by H A CULLEY
‘If he does I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me, Iuwine. Are you on friendly terms with him? Perhaps you could ask him?’
‘What, no, not at all. It was just a thought.’
‘Good. Then it just remains a matter of who to send to find Talorgan.’
‘Perhaps you should send your nephew? He has the right status to speak with the King of Cait,’ the irrepressible Iuwine suggested.
‘Really? Œthelwald?’
‘Yes, he is Talorgan’s cousin after all.’
Oswiu was tempted to dismiss Iuwine’s suggestion as stupid, but then he thought that the man might actually have had a good idea for once. Such a mission did require someone of status to lead it so it would have to be a member of the royal family or one of his eorls. Bran, King of Cait, was a pagan barbarian and he could afford to lose Œthelwald rather than one of his eorls, except perhaps Iuwine, if it all went wrong.
‘Excellent idea, Iuwine. Thank you.’ Then he had another thought. ‘And I’d like you to go with him to guide and assist my nephew.’
‘Me? No, I couldn’t possibly….’
‘No, I insist. You’ll be invaluable to young Œthelwald.’
It would almost be worth failing to locate Talorgan if those two disappeared, he thought, but was then ashamed of wishing them ill, however aggravating they might be.
~~~
Talorgan and Ròidh were a long way from Cait so Œthelwald and Iuwine were destined to have a fruitless search. When they had fled with Ròidh’s priests and Talorgan’s gesith they had indeed headed north and told everyone they met that they were headed for Cait. However, once they reached the land over which Ròidh’s father had once been king, they headed for the River Oich that connected the loch of that name and Loch Ness. Two weeks after evading Talorc’s army as it closed on Dùn Dè, they reached the crannog on Loch Ness that was the home of the present king – Ròidh’s younger brother, Fergus. Their arrival didn’t start well.
As they approached the crannog they were met by Fergus’ war host. Fifty men armed with spears and shields barred the path along the lochside. It was fortunate that they didn’t have any archers as the warriors were obviously nervous. There were thirty men in Talorgan’s gesith and ten of those did have bows. Each man quickly nocked an arrow to his bow string and began to draw it back.
‘Wait!’ Talorgan commanded before things got out of hand. ‘Lower you bows and put your arrows away.’
He turned to the band of Picts.
‘We come in peace. I’m Talorgan, King of Prydenn and this is Ròidh.’
‘Ròidh?’ the man who appeared to be their leader asked incredulously. ‘I thought you long dead. Why have you returned? And why are you dressed like a priest?’
‘It’s good to see you too, Fergus,’ Ròidh replied, a trifle ironically. ‘I look like a priest because I’m the Bishop of Prydenn.’
‘You haven’t come back to claim the throne then?’
‘No, I didn’t want it when I left over twenty years ago and I don’t want it now. I’m a churchman and my only desire is to serve God and my people.’
Fergus relaxed and smiled.
‘Welcome home, brother. I was only eight when you left but I seem to remember that we were friends then and I hope we can be again.’
‘That is my desire too, Fergus. Is Mother still alive?’
‘Yes, very much so. You broke her heart when you left. I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to see you again. She’s much changed, of course; she’s an old woman now.’
‘Are you a Christian, Fergus?’
‘Of course. Though our bishop is now bedridden and likely to die soon. I’ve been meaning to send to Iona for a replacement.’
‘Aren’t any of your priests fit to succeed him?’ he asked as, with Fergus on one side and Talorgan on the other, they started to walk along the track that ran beside the loch leading their horses.
‘There are priests in Ardewr, of course, but only one has the ambition to be a bishop and I don’t think he’s the right person.’
‘Well, I’m here now. Perhaps I can help until a proper replacement arrives, even consecrate a replacement.’
‘Thank you. I’d be grateful. I still haven’t got used to the idea of you being a bishop. But the fact remains that I don’t think that there’s anyone suitable to succeed Bishop Keiran amongst my priests.’
