The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3)

by Ruari McCallion

  It had been my intention to find an easier way back out of the glade but now I was very frightened and speed was of the essence. The quickest way was the one you knew. Accordingly, I ran back across the open ground to the hedge as if all the Devil’s demons were after me. I paused at the entrance to the tunnel and looked back across the grass: my footprints were clear as if a light shone on every one, but I took a moment to calm myself. After a couple of deep breaths I could see that they were still visible in the dew but the Sun, which was gaining height and power, would soon burn off the rest of the moisture and it would be as if I had never been there. If no-one came here for another half hour, they would find no trace of me. Unless they could Divine it.

  I considered last night’s Moon: it had been well on the wane. The New Moon was not due for ten days and it was unlikely that the Glade would be used before then, at the earliest. So long as no-one with any Power came within the next week my presence and contact with the altar would, most likely, remain undiscovered. I fervently hoped so as otherwise I would be in danger of my life.

  There would be no raising of any churches here.

  I had to get away as soon as possible. I bent to crawl back through the tunnel, but then thought I heard something: someone crawling through the other way, confident of the route. I looked around urgently and spotted a stout branch, as thick as a forearm and a yard long, and I picked it up. I wouldn’t resort to any kind of violence if it could be avoided but I was in fear of my life. Only someone who had business here would come through the tunnel as confidently as this. I could hear the scuffling sounds getting closer. I stood to the left of the entrance, ready to bring my weapon crashing down on the head of the intruder.

  The crawling stopped, or at least I couldn’t hear it any more. Instead I could discern the faint sound of someone - or something - sniffing. Whoever or whatever it was seemed to be searching for me by smell.

  The silence in the glade was oppressive. There was just me, the quiet, and the sniffing. I could hardly bear it and willed whoever it was to come out and get it over with and it seemed my prayer was answered. The sound of the scuffling crawl resumed.

  I raised my makeshift club higher as I heard the attendant reach the end of the tunnel. I was ready, I was scared and I was desperate.

  Out came a badger. It turned its old man’s eyes towards me and sniffed. In times past, I would have rained blows down upon the creature without a moment’s hesitation, expecting it to be an enemy and only looking to identify the victim later but my years of training, thought and contemplation as a monk had made me wait until I could see what I would attack. I would be useless as a warrior now, I thought too much. But that thought had saved the badger’s life and the favour might well be returned. I let the stick fall to the ground behind me and addressed the creature.

  “Well, brother Brock, I am pleased to see you although I took you for a two-legged beast and not a four legged friend. I would say that this is no place for me so, if you will make room there, I’ll be on my way out of here. And if I can give you a word of advice, I would say that it’s no place for you either. Something wicked has happened here, and not very long ago either. I would sooner retrace my steps than remain here another moment, so if you don’t mind…”

  The badger had been staring at me the whole time I spoke and it seemed inclined to take my advice. It turned and shuffled off back through the hedge. I followed. The two of us exited the tunnel within seconds of each other and the badger, instead of going straight on out through the flap I had left open, turned sharp right and headed off where the undergrowth seemed to be less dense. Having replaced the flap with care to leave it as undisturbed as possible, I followed. The journey in had been difficult. If the badger knew a better way then I was all for it. I still had to crawl but the going was much easier. The path through the thorn bushes twisted and turned but consistently headed south: that was fine, it was the direction back to the Castle. I was getting back quicker than I’d got in although my knees and wrists were beginning to feel the strain. I pressed on and then felt something under my hand, larger and smoother than the stones that littered the place. I looked to see what it could be: it was a small statue or amulet, a rough representation of a male human. The eyes were pinpricks in the facial area and there was no nose or mouth unless a rough scratch across the lower half could be so described. The limbs were barely suggested but there was no mistaking the intention of the phallic protrusion from the lower body.

