‘Is it much farther?’ he called to the youthful guide who was riding just ahead of Caol and himself.
At his side, Caol glanced at him with a sympathetic smile. He knew that Eadulf was not fond of riding and would rather any other means of transportation than horseback. But determination was the Saxon’s strength. He had managed the journey without complaint since leaving Cashel just after first light, although Caol would have preferred to canter the horses along the easier stretches of track that led westward across the swollen river of the Siúr via the Ass’s Ford, and across the lesser rivers Fidgachta and Ara, towards the great glen beyond.
‘Not far now,’ confirmed their young guide. ‘The river Eatharlaí runs beyond that forest and you can see the rise in the trees that marks the hill. That is where we are making for. It is called the Little Height.’
Eadulf tried to gauge the distance. ‘Is that where the chief of the Uí Cuileann dwells?’
‘It is not,’ came the prompt reply. ‘His rath rises on the northern slopes at the beginning of the valley.’
Eadulf was puzzled. ‘So why are we to meet him at this place . . . Ardane, you say it is? The Little Height?’
The young guide shrugged. ‘I am but a messenger, Brother Eadulf. I am not privy to the thoughts of my chieftain. All I know is what I have already told you. Miach, the chief of the Uí Cuileann, sent me to Cashel to ask if you would come to meet him at Ardane at midday to advise him on a matter of importance.’
Eadulf was troubled. The request had filled him with many questions. It was only two days before the celebration in Cashel when he and Fidelma would finally be officially united. He knew that there were many against the union of a princess of Muman with a Saxon. At first, he had wondered whether this was some plot to lure him away. Yet Fidelma had vouched for the integrity of Miach, chief of the Uí Cuileann. His people were an important sept of the Eóghanacht Áine, closely related to her own house of the Eóghanacht of Cashel. The Uí Cuileann dwelt in the great glen through which the Eatharlaí flowed. The name meant the river between the two highlands, indicating mountains to the north and to the south. Fidelma knew the area well but it was not Fidelma that Miach had sent for.
Caol, Cashel’s foremost warrior, had agreed to accompany Eadulf after Fidelma, unbeknown to Eadulf, had suggested it. The glen of Eatharlaí was not a long ride from Cashel, but at walking pace progress was necessarily slow and should a problem arise the summons might mean an overnight stay.
The young guide eventually led them off the track into a shady grove by a large pond-like spring, deep within the great oak forest that spread through the glen. The trees were ancient, with broad trunks pushing their massive crooked branches up to their spreading crowns. If the open track had been dark and oppressive because of the low clouds, the grove was even more so. It was almost like night. Eadulf could not suppress a shiver as the musty, cold air caught at his body. He was aware that the path was gently ascending now. So this was the Little Height.
A hoarse challenge suddenly rang out and their guide drew rein and answered immediately. A moment passed before a short, stocky man came striding through the trees accompanied by two others. All three wore the accoutrements of warriors. The leader was dark and wore his hair long with a full beard. He had stern but not displeasing features. From the way his guide and Caol dismounted and greeted him, Eadulf knew that this must be the chief of the Uí Cuileann.
Eadulf slid from his horse without grace or dignity but recovered to turn and face the now smiling chieftain as he approached with his hand held out.
‘You are well come to this place, Brother Eadulf.’
‘I presume that you are Miach?’ Eadulf did not mean to sound surly, and the man took no offence.
‘I know these are busy times for you, Eadulf, but I stand in need of good counsel.’ He paused and added: ‘I am, indeed, Miach, chieftain of the Uí Cuileann. It is I who sent to ask for your help.’
Eadulf tried to make up for his ungracious greeting. ‘How can I advise you?’
The chief turned and gestured up the path. ‘Come with me and I will show you.’
Leading their horses, the three travellers followed Miach and his men up the woodland track and into another, larger clearing where several wooden buildings stood. There were more warriors standing or seated in the clearing. Among them, Eadulf noticed three men in religious robes and an elderly man whose dress proclaimed him to be a foreigner. The group sat near a fire in the centre of the clearing at which one of the warriors was cooking something in a steaming cauldron.