When they reached the crannog Ròidh noticed that not much had changed, except the size of the settlement that had grown up on the side of the loch. It covered twice the area it had over two decades ago, and the church was much larger than the one that Brother Finnian and he had built.
An old woman with grey hair stood with two guards at the end of the walkway that connected the crannog that stood on stilts in the loch and the shore. Ròidh still recognised Genofeva, despite the passing of twenty three years. For a moment he was tempted to rush to greet his mother, but then he remembered that she had betrayed his father with the king’s younger brother. Ròidh’s uncle had then killed his father, albeit in a fair fight, so that he could become king. He didn’t believe that his mother had been party to his father’s death, but the fact remained that she had been conducting an affair with his uncle behind his father’s back and later she’d married him. In the past he had had difficulty in forgiving her betrayal, but he knew that it was his Christian duty to do so and eventually he’d managed to put it behind him.
‘Mother,’ Fergus called out, ‘prepare a feast for our guests, Talorgan of Prydenn and his bishop.’
He turned to Ròidh and spoke to him quietly.
‘She won’t recognise you, her eyesight isn’t what it was. If you don’t wish to be known to her after what happened to father, I’ll understand.’
‘No, it’s alright. It was long ago now and one thing I have learnt is how to absolve the sins of others. Did you find it easy to live under our uncle’s rule?’
‘Of course not, but I learned to hold my tongue and hide my true feelings. Mother never forgave him for killing father, you know. It was not a happy marriage. I know she took a potion to make sure she didn’t have his children.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He took me fishing out on the loch when I was fourteen. Perhaps I didn’t hide my true feelings as well as I thought as he tried to push me over the side. I was ready for him though and threw myself flat into the bottom of the boat. He was taken by surprise and stumbled over the side. In my panic to rescue him I accidently hit him over the head with an oar and he sunk below the waves, never to reappear. We never did find his body.’
‘Accidently? Most fortuitous. And you’ve been king ever since?’
Fergus nodded as his mother joined them.
‘Mother, this is King Talorgan. Talorgan, this is my mother, the Lady Genofeva.’ But she wasn’t paying him any attention.
‘Ròidh? It is you isn’t it? Oh Ròidh, you’ve come back after all this time.’
So much for her not recognising me, he thought. He smiled, realising for the first time that he had not only forgiven her, but he was glad to see her again.
‘Yes, mother, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s been so long.’
She held his shoulders and looked into his eyes before pulling him into an embrace.
‘Forgive me,’ Genofeva whispered.
‘I have. I only feel love for you.’
She started weeping and Ròidh took her arm as they walked along the walkway towards the king’s hall on the crannog. Suddenly he looked down and realised that this was the spot where he’d been fishing the day that Brother Finnian and Aidan had arrived and changed his life. How long ago that seemed now.
Fergus stopped to give instructions for the gesith to be taken to the warriors’ hall and Ròidh’s priests to a guest hut near the church before he and Talorgan followed them.
The next day, nursing something of a hangover from the welcome feast that his mother and brother had laid on, Ròidh went into the church to visit the grave of Finnian, the Irish monk who ha
d brought Christianity here. He had been murdered by a druid called Uisdean, who had been shackled and thrown into the depths of the loch in retribution. Finnian had been laid to rest beneath the altar of the old church. That had been replaced but the new altar was in the same place as the old one. As he got up from his knees he noticed that there was an engraved stone next to the altar and he saw that it was the resting place of the first bishop who had arrived from Iona just before he left. The present bishop, Kieran, was presumably his replacement.
Next he went to see Kieran. His hut next to the church was primitive with a floor of beaten earth, a central hearth, a bench and table, and a small bed. The bishop lay in the bed being fed some broth by a boy of about ten or eleven, who got up a bowed when Ròidh entered.
‘Bishop Kieran, I’m Ròidh, Fergus’ brother and Bishop of Prydenn,’ he said with a smile.
The frail old man slowly turned his head and looked at him for a few moments before replying.
‘I’m honoured to meet you at last, Bishop Ròidh. I have heard a lot about you and your missionary work with Aidan of Lindisfarne.’
