There, like a child with a new toy, Owain showed us three large, open boats. They were ready crewed and were to be our transport for nearly thirty miles up the tidal stretches of the River Clyde, deep into his territory.
“The wind is favourable, the tide’s on the turn. In half a day, my friends, you’ll travel as far as you would in a day and a half. There is room for you and your goods, plenty of it.” He was right, the boats were significantly larger than the usual fishing smacks. They were as big as a war-craft - in fact, it occurred to me that they were war-craft but without subsurface rams and war crests. This was an innovation, and had its attractions for peaceful waters. The only ones that matched that description were tidal stretches of rivers well within the borders of settled kingdoms - like the Clyde. “Have a good journey, and come back and tell me whether this idea is useful. If it is, we will charge passage, but this trip is free. Visit us again soon.” The passengers clambered suspiciously aboard, some quite alarmed at the unsteady motion of the vessels as they moved around. Most of them had hardly set foot on a boat before, confining their trading trips to areas that could be reached by trails across solid ground. Their idea of a river-crossing was a sturdy bridge. The navigational experience of most of my fellow-passengers was limited to a dinghy rowed across a river or a calm, narrow loch.
A shriek of fear threatened to turn apprehension into panic. Authority was needed and it came immediately from Owain. His was a voice used to being obeyed.
“Sit down where you are!” All aboard did as they were told. “Follow the instructions of your pilots! You have no need to fear if you do as you are instructed,” he continued more quietly, when he had their attention. “The boats are stable but you must remain seated, otherwise the motion will be unsettling. You’ll be on board for only a few hours, then you’ll be on your way as normal.” The passengers settled again but were still nervous.
I would be the last to board the third vessel. I wasn’t perturbed at the prospect of water travel. I’d crossed rougher channels than the Clyde and in smaller vessels including the ubiquitous coracle, in which St. Columba and his friends had crossed the North Channel from Erin to Dalriada.
The Queen came to take her leave, followed by her two kinswomen.
“I wish you well on your journey Anselm, and on your mission to Whitby. I look forward to your return. Olwen and Morag insist that you come back soon, too. Owain likes you. You aren’t what he expected; neither the serious, dour sage nor the warrior. He prefers you the way you are. So do I.” I was pleasantly surprised at her familiarity and found myself liking her very much. I thanked her for her courtesy and returned good wishes to all of them, before making my way down the short jetty to where Owain was still giving orders as the first boat cast off. I managed to attract his attention.
“Anselm! I’d forgotten you. Quick, get aboard before your boat leaves without you.”
“Thank you Owain. This is a surprise, you always seem to have another up your sleeve.”
“Thank you, thank you. Now get aboard. I wish you well on your journey. Come back and let me know how things go for you. Oh, and Anselm,” he called as I was getting aboard, “I don’t know what went on with you and Gawain, he won’t tell me, so I find no fault in you. You’re very welcome here. The Queen looks forward to seeing you again! Goodbye now!” He was about to turn away but then he called back again, clicking his fingers. “Anselm! I meant to ask you. We thought you were dead! How did you escape the grave? Come back and tell me everything!”
With that, the boat was cast off from the jetty. The two junior members of the crew used the oars under the direction of the pilot to manoeuvre the craft out from the shore towards the main stream. The wind was fresh and the sail, when hoisted, filled out and tugged the craft eagerly out into the Clyde estuary and then towards the east, deeper into Strathclyde. Within moments the little fleet was leaving the castle and settlement of Dumbarton behind.
I enjoyed sailing. I found the rocking and the movement of the wind and the waves soothing but I was virtually alone in my pleasure. Whimpers of terror came from the other passengers, and not just the children. I tried to ease their fear as much as possible and made my way up and down the boat as carefully as possible, keeping out of the crew’s way, until I’d calmed all who could be. The others - including those on the other vessels - I assured of my availability if needed, then settled down to enjoy the voyage.
10
The Clyde
The tide ran swiftly but the wind was keen to beat it, wherever it was heading. It blew in from the west, laden with the scents of the land to our right and of the sea further on. It brought hints of grass, heather and daffodils from the sheltered valleys of Renfrew. It was an ideal direction and we would barely have to tack at all until we were well upriver. We were making astonishing progress. The passengers had mostly settled with resignation to whatever fate would throw at them, but a crosswave, or sudden gust of wind, or anything that caused an interruption to the rhythm of the boat could still prompt a cry of alarm.
One older woman in our boat would not be calm until she was back on dry land; she spent much of the first hour of the journey wailing and begging to be let off. Her family comforted her as best they could but her muffled weeping could still be heard from behind her shawl, wherein she had wrapped her entire face and held so tightly that there was some fear she might suffocate.
“Then we might all get some peace” the helmsman whispered to me, and I smiled in spite of myself. I was sitting in the stern, well away from her and her family. I’d tried to calm her but without success. I understood her fear and sympathised to an extent, but her continuous noise was enough to try the patience of the most pious and long-suffering of saints.
Eventually, she fell asleep. She may have worn herself out but I had come across cases where someone in extreme terror had simply lost consciousness. Maybe she’d reached that point. Whatever the reason there was quiet on the boat, for which everyone was grateful.