Miach halted and Eadulf paused by his side, frowning and wondering what mystery was afoot.
‘Do you recognise anyone?’ Miach asked.
‘Am I expected to?’ Eadulf replied, frowning.
‘Come forward, brother,’ the chief called to one of the seated religious.
The man glanced up and rose. He was tall; a handsome man of middle years. As he approached, Eadulf felt he seemed curiously familiar. He glanced at Miach but the man’s face was without expression. Eadulf turned back and saw that the religieux was smiling. His greeting was in Saxon.
‘Eadulf? Brother Eadulf? By Woden’s teeth! Is it you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?’
Memory came to Eadulf. He gave an answering smile.
‘Is it you, Berrihert? What are you doing here?’
The religieux reached forward and seized Eadulf in an embrace. ‘Much has happened since we last raised a mug of ale together, my friend.’ He turned swiftly back to the other religious, who had risen uncertainly. ‘Do you recall my young brothers, Pecanum and Naovan? And yonder sits my father, Ordwulf, who has journeyed here with us. But you would not know him.’
Eadulf regarded Brother Berrihert in slight bewilderment. ‘I thought you were all in Northumbria. When was it that I last saw you?’
‘At the great Council of Witebia.’ The religieux smiled, turning and waving his brothers to come forward. Eadulf greeted them by name, shaking their hands. Only the old man continued to sit stiffly by himself, as if ignoring them.
‘A fateful council,’ added the youngest of the three, whose Latin name, Eadulf recalled, indicated someone without fault. It was at the Council of Witebia that King Oswy of Northumbria had decided in favour of the usages and teachings of the Roman Church as opposed to the rites and practices of the Irish who had originally converted the pagan Angles and Saxons to the new faith.
‘A fateful council?’ Eadulf repeated. He had been one of those who had supported the ideas from Rome, although these last few years, living in the land of Éireann, he had had second thoughts about that decision. ‘So you disagreed with the ruling of Oswy?’
Brother Berrihert nodded.
‘Is that what brought you here?’
‘It is a long story.’
They had been speaking in Saxon and now Miach came forward.
‘Do I presume that you recognise these Saxon brothers, Brother Eadulf?’ he asked in his own language.
‘Indeed I do.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘You identify them as . . . ?’
‘Why, this is Brother Berrihert of Northumbria and his two brothers – brothers by blood as well as in the faith – Pecanum and Naovan. I knew them when I was attending the great council at the abbey of Hilda.’
‘And the elderly one?’
‘I know him not. But Brother Berrihert tells me that it is his father.’
‘My father’s name is Ordwulf,’ intervened Berrihert, obviously able to speak the language.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Eadulf repeated.
Miach waved his hand in dismissal. ‘I wanted to be sure as to their identity. They claimed that they knew you so I took the liberty of seeking confirmation. They have come seeking comairce in my territory.’
‘Asylum?’
Miach smiled briefly. ‘They wish to dwell here in the great glen among my people, under my protection. Indeed, even to build their own church here. These
have been difficult times. It seems but a short time ago that not far from here we fought the great battle of Cnoc Áine. I think you know well that outsiders must be accountable. I would have you hear their story. Let us move to the fire and refresh ourselves while Brother Berrihert tells it.’
The young guide took care of their horses, and as they moved forward to the fire Eadulf introduced Caol to the Saxon brothers. Eadulf was then introduced to Ordwulf, although the elderly man seemed unfriendly and uncommunicative, which Eadulf ascribed to his lack of knowledge of the language of Éireann. Berrihert explained that the old man had been a warrior in his youth, a thane of Deira. His sons had brought him with them, as there was no one else in the family to look after him. Once they had seated themselves round the fire and mugs of foaming mead were brought, Berrihert began his story.
‘It is true, Brother Eadulf. We do seek permission to settle in this valley.’ He smiled quickly and added, ‘I now speak the language of this land, as do my brothers. Our father’s knowledge is imperfect but I will tell the tale so that Miach, our host, and his men will know it is the same as I have already told them.’
He paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts before continuing.
‘When King Oswy announced that he would follow the teachings of Rome, there was great consternation among the congregations in Northumbria. Abbot Colmán of Lindisfarne, who had been the leading spokesman for those opposing the reforms, could not, in conscience, accept the decision, or remain as chief abbot to the king. It was against all his beliefs and teachings, as it was against those of many of us who had been raised in the ways of those who first brought the word of Christ to our kingdoms. Arguments raged in many abbeys and churches, even to the shedding of blood in the heat of such quarrels.’
Eadulf nodded slowly. ‘I had heard that Oswy’s decision was not popular among either the religious or the people. I did not realise that it had led to bloodshed.’
Berrihert grimaced wryly. ‘To say that it was not a popular decision is an understatement, Eadulf. Abbot Colmán said he could no longer preside at Lindisfarne and serve Oswy’s churches. He announced that he would return to his native land so that he could practise his faith in the way in which he had been raised. Many decided to follow him. Colmán asked Oswy to choose a successor at Lindisfarne. The king chose Tuda, who was from the kingdom of Laigin. Although the Blessed Aidan at Lindisfarne had trained him, Tuda espoused the reforms of Rome. When Tuda agreed to succeed him, Colmán withdrew from the kingdom. Many went with him, including some thirty of the faithful community from Lindisfarne.’
‘I thought that Eata, the abbot of Melrose, became abbot of Lindisfarne?’ said Eadulf.
‘Tuda was dead within the year from the dreadful Yellow Plague and then Eata succeeded him. My brothers and I – indeed, my father and mother also – had joined Colmán. We first travelled north through Rheged and then west to Iona. From Colmcille’s little island community, to which we owe so much, we sailed across the sea to this land. Colmán was from the kingdom of Connacht and he sought the permission of the local prince of the Uí Briúin to settle on Inis Bó Finne, the island of the white cow, to the west. Permission was given and we established our community there.’
‘I have heard stories of that community. I was told that it prospered.’
Brother Berrihert shook his head sadly. ‘For the first year we prospered, and then we received an emissary from Ard Macha.’
‘Ard Macha?’ Eadulf was surprised. He knew the abbey was in the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. ‘What did Ard Macha seek in Connacht?’
‘The emissary was an abbot who came to demand that Colmán, and our community, recognise Ard Macha as the centre of the Faith among all the kingdoms of this land. He had an arrogance of manner that reminded me of Wilfrid.’
‘Wilfrid who was the main advocate of Rome at Witebia?’
‘The same. I had known Wilfrid since he was a callow youth sent by Queen Eanflaed to Lindisfarne to be taught religion. Wilfrid was, and is, an ambitious man. He went to Rome and then to Canterbury and, I believe, he expected to become leader of all the churches of the Angles and the Saxons. He was angry when it was not so. Alas, his demeanour was dictatorial and he never allowed that there could be many paths in religion other than the one he advocated.’
‘And you observed the same qualities in this abbot from Ard Macha?’
‘He and Wilfrid might have been born from the same womb. The abbot, as I said, was an emissary from the abbot and bishop of Ard Macha. Colmán, having rejected the ideas of Rome once, was not averse to rejecting similar demands again. But this man was very cunning and, indeed, had persuasive arts. Once more there arose arguments and dissension among the brethren. Some decided to accept what this envoy from Ard Macha argued. They were led by a brother from the East Saxons named Gerald. There was no dwelling in harmony with him and those who had been persuaded to follow him. Finally, they left our island and went to found a new abbey on the mainland – a place called Maigh Éo . . .’
‘The plain of yews? I know of it.’
‘We, my brothers and I, became increasingly saddened by what was happening. We saw how this man had destroyed our united community and knew that he would continue to work against those who wanted to follow the original teachings. When he came again to our island, great unrest followed.’ He paused and swallowed, pulling a grim face. ‘In that unrest our mother, elderly like our father, was killed. That was when we decided to leave Colmán and our island community and come south, to somewhere away from the dissension. Somewhere where we can dwell in peace and follow our religion without interference.’
