“You have me, Ciaran. My Master would not let me go.” He groaned. “Can you forgive me?”
“It’s not in my power, Ieuan.”
“You - “ he coughed and doubled up with the pain of it. How he managed to cough, God only knew - I didn’t. The man had no stomach muscle left to cough with. “You don’t bind on Earth and loose in Heaven?”
“No.”
“Can God forgive me?”
“There are no limits to His mercy, but nor to His justice. But you have to ask. You have to come to Him. He won’t make you.” Ieuan fell silent, and I thought he’d died already, and prepared to make a final prayer, but then there was some laboured breathing.
“Baptise me, Anselm. I -” he fell silent, then breathed again. “I’m sorry.” His eyes closed, but his lungs still fought for breath.
Baptise him. Sweet Jesus, where? There was no water nearby.
But there was the pool. I could baptise him in that pool. If the sacred place would accept him there was a chance for his soul.
I picked Ieuan up in my arms and I
ran.
The pool wasn’t far. A mile back, where they’d left the horses. Ieuan was
light as a feather
I could carry him
forever.
“Help me, Ciaran,” he whispered.
I flew now. My feet were ten feet above the ground. I could hardly hold Ieuan down, he was so light.
The pool wasn’t far, but I could
feel Ieuan’s heart beat fainter
My hand was wet, my sleeve was wet with Ieuan’s blood. There couldn’t be much time left.
Time must accommodate me. I ran past a sparrow, caught in flight, its wings barely crawled to beat their path as I raced past. The horses were in the way and I jumped over them
Godwin saw me approach at unbelievable speed and leap straight over the horses, the bundle I was carrying trailing blood and intestines. He shivered violently and sat down. It was too much for one day.
I came to ground and turned a corner and
the pool was there. I splashed straight in to the freezing shallows.
“Help me, Ciaran. I’m sorry. For the children.”
“I am Anselm. A Priest of the Irish Church. We are at a holy pool. There is hope. Do not despair.” I carried him into the water and he was so light he floated. I held him in my arms, determined that the current wouldn’t take him away. “What do you seek of Christ’s Church?”
Ieuan’s lips moved but there was no sound.
“Ieuan, what do you seek of Christ’s Church?”
The Druid’s lips moved again.
“Forgiveness,” he whispered.
“Baptism, Ieuan, the answer is baptism. What do you seek of Christ’s Church?”
“Baptism,” he whispered and sighed.
“Ieuan,” I shook him, “Ieuan, I’m going to ask you some questions. Squeeze my hand if the answer is yes. Hold on, Ieuan.” The Druid’s eyes were closed and the body was all but lifeless. The pool was red with blood and the ripples over the rocks were turning pink with it. “Ieuan, do you reject Satan?”
A squeeze.
“And all his empty promises?”
A squeeze.
“And all his pomps?”
A squeeze.
“And all his lies and deceits?”
The faintest pressure.
“And do you accept Our Lord Jesus Christ is the Son of God, your Saviour and Redeemer?”
Nothing.
“Ieuan, do you accept Christ?”
Nothing.
“Ieuan! Ieuan!” I shook him again. “Do you accept Christ as your Saviour and Redeemer? The Son of God?”
A squeeze, as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wings.
“I baptise you in the Name of the Father,” I put my hand over Ieuan’s mouth and immersed him briefly, desperately, “and of the Son,” immersion again, “and of the Holy Spirit,” immersion again, “Amen.”
His lips moved, then he sighed, then he was dead.
“And may God have mercy on your soul.” I smelt the aroma of apples: my friend had gone. Then there was the smell of burning ash. Then there was nothing.
There is forgiveness but there is punishment too. What had he gone to? Had he gone anywhere or had he been ejected from the Circle of Life?
I cradled Ieuan’s empty body in my arms and held it to myself and stood in the freezing water and remembered him as I wanted, a smiling, beautiful, kind youth, a healer and my good friend. He saved my life, twice – no three times. Maybe more. I held him as his blood was washed away by the stream, over the rocks, and away. Then I shook myself, hauled him out of the pool and dropped his soaking, ravaged body on the bank and nearly collapsed alongside it. I dragged myself up and rested against a rock.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “I don’t think I’m made for it.”