But it only lasted a few moments for the dame snored, and she did so loudly. Others in the company tried – with little success – to suppress giggles and guffaws but her family looked beyond embarrassed; mortified, more like. They tried to settle her into a position where her airways would remain clear. They failed, repeatedly, and some attitudes were worse than others. They finally decided, with general agreement, that her original position slumped against the gunwale produced the least disturbance.
“No peace for the wicked, nor the holy neither, Magister,” the pilot commented with a grin, “but I think I can put up with this racket more easily than the other. What say you?” I agreed. I asked him what he thought Owain had in mind with this idea of shipping up and down the Clyde.
“He wants to see more traders I understand, sir, or at least that’s what he said when he gave me the commission. He asked me because he knows I’m useless at anything but the boats, and I’ve rendered him good service at getting his fighting-men across the waters wherever he may be. From the Rhinns across the Ituna[18], across the Bay of Sands[19] to the south of Rheged, or over the Dee to Gwynedd, I’ve got them all across safely, and fast if the wind’s right,” he paused for a moment and dropped his voice before continuing. “But I think this idea has more to it than just ferrying traders about. Think on it. If the boats pay their way when there’s no fighting to be done, then he can afford to build more fighting boats - and he’ll have more troop transports to hand in an emergency.” I nodded in agreement. It would be in character with what I had come to know of the brothers, for them to have dual purposes in mind.
The pilot himself was clearly not British. He stood nearly six feet tall and his hair was lighter in colour than the norm, without being blonde. He spoke the language with a lilt and a hint of strange pronunciation. I concluded he was from Norway, and asked if that was the case.
“I am indeed, sir. Norse I am. I came over first time twenty years ago, when I was a young man. Our family farm was too small to divide between
four brothers on my father’s death and give any a decent living. I took the boat as my share, together with some goats and woollen cloth my mother wove for me, some bear furs to trade and I set off to plough the blue fields until I fetched up at these islands. I had to travel round a bit before I found somewhere I was welcome, but King Gwriad was a good man and he let me stay.
“I tried my hand at farming, but I was no good at it so I went on the fishing game,” he continued. “Did all right at that, had enough to trade for the meat and vegetables that would have died under my useless hands. And I went with King Owain - Prince, he was then - and Prince Gawain, up and down the coasts with them, bringing supplies for the army, and reinforcements if they needed them, which was often.”
I asked when he’d retired from the military life.
“I haven’t sir, not yet. I was with the King when he caught that party of pirates down in Rheged. It was me who raised the alarm when I saw the boat.”
He had features in common with the leader whose head decorated Owain’s hall. I hesitated before asking if he was uncomfortable, going against other Norsemen.
“No problem at all, sir. I say there’s good and bad all over, everywhere you go, and pirates are bad sorts wherever they come from. Norway, Strathclyde, Erin - where I believe you come from, sir, and we’ve had trouble with them, too - wherever they come from, they’re vermin as far as I’m concerned. Preying on women and children and simple farmers. I was pleased to get a couple of them myself. King Owain let me keep one of their heads, which I believe is the custom in these lands.”
I asked if he had been back to Norway. He nodded.
“I think I made the right choice in moving out. It doesn’t get any better over there, it’s been hard for them. It seems to be getting colder. The ground won’t take seed before spring, and then the crops don’t grow well. Some years are better than others. Up in the north, though, I hear it’s getting very hard.”
I suggested that the raiding party that Owain had caught might not be the last. The pilot nodded reluctantly.
“That may well be, sir, though I hope not. But people get desperate, and they’ll try anything. Let’s hope for all our sakes - here in Britain and over there in Norway, because I’ve still got brothers over there and family here, too - let’s hope that it doesn’t get any worse than it is already.”
He fell silent then, and I didn’t pry any further. When next the pilot spoke it was to ask me to move forward so that I wouldn’t be in the way when the boat had to start tacking through the bends in the river. Its winding course and the drop in the wind meant that progress would be the oarsmen’s job, although the incoming tide would continue to help, for a while.
We’d been on the water for about four hours and the sun was well down towards the horizon when the small fleet turned in towards the northern shore. We’d reached the furthest extent of safe travel on the river and were to disembark. There were mutterings that we were in the middle of nowhere, and where would we spend the night, there couldn’t be an Inn for miles, but were all assured that they would be well catered for. We found, to general surprise, that there was a jetty - recently made and pristine, without a single plank missing. The path from it through the lowlying ground led us to a small settlement about a mile distant. There was an Inn; it had recently extended on Owain’s orders, I learned, and with more than enough room for all. We were made very welcome, for a party of two dozen and more didn’t arrive very often, whatever their means of transport. Those who’d passed this way before were astonished to find how far we’d come in four hours: nearly thirty miles upriver. As Owain had promised, we’d covered a journey of a day and more in just an afternoon.
I asked to sleep in the barn, but a few words from the Pilot to the Innkeeper produced a smile on the plump man’s face.