Caol intervened for the first time. ‘What made you choose this place?’
Berrihert smiled broadly and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘God led our footsteps here.’
Miach, who had been patiently following the conversation even though he had heard the story before, was nodding slowly. ‘And you, Eadulf, say that you know these Saxons?’
‘That is so, Miach.’
‘Then I am willing to allow them sanctuary in this valley, among my people.’
Brother Berrihert came to his feet and offered his hand to the chief. ‘God will bless you for your generosity, Miach.’
The chieftain smiled grimly as he took the man’s hand. ‘It is my people who need the blessing, my Saxon friend. As Eadulf here will tell you, we have been at the forefront of raids by the Uí Fidgente, until a few years ago our king Colgú managed to defeat the army that they sent against us on the slopes of Cnoc Aine not far from here. My people have suffered much. But, thanks be to wise counsels, we seem to have emerged from that conflict and we now look forward to a time of peace. So blessings come at an appropriate time. Is it not so, Caol?’
Caol nodded enthusiastically.
‘These Saxon friends of Eadulf have joined us at a most appropriate time,’ he added. ‘In two days, Eadulf and our lady Fidelma, sister to our king Colgú, renew and strengthen their marriage bonds in a great celebration at Cashel.’
Brother Berrihert turned to Eadulf. ‘We have already heard tales of Fidelma and Eadulf and of their deeds. Was it the same Fidelma whom you helped in uncovering those responsible for the terrible murders at Witebia and averting a great war between the Saxon kingdoms?’
‘It was the same Fidelma,’ replied Eadulf solemnly, but not without pride in his voice.
Brother Berrihert clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then we must come along to this ceremony, if we are allowed, to bless this great occasion.’
Eadulf shrugged. ‘I see no reason why you should not attend. Are you truly going to settle in the glen and build a church?’
Brother Berrihert was serious. ‘That is truly our intention, Eadulf. What better place than this lovely oak-strewn valley, its tranquil passes and great salmon river? This is where our footsteps have been guided in our search for solitude. And now that we have the approval of Miach, we may look forward to a future without conflict. Without the consta
nt meum et tuum of petty squabbles among the churchmen.’
‘The what?’ frowned Miach, who was no Latin speaker.
‘Mine and thine,’ interpreted Eadulf automatically. ‘I wish you well in this endeavour, Berrihert. But do not think that conflicts over the Faith do not intrude in this part of the world. There are as many arguments here as anywhere. Perhaps scripture has foretold it? Et ponam redemptionem inter populum meum, et inter populum tuum . . .’
‘And I shall put a division between my people and your people,’ translated Brother Berrihert. He gestured to the woods around him. ‘This will be our fortress of peace. Anyone who does not respect the views of another will be told that their disruptive influence is unwelcome here.’
‘It is a good objective to aim for,’ Miach agreed. ‘You will be twice welcomed for maintaining that philosophy.’ He stood up and held out his hand to Eadulf. ‘I am sorry that you had such a long ride here, but I had to be sure that you knew these compatriots of yours. I thank you, Brother Eadulf. I give them these dwellings and this land to start their community. And now I must return to my rath.’
He bid them farewell, and then he and his warriors departed.
Caol was glancing up at the sky through the canopy of branches.
‘If we left now, Brother Eadulf,’ he said, ‘we could be back just after dusk.’
‘There is much I would like to discuss with you all,’ Eadulf said reluctantly, encompassing Berrihert and his brothers with his glance. ‘It is a long time since I was in my homeland, and even longer since you were. It would be good to talk and reflect on the changes that have come upon us.’
Brother Berrihert smiled his agreement. ‘You have much to do in these coming days, Eadulf. But, God willing, we shall come to Cashel to mark your momentous day. Thereafter, you will always find us in this place.’
A Prayer for the Damned Page 3