He paused and lay his head back on the sack stuffed with heather that served as his pillow. The few words had obviously taken a lot out of him.
‘Don’t tire yourself out, bishop. I merely came to pay my respects.’
At that moment a priest entered. He hadn’t been at the feast the previous evening but Ròidh knew that his name was Damhnaic and he had arrived with the bishop from Iona. It was too dark in the hut to see much but Ròidh sensed the animosity of the man without being able to see his face clearly. Instinctively he knew that Damhnaic hoped to become the next bishop here and saw him as a threat.
‘Father Damhnaic, I’m Ròidh…,’ he started to say before the priest interrupted him.
‘I know who you are, bishop. I hope you have a pleasant stay with your brother, the king.’
The man might just have well have said ‘make your visit a brief one.’
‘Stay? I’ve come home, Damhnaic.’
He turned back to the frail old bishop.
‘I hope you’ll give me permission to celebrate mass in the church this coming Sunday.’
‘Of course,’ Bishop Kieran replied before coughing and bring up some blood, which the boy deftly wiped away with a cloth.
‘You’re tiring him out! Leave him to rest now,’ the priest barked at him.
‘You forget yourself, Father Damhnaic. I’ll thank you to show me some respect.’
Ròidh was not normally a man to stand on his dignity, far from it, but this priest had made the hackles rise on his neck the moment he’d entered the hut. The man abruptly turned on his heel and stalked out of the hut without another word.
As Ròidh took his leave of Kieran and went to leave himself the boy came over to speak to him quietly.
‘Watch your back around Damhnaic, bishop. He’s a nasty piece of work and he’s been bullying my master to ordain him as his replacement before he dies. However, the king doesn’t like him and so a little while ago he sent to Iona for a replacement. Unfortunately the messenger was found murdered at the side of the loch five miles away. No-one has been caught but everyone suspects Damhnaic.
‘The king was about to send another one, this time with an escort, but your arrival has driven it from his mind, I think. Damhnaic has become desperate to get himself ordained before the new messenger can leave. No doubt the purpose of his visit just now, was to try yet again to bully Bishop Kieran into consecrating him’
‘Thank you. That’s helpful to know. What’s your name boy?’
‘Morleo, bishop.’
‘Look after him Morleo. I’ll come back to visit him again tomorrow, if that won’t tire him.’
‘He knows he has only a short time left on this earth and he is eager to leave it for the next. I know he enjoyed seeing you, especially as it kept the wretched Damhnaic away.’
Ròidh made his way back to the king’s hall on the crannog where he told Fergus and Talorgan what Morleo had told him.
‘I’ll put a sentry on the hut,’ Fergus said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Damhnaic to creep in and later claim that he’d been consecrated as the next bishop.’
‘I think that Morleo would soon refute that.’
Ròidh was surprised that Fergus looked uncomfortable as soon as he mentioned Morleo, then he noticed that his mother was staring at him, her face a mask of fury.
‘We don’t mention his name,’ Fergus said quietly.
Both Ròidh and Talorgan were intrigued but didn’t pursue the matter. Ròidh decided to ask the boy why his name seemed to be anathema the next time he saw him.
~~~
‘And you’re certain that Talorgan isn’t in Cait?’ Oswiu asked Œthelwald.
‘Completely sure. We didn’t exactly get a friendly reception but they seemed genuinely surprised that we thought that Talorgan might have fled there. Of course, Cait is a large kingdom and he might not be at the king’s hall, but other settlements are small, scattered and primitive, even by Pictish standards.’
Iuwine had returned to Hexham without even having had the courtesy of calling on his king to report on their mission. It was the final straw as far as Oswiu was concerned and he’d sent a messenger after him to order his immediate return to Bebbanburg.
‘Well, if he’s not in Cait, he wouldn’t have fled to one of the southern Pictish kingdoms. So that leaves Pobla, Ardewr or Penntir. It wouldn’t be Pobla as the king is a cousin of Talorc’s and probably supported his invasion of Prydenn.’