  The whole crude object was less than six inches in length, about the size of a child’s doll - and less useful, I thought. A doll could bring comfort but this graven image could not even give that. It was just so much stone, with no power at all. But I remembered where I’d seen one before - one morning at Innisgarbh - and who had taken it away from me and ordered me to forget it: Lucius. I could recall the incident as clearly as yesterday, since the spell of forgetting had been broken - not that I wanted to remember anything about it at all. I forced the image of the engorged penis from my mind. Ieuan had saved me from that evil man that day, and others besides. Lucius. Was Lucius at the root of my Visions? I found it easy to believe anything of him but I knew that my judgement would be influenced by my experience. I must not allow his dislike of the man to prejudice my judgement.

  I shook myself. No, of course it wasn’t Lucius. I had seen him dead at my feet, after the battle at the Ballaogh. There was no way it could be him. But that meant… There had to be disciples of Lucius, right here, in the heart of Strathclyde. Ieuan would have to be made aware.

  The talisman had a reputation that inspired fear among Christians and pagans alike. The reputation was that of Cromm Cruaich, a devil-god of Druidism, bringer of destruction and eater of human flesh. To it had been made the old Wicker Man sacrifices, when a huge human shape constructed of brushwood and cane had been filled with animals, enemies, virgins, witches or anyone else handy, and set on fire.

  I - like most others who had been brought up in Druidism - had believed that the Cromm cult had been suppressed and eliminated by the Romans. It was only ever an aberration of Druidism even at its height, but one that had for a while commanded a lot of support. Lucius and his crew had been committed to its revival.

  Who might be their followers here? Devil-worship will gain adherents from time to time, particularly when the world is in a state of flux, when material possessions were elevated to objects of worship and spirituality fell into contempt. The path of true spirituality did not offer immediate compensations and was unattractive to the self-seeking and, I had to concede, to those who were desperate. The poor, the starving, the dispossessed could be fertile ground but the richest harvest was from those who seemed to be better off; those who wanted more and felt themselves cheated if they didn’t get it. The desperate could be swayed by offers of immediate succour, but at the cost of their souls. It was a price that horrified me.

  There was no fear of the object itself - it was just a piece of stone - but to Cromm’s followers it was a symbol of power. Its owner would have been mortified that he had lost it. But it was old and the surface had been worn down: it could have been left there as its owner fled the vengeance of a Roman task force. It couldn’t have been earlier than the Romans, for it was after their example that the later druids had carved their small idols from stone; previously, they had been carved in wood. It was still uncomfortable though, with a resonance of the ancient malice of the god it represented and it went some way to explain why the altar felt so powerfully evil. I put it in my pocket. I would discuss it with Ieuan later: he had to know about it.

  My guide, the badger, had stopped to explore a pile of leaves while I considered the small statue. Now it looked at me and then turned and trotted on. I followed.

  We made good progress, the badger leading away from the clearer path and me following and in quite a short time we came upon a slightly thicker clump of thorn. The roof above the path came lower down but my guide continued undeterred. I wormed my way through and a
moment later emerged into normal forest again. I got to my feet and brushed off the worst of the dirt and detritus I’d collected on my habit. I couldn’t get myself completely clean but the rest would wait until later. The badger snuffled around at the edge of the hedge in a desultory fashion until I spoke to him again.

  “I thank you, master guide. Without your assistance I would’ve been much longer and my journey would’ve been less informative. I bid you good fortune, good day and God’s blessing.” This seemed to be good enough for the badger, who sauntered off into the undergrowth again. I watched him until he’d disappeared, then I looked up at the clear blue sky and smiled. Badgers were nocturnal, and this one was out and about in the clear daylight.

  Feeling that my God was with me lightened my heart as I set off back towards the Castle. I was almost cheerful. Owain would require my presence soon and it would not be good to keep him waiting twice in the same day.