“I have to tell you that that will not be possible, Magister. On the King’s orders, you are to sleep in a bed tonight. He allows that you need not have the best room but I am told that you are to sleep indoors on pain of a flogging - for both of us.” I had to give way but complained that all the soft treatment I was receiving would make me unsuitable for the monastic life.
I wanted to take my leave of the Pilot before retiring to my room for contemplation and prayer. I told the Innkeeper that I wouldn’t be eating with the company, but asked for bread, cheese and an apple if there were any left. He assured me there was. Then I turned to the Norseman.
“Well my friend, I don’t even know your name and I’d like to. You’ve been a good companion.”
“Per, son of Lars is my name. Per Larsson in my own language. And I thank you, Magister. Our talk made the journey pass quickly. And of course I know who you are. Anselm of the Community of saints on Iona, friend of our High Druid. I’ve been to Iona and have to say I found it a bleak place. I admire you and your companions for carving out a living there. Well Magister Anselm, I look forward to our next meeting. I trust you’ll pass this way again?” I replied that I’d been more or less ordered to return, and would not risk a flogging by avoiding this duty. Per laughed and we shook hands before I went upstairs to my room, where my supper was ready and waiting on the small table.
I offered a quiet prayer and afterwards sat and softly sang a couple of songs. I found it calming and mildly purgative, like a cool shower for the Soul. I entered a sort of light trance as I sounded the notes and words; I was sure they were deliberately designed to produce just such an effect. It was over an hour before I settled down to a sleep that was, for nearly the whole night, calm, dreamless and refreshing.
I knew I would be waking up shortly when the Vision began. I felt acutely aware and conscious of myself while in the middle of it. I remember thinking at the time that I was having to put up with the Sight rather a lot of late.
I was walking through long grass. It reached halfway up my calf and felt alive, manifested by a tingling like a stream coursing through it as I made my way. It was not pleasant.
I was in an area of open ground. I could feel, but not see, trees all around. I was not sure how big the clearing was.
In the centre there was a small stone slab, or maybe a boulder. It was rough hewn, hardly fashioned by Man, if tools had been laid to it at all. It was very old.
A tuneless chant seeped into the air from the ground. It was deep and sonorous and set the whole land vibrating, as if the earth itself was humming in harmony with the sound. I did not recognise the chant and the words were unintelligible but at the same time it was familiar. It reached back into my mind and coiled itself into the deepest recesses of my brain, seeking a home. It was sensual. It touched me in my heart of hearts and set up a resonance far within me. It curled caressingly round my hips and thighs and down between my knees and back up and stroked my loins, looking for a way in. It was hard to get to the stone. The volume rose and rose and I was invited to join in. It promised that there would be peace and harmony for me and such pleasure as I had never known. I could join in if I wanted to, and I did want to. I liked singing and the tune was so sweet, so heady and I was almost ready. I stood straight and opened my mouth and
repeated my song from the night before - it was my favourite. It told of a love that continued in triumph beyond the grave.
‘Death did not diminish Him, nor torture overthrow
The love there was for sinful Man, that His great Heart did hold
Though evil spells and wicked deeds
His body took and bore
His Heart was ever stronger, and always would endure.’
I would not give in. I heard a venomous hiss and it was over.
I sat up in bed and felt something close to violation, as if dead hands had caressed my skin. My flesh crept with revulsion and I wanted to be sick, the way I’d felt at the Glade the previous morning. A bowl stood on a small table in the corner of the room, with a stone jug half-filled with water in it. I grabbed the bowl, careless that I had knocked over the jug, heaved and retched and heaved again, but nothing came. There was noth
ing to come. I’d allowed nothing inside - but it had been terribly close.
“There will be other tests. Be strong,” someone said.
“Padhraig?” But there was no-one there.
Then the headache came but it was mild, almost as if I’d paid the price of the Vision during it, but it was still bad enough to warrant a small draught from my brown bottle.
I looked out of my small window at the night sky. The moon had set and the firmament was dark, which meant cloud cover. It might rain during the day, which would not be pleasant for the company when we started our walk up the valley that cut deep into the hills towards the south. The going would be muddy and I expected we would find some snow lying as we made our way to higher ground. The darkness also meant that I couldn’t be certain what time it was, but I was pretty sure that it was near to the hour for my morning office: close enough to make no real difference, anyway.
Afterwards I went outside for a walk in the early morning air. Full Spring was the best time for the dawn chorus but even at this early time the sound was sweet. Blackbirds were in evidence, as were robins of course, and a couple of early thrushes were competing for mates that may or may not be there. They had no need of words or structured songs; their very voices were a hymn of praise.
In a short time the eastern sky lightened enough for me to find my way easily. I hadn’t meant to walk so far: the Inn was almost a mile back. I turned to retrace my steps but then, seeing I was at the foot of a relatively low hill, I continued on up to the top.
The day was getting under way at the Inn. Someone came out of the door carrying two buckets and went into a barn. If there was cow’s milk I wanted some. Even after all these years I still found goat’s milk sharp and longed for the creamy, warm taste of the cow. I made my way as quickly as I could back to the friendly little building.
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 12