He said no more, aware that he couldn’t trust his nephew’s discretion. He had, however, just remembered that Ròidh had originally come from Ardewr and he had a vague feeling that his father had been the king there at one time. He decided to send someone to find out. He thought of Œthelwald but then remembered that Aidan had spent some time in Ardewr as a youth. Cait was a pagan land whereas Ardewr was Christian. Perhaps a monk might make a suitable emissary.
Two days later he set off for Lindisfarne but when he got there he found that Aidan was away visiting Goddodin. He therefore told Dunstan he would need forty horses and Ceadda that he should inform his gesith to get ready to set off the next morning. Apart from the gesith he took Aldfrith and a few servants, including his body slave, Nerian. The boy was now nearly seventeen and, although Oswiu had offered to free him so that he could train to be a warrior, the boy had refused, much to his surprise, saying he’d prefer to continue to serve the king.
He’d found Aidan at Dùn Èideann and, after exchanging the usual pleasantries with his host, the eorl, and his wife, he took Aidan aside.
‘I think that Talorgan and Ròidh may have taken refuge at the crannog on Loch Ness. Talorc is proving to be something of a nuisance and I need Talorgan to re-establish himself in Prydenn. If I can enlist the aid of Fergus of Ardewr we can do that and depose the King of Pobla as well. That will enable Talorgan to challenge Talorc for the leadership of the Picts.’
‘It’s not without its risks, Oswiu. Even if you succeed, I suspect that Talorc might still be supported by Uuynnid opposite us across the Firth of Forth and Penntir between Prydenn and Ardewr. ’
‘I know, but I can’t allow Talorc to become too strong. He is a pagan and he’s destabilising Strathclyde and Dalriada. I don’t need enemies on both my northern as well as my southern border.’
‘How can I help?’
‘I need to remain in Bernicia in case Penda is planning anything. I’m looking for someone with sufficient status who I can trust implicitly to travel to Fergus’ crannog to see if Talorgan is there and, if so, to see if we can forge an alliance against Talorc.’
‘And I take it that man is me?’
‘If you are willing, that would be ideal, but if not, can you suggest someone else?’
‘I’ll go, if you can furnish me with a ship to take me to the mouth of the River Ness; preferably one that can transport horses. I’m happy to walk from there but it would be quicker on hors
eback.’
‘You’d go alone?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time, but perhaps I should take a monk with me.’
He thought for a moment.
‘Perhaps Conomultus. He’s only recently taken his vows as a monk but he has a sensible head on his shoulders and, as a Briton, he comes from similar stock to the Picts.’
~~~
Ròidh was restless. He and Talorgan shared a guest hut with the latter’s body slave. The fugitive king was snoring softly but it wasn’t loud enough to mask someone moving stealthily near the door. At first he thought that the slave had got up to relieve himself but, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw someone kneeling beside the slave with what looked like a knife in his hand.
To his horror he saw the knife slash across the slave’s throat before the shadow arose and headed across the small hut directly for him. Ròidh gripped the staff with the cross on top that he always carried and waited until the assassin was in range, then he swung the staff as hard as he could across his body and cracked it across the wrist holding the knife. He heard the radius bone crack and the person screamed in pain, the knife dropping from his hand to the earthen floor.
Talorgan awoke and grabbed his sword but, before he could get up, the would-be assassin fled through the door clutching his arm to his chest. Talorgan ran after him with Ròidh hard on his heels but the king tripped over the dead slave’s body. By the time the two men had got out of the hut the assailant had disappeared. The next morning they weren’t surprised to discover that Father Damhnaic was nowhere to be found.
Ròidh went to see the elderly bishop the next day and told him about the incident in the night. He added that Damhnaic seemed to have disappeared and of his suspicion that he might have been the assassin. Kieran seemed to listen but didn’t respond.
‘I think that his body is still here but his mind had left him,’ Morleo said in a whisper. ‘I don’t think it’ll be long now. If Damhnaic had succeeded in killing you it wouldn’t have done him any good. My master is too far gone to have ordained him as his successor.’