  It took the better part of an hour to return to Dumbarton, climb the path up the Rock and return to the Keep. I had plenty of time to consider whether or not the King or Ieuan knew about the Druid Glade so close to the capital. It was most unlikely that Owain would. He was a follower of druidism, as was his brother, but he would be at a very junior rank, if he was in the priesthood at all. He was king of a warlike kingdom and his prowess in battle was more important than his spiritual qualities. The same applied to Gawain. They would, most likely, be occasional worshippers, attendants at the four major feasts of the year and they may have had the central role at Bealtane, Owain in particular as he was ‘married to the Land’ as King, but otherwise they were probably not involved. The Druids guarded their secrets carefully and while kings took counsel from them and even, as Ieuan had testified that morning, required Divination and Sight of their advisers, but that didn’t make the monarchs high initiates, any more than a Christian king who talked regularly with his local Abbott became a priest by doing so.

  Anyway, the glade was old and obscure and very well hidden. It wasn’t used regularly. It was most probably the meeting-place of an isolated and secretive group of renegades. I’d certainly not discerned anything like suppressed evil from Owain: if anything, the opposite. The young man was arrogant and could be thoughtless but he was essentially good. The evil I’d felt from the altar was overwhelming. If he had been infected by whatever practices went on there, Owain would not have been able to conceal it from my Gift.

  Which left Ieuan. He had given me concern from the moment I saw how wizened he’d become, and the conversation earlier in the day had made me more disturbed. But still, there was no feeling of evil coming from him, not even when he had attempted to put me under a spell. Whatever it was he was hiding deeply troubled him, but it was most likely to be conducted in private. He healed hurts through his Gift, he couldn’t possibly be involved in anything as evil as the devilry I’d felt. He simply couldn’t. It would be against his nature; the man I knew could no more do such things than a cow could be a horse. He may know who might be involved, however, and he should be informed as quickly as possible in order that the Circle be broken up before it could spread.

  My ruminations had brought me quickly back to the hill leading up to Dumbarton and I was approaching the hut which contained the sick child. A guard was standing outside and he stepped across the door to block my way as I made to go in.

  “No-one is allowed in there, Magister. The Lord Druid is inside.”

  “I sent for him to come here and I may be able to help. I’m a friend from long ago.”

  “I know that, Magister, everyone in the Castle does,” the sentry replied. He was the same one who had warned me against wolves on my way out. “But I’m under the strictest orders to allow no-one in.”

  “What if the King came down here? Would you keep him out?”

  “I would tell him my orders.”

  “But would you keep him out if he insisted on going in?”

  “I am sworn to his service. I could not keep him from anywhere he insisted on going.”

  “And what if I insist on entering?”

  “You’re not the King, and I’m not sworn to your service.” The guard was not overtly threatening me but it was clear that force would be used, if he deemed it necessary to keep me out of the hut.

  “Then you leave me no choice,” I said, and stepped back. “I’ll be on my way back up to the Castle. Would you do me the favour of advising Father Ieuan that I would very much like to see him before I depart. Oh,” I continued, “and pass on my thanks to him that he answered my call”

  “I shall do that, Magister. And thank you,” the guard responded.

  “What for?”

  “For not making me stop you by force. Others would’ve. I did not wish to hurt you but I would have done so if I had to, and I would’ve got into trouble with the King.” I nodded and continued up the then hill to the Keep.

  As I entered the building I met a servant walking purposefully down the corridor, who almost recoiled when he saw me. He looked alarmed.

  “What’s the matter, friend? You look startled,” I asked, though I thought I knew the answer. The other took a moment to compose himself while I regarded him calmly and, I hoped, kindly. “Well?” The servant swallowed hard then replied with a nervous stammer.

  “M-m-m-Magister, I was just s-s-sent to l-look for you, not a m-m-m-minute ago.”