“For what?” Godwin asked. He had arrived, unnoticed.
“Forgiveness,” I said. “I don’t think I can do forgiveness.”
“Anselm – “ I interrupted him.
“Ciaran,” I said. “My name is Ciaran. I am a prince of Donegal.”
Author’s notes:
The Legends, History and Characters
While `The Monk’ is a work of fiction, not a history book, some of the events actually happened, and some of the characters lived, in the 7th Century.
The Battle of Winwaed
In AD 654 or 655, catastrophic defeat in the Battle of Winwaed broke the power of Mercia and handed it to Northumbria, under King Oswy. It was a major turning point in Seventh Century Britain.
More information can be found in Lockeran, published 2016.
The Synod of Whitby
This took place at Whitby Monastery, Yorkshire, in 664AD. The principal sources for the actual history of the event are the Venerable Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People and The Life of Wilfrid, by one Stephen of Ripon. Both books were published in the early 8th Century, so more than 40 years after the event itself. Bede’s version is generally held to be the more reliable, as he knew people who attended and/or were acquainted with people who did.
While it has to be recognised that he was writing on behalf of the ‘winning side’, and so will have tended to favour the superiority of the Roman practices over those of the Irish (Celtic/Ionan) Church, he was not entirely dismissive of the values and status of Colman and his fraternity.
The speeches by Wilfrid and the decision by Oswy are based firmly upon Bede’s record of events.
Why was it important? Today’s world is often described as either irreligious or ‘post-religious’, this is a divergence from human history. Religion has been an important factor in civilisation and the establishment of ordered society since before recorded history.
For people in the 7th Century, correct practice was, literally, a matter of life and death. Political and religious issues were inextricably intertwined; it is the historical and political implications that attracted me to the episode of the Synod of Whitby.
At that time, Christianity in Britain and Ireland was dependent on royal patronage; kings themselves, in their turn, increasingly depended on the Church to confer legitimacy on their status and to their infant and vulnerable states. A strongly local church with distinctive practices could be a source of great support to a fledgling kingdom; the political elites and religious hierarchy would often be interwoven. By contrast, the Roman connection introduced foreign influence beyond the control of local rulers so it was, in that way, a potential threat, as Anselm discussed with Owain and Gawain. On the other hand, it allowed rulers to display themselves on a wider, European stage, and reinforced their claims to legitimacy. That itself was also a two-edged sword; on the one hand, the Roman anointing indicated a divine succession; if a ruler transgressed sufficiently, however, and was excommunicated, the people were freed from any obligations to accept their authority.
The significance of the Synod of Whitby is that it uni
ted the religious practices of Northumbria, the most powerful English kingdom, into the wider Roman Church. Other states, vassal and otherwise, tended to follow. Once Northumbria’s favour had been withdrawn the Irish church lost Lindisfarne, the most influential monastery it had. Iona was the ‘mother house’ but, as Per Larsson observes, it is a windswept island at the edge of the world! It was a long way from any court or centre of influence.
The Celtic , or Irish Church
Exactly what the practices of the Irish Church were and how precisely it differed from Rome has been the subject of debate over many years. Some have portrayed it as a “Protestant church before Protestantism”. I have incorporated some elements of this, without adopting or endorsing the theories. It differed with Rome on the calculation of the date of Easter (it tended to follow the Jewish method of calculation for the date of Passover), in its style of tonsures, and its organisation. Rather than the diocesan model of Rome, with its network of parishes adhering to regional centres of authority, it was based around monasteries and ‘missionary’ activity. It survived for a few years after Whitby, at Iona, at some other kingdoms, and in parts of Continental Europe; it was Iona that was the model for many of the monasteries in the middle of the First Millennium.
The following characters mentioned in the story did exist and attended the Synod:
Colman, Abbott of Lindisfarne 661-664; founder of the monastery at Mayo and Abbott of Innishboffin, Ireland. d675
Cedd, Abbott of Lastingham. He died of the Plague in October 664, about six months after the Synod.
