fact that he wasn’t a Christian at all would keep him outside the main debate and reduced to little more than backstairs intriguing - a position more suited to an advisor or ambassador than a king. He felt he would demean his status if he accepted such a role.
“But Oswy asked you to go sir,” I pointed out, “so maybe he thinks that you have something more to contribute. Maybe a reconciliation?”
“Oswy is a devious sod and I don’t trust him an inch.” Owain replied. Gawain nodded in agreement. “He’s made more than one conversion to his precious Christianity at the point of a sword and I wouldn’t put it past him to arrange my premature departure from this life, if he felt like it. Or maybe he’d hold me to ransom. At the very least I expect some kind of attempt at public humiliation. We were fighting each other just a few months ago and he’s inclined to take advantage of any hold he may think he has. I’m not prepared to go and put myself in his power, even if the Roman Church stirs up trouble. I am inclined to face that issue if and when it arises.”
I ventured that he could send Gawain in his place.
“Difficult. For all that everyone knows that my brother and I rule in harness - like your own system of the Dark Twins, Anselm,” Owain flashed a sidelong smile at me “If someone wished to take offence at a prince rather than the king being there it could cause real trouble. And Oswy’s just the man to take offence at a slight, real or imagined. Especially if he thinks it would give him leverage.”
It was intriguing that Oswy had invited Owain and he might be a supporter for us in the last resort, being favourably inclined to the church that had educated him. Even Ieuan, for all his loyalty to the Old Ways, was inclined towards some kind of presence although it was clear that his concern was to resist the return of the Romans, rather than to promote the Irish cause. The King was unsure. He brought the discussion to a close as the fabric leading to the Ladies’ chamber was thrown back and Gruach re-emerged and demanded his attention, which he was inclined to give. We rose as one as she entered the room.
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 4