  “Well, you’ve found me.” The servant was still regarding me nervously, so I prompted him gently. “As I say, you’ve found me. And what message was it you were to deliver to me? That the King requires my presence?” The servant could only nod, if anything even more anxious. His eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way round his brown pupils. “You’ve delivered it, swiftly and well.” The servant remained rooted to the spot. “I presume you have other business to be about?” The servant nodded again. “Then you may be about it and maybe even finish sooner than you thought. If you do you may find you have a few quiet minutes to yourself, when you’d expected to be busy all day. That’s a pleasant prospect, I’m sure, yes?” The servant nodded again. I was teasing the poor man and after the way I’d felt about Owain’s antics this morning I should really know to behave better, and so I decided to set him at ease. “I knew King Owain would want to see me,” the servant took an involuntary step back away from me, and I smiled: “because he asked me this morning to attend him before luncheon. I began to feel hungry, so here I am.”

  The servant breathed out heavily and his shoulders dropped as if he’d just released a great burden.

  “Oh, my Lord, I mean Magister. I can’t tell you what a relief it is that it isn’t magic that brought you here. They were saying below the stairs that you were a magician, and dangerous.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said that I didn’t believe it, that you didn’t look like a magician, nor even behave like a Druid, though you have the same hair.” By which he meant my tonsure.

  “And was there, perhaps, a small wager involved?” The servant smiled and nodded.

  “Yes, Magister.”

  “Well, you win that one. Tell your friends that you have it on the highest authority - mine - that I am not, never have been, and never will be, a magician. Remember to share your winnings charitably with those who’ve lost to you.”

  “Yes, Magister,” the man replied, though he looked a little crestfallen. Then he perked up again. “And there was another wager, from one who said you had the Sight.”

  “You lose that one, I’m afraid. I do indeed bear that burden. But it’s nothing that need frighten you.” The servant’s head dropped again.

  “Then all I’ve won, I lose. I should’ve known. Iolo normally never bets, he must have known. It’s not fair.”

  “It seems perfectly fair to me. You’ve lost what was never yours to begin with and would have been ill-gotten had you retained it. Let that be a lesson to you. The best reward comes from work and devotion, not from blind chance. But I’ll have to pray for this astute Iolo�
��s soul before he becomes too enamoured of wagering.” I looked keenly at the servant, who I could see was quite young.

  “I’ll also pray that the path of love runs smooth. She must be worth more than a kiss won in a bet, if she’s worth anything. Off you go now, and don’t worry about me. I can find my way to the King’s quarters. He’s in his chambers, is he?” The servant shook his head.

  “No, Magister, he’s in the Great Hall, where we had the feast last night.”

  “I will find him there - and you see? My Gift isn’t infallible. I didn’t know where the King was!” I smiled again and offered a blessing to the young man, who hesitated a smile in return and then bowed briefly before running off to be about his other chores. They would be many, I was sure. The few moments of leisure he could gain from the day would be welcome and precious.

  Did I see into his mind about the girl who had caught his eye? No; no Gifts or extraordinary powers were necessary to discern the desires of a young, single man who had hardly any time on his hands. Even I was young, once.

  9

  Judgement Day

  In the Hall, Owain and Gawain were holding court. Queen Gruach was also in attendance but of Ieuan there was no sign. A gaggle of interested spectators, made up of warriors low and (in greater number) high, some citizens, a clerk who noted everything that passed, and friends, family and neighbours of participants muttered and milled around the floor. A high-ranking Druid sat in Ieuan’s chair but it seemed that he was a mere spectator himself. He was mostly not consulted at all but, every so often, the royal ‘trinity’ remembered him and courteously asked his opinion. His expression betrayed the fact that he was not enjoying the experience in the least. Druids were normally treated with much greater respect. They had power and a role to fulfil in arbitrating on points of Law. They guarded their status as Keepers carefully and I knew of a number who so loved their positions that they could lecture for hours on tiny points of ambiguity, on special circumstances and on precedent and practice. To be fair, I knew of Christian priests and monks who would do the same and such prelates were the bane of ordinary folk and busy kings. Simple cases could last for hours with their help, and sessions like this one could go on for days or weeks until everyone was exhausted or had slipped away. Owain had evidently decided that this wouldn’t happen today, so his consultations were as brief as possible, usually asking no more than whether or not the Druid disagreed strongly with the decision already taken.