Chad, Cedd’s brother, followed him as Abbott of Lastingham. d672.
Cuthbert was born or fostered around Melrose Abbey. He is reported to have entered holy orders in 651 and may have seen military service before then. He gained a reputation as a great teacher, preacher and healer, who followed a dramatically ascetic life. He retired in 676 to the Farne Islands, off Lindisfarne, having been Prior at Melrose Abbey and at Lindisfarne. Elected Bishop of Hexham in 684, he refused to accept the position. He was finally persuaded to accept a bishopric but swapped Sees with Eata, who had moved from Melrose to become Bishop of Lindisfarne. Cuthbert was famed for missionary work across the kingdom and founded a number of churches and religious institutions. He is the Patron of Durham Cathedral. d687
Hilda, Abbess of Hartlepool, founder and Abbess of the Abbey at Whitby, d680. She gained a reputation for being a very capable administrator and educator. The ammonite genus Hildoceras is named for her; she was claimed to have turned a plague of snakes into stones, the supposed proof being the presence of ammonite fossils on the seashore by the Abbey.
Wilfrid was raised at Whitby, studied at Lindisfarne, Canterbury and Rome. At the time of the Synod he was Prior of Ripon; he was subsequently appointed Bishop of Northumbria by Oswy’s son, Ahlfrith, became Bishop of York and headed monasteries at Hexham and Ripon. Wilfrid had a number of disagreements with the local clergy (he refused to be consecrated Bishop in England, maintaining that the Succession was uncertain; he went to France instead) and the Northumbrian court. Ecgfrith, another of Oswy’s sons, had him imprisoned for a while. Aldfrith, another son, had him exiled and even excommunicated. He seems to have been a tireless promoter of his cause, without consideration of his own safety. He died in 709 or 710 and has been venerated as a saint for over 1000 years.
Agilbert was the son of a Neustrian (Frankish) noble. Despite being unable to speak English he was made the first Bishop of Wessex, with his seat in Dorchester. His inability to speak English compromised his nominal leadership of the Roman faction at Whitby and he handed over to Wilfrid. d673.
King Oswy of Northumbria see below.
Queen Eanfleda of Northumbria was not Oswy’s first wife; it is not certain whether he was married twice or three times. Who exactly their children were is also not completely clear. She was the daughter of King Edwin of Northumbria and Aethelburga, whose father was King Ethelbert of Kent. I have portrayed her in this book as being younger than most reports. She was Hilda’s sister; some sources describe her merely as Hilda’s kinswoman. When Oswy died in 670, Eanfleda took the veil and succeeded Hilda as Abbess of Whitby. d685
Romanus Eanfleda’s chaplain.
Completely accurate, disinterested and unbiased reports of the characters of the people mentioned above are not available. I have sought to make the characters three-dimensional, to portray them as people with faults, failings and fallibilities, not as ‘plaster saints’. I hope they will forgive me for liberties taken in the interests of the story. Where fact and “interesting” collide, I have gone for interesting!
King Oswy (also known as Oswiu or Oswig) of Northumbria is worth a book all on his own. He was aged 58 when he fell ill and died, at the end of a very eventful life.
He was the third child of Aethelfrith, who established the first great kingdom of Northumbria; his lands extended from the heart of what is now Scotland all the way south to Mercia, in the English Midlands. He was killed and deposed in 616 by Edwin, King of Deira – the southern kingdom of Northumbria – when Oswy was just four years old. Oswy himself then went into exile in either Dalriada or Ireland and is said to have returned to his homeland when he was around 21. His brother, Oswald, succeeded to the throne of Bernicia, the northern Northumbrian kingdom. They were harassed for much of his reign by Mercia, the dominant English kingdom, under King Penda, who defeated and killed Oswald at the battle of Maserfield in 642. Oswy then inherited the kingship in Bernicia and sought to strengthen his claim to lordship over Deira by marriage. It didn’t work out very well; the aristocracy of Deira appears to have resisted him pretty firmly and to have sided with Penda on several occasions between 642 and 655, when Mercia was finally defeated at the Battle of the Winwaed (see “Lockeran”).
Oswy achieved the status of ‘Breatwalda’ (Overlord) of the English kingdoms but it didn’t last for long. Within three years his son-in-law Peada, Penda’s son, was dead – possibly at the hand of Eahlflæd, Oswy’s daughter. Mercian nobles then revolted and installed Peada’s son as the new king. Siegbehrt of Essex, an ally, was murdered and replaced by his brother Swithhelm, who distanced himself from Northumbria without coming out in open opposition.
Oswy appears to have been married at least three times; to an Irish princess named Fin, possibly the mother of Aldfrith; to Rhianfellt of Rheged, mother of Eahlfrith; and to Eanfleda.
Iona the Monastery at Iona was founded in 563 by St Columba, an Irish monk who had fled the country of his birth after a family disagreement turned violent. He founded a number of churches and monasteries in the West of Scotland. A very old chapel with claims to have been founded by Columbus can be found on Isle Oronsay, south of the Island of Colonsay, in thee Inner Hebrides of Scotland.
Iona was the ‘mother house’ of the Irish Church in Britain; its missionaries spread further afield than that, even onto mainland Europe.
It was an important religious house and centre of learning until the Viking raids during the 8th and 9th Centuries. The monastery was formally abandoned and its treasures divided between its daughter institutions in 849.
The Book of Kells was begun in Iona before being moved to Kells in Ireland.
Lindisfarne Abbey was established by Abbott Aidan in 634, at the request of King Oswald of Northumbria, as a daughter house of the Abbey at Iona. It followed the Irish/Columbine Rule until the Synod of Whitby. Churches in Northumbria and Mercia looked to it as their ‘mother church’.
Lindisfarne was sacked by Vikings for the first time in 793; the Abbey was abandoned and all its treasures – including the Lindisfarne Gospels – were removed and sent to other institutions for safe keeping.
The remains of the medieval Abbey can still be seen on the island, which is accessible at low tide.
Ynys Witrin - The Isle of Glass.
Better known today as Glastonbury. It is located on a hill that rises out of what was salt marsh and land lying below sea level in the north of Somerset, in SW England. It is best know
n today for the nearby music festival that is named after it, but remains a centre of ’spirituality’.
Strathclyde one of a number of Dark Age British kingdoms (NB – not Gaelic, English or Pictish; the closest equivalent today is Welsh). Its capital was Dumbarton, Scotland, which is located where the River Leven flows into the Firth of Clyde, on the north bank. Who exactly was king from 658 to 694 (and especially 658-670) is not entirely clear or certain, which has enabled me to slip Owain and Gawain into the history. History tells us that its greatest extent included what is now known as Galloway – SW Scotland – and Cumbria, in NW England. For a few brief years, under Owain and Gawain, it extended further, to what is known today as Cheshire, on the borders of North Wales.
Northumbria. After the Battle of the Winwaed (see “Lockeran”), Northumbria became the strongest English kingdom in Britain, extending from the Lothians area of Scotland south to The Wash. It was never peaceful and completely settled, however. The ruling families of its two core kingdoms – Bernicia in the north and Deira to the south – were at daggers drawn for most of its existence. Oswy imposed a degree of stability, through force of personality and of arms, as well as a number of strategic marriages – both his own and those of his children. The kingdom finally collapsed 200 years after the events in this book, under attack from the Viking Army of Halfdan Ragnarsson and Ivar the Boneless in 867.
“Come now, my Prince of Donegal”
Originally created to protect Ciaran (see Innisgarbh), This ‘phrase of power’ became a vulnerability, until the ‘programming’ was broken by one of Anselm’s brother monks in the Community of Iona.
Anselm’s Britain
British (Welsh) kingdoms: Strathclyde, Rheged, Gwynedd, Powys, Gwent, Morgannwg, Dumnonia
English and Saxon kingdoms: Northumbria, Mercia, Anglia, Wessex, Kent.
Irish/Scottish kingdoms: Donegal, Dalriada
Pictish kingdom: Alba
*
[1] Black Mountain
[2] Galloway and Cumbria
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 39