Our two heroes quietly opened the door. They were within striking range before one of the warrior pointed with one hand holding a codex and yelled a warning. It was too late. Culann drove his short sword into the back of the neck of the nearest warrior. Fergus decapitated another then tipped a bench on top of another two who sprawled kicking and squealing on the floor before being silenced with his long now blood red sword. The fifth warrior grabbed his axe but it was not the best weapon to wield in a confined space. Culann easily parried the warrior’s attempted two handed swing, with his staff, then drove the point of his gladius into the man’s open mouth. Then after a quick glance at Fergus he stubbed out the burning codex with his staff. Fergus knelt and grabbed a still glowing piece of wood. He winked at Culann “We may need this.”
The two victors rejoined the monks waiting speechless outside the door. Then Marcus uttered a very un-monk-like curse and spat “Good - they deserved that!”
The group crept quietly past the church. Noise could be heard now coming from the refectory. “Sounds like the others have discovered your mead Brother Marcus. They seem to be having a party,” observed one of the Ardslignish monks.
Marcus said nothing. He was staring at the entrance of the wooden church which faced the now brightening sun rise. The bloodied bodies of perhaps six monks lay sprawled on the church floor. Marcus fell to his knees and with his hand raised to the heavens uttered a terrible cry. Then quickly he rose and began running toward the refectory.
Culann and the others ran after him. Knowing it was pointless to try and stop the anguished monk, plus his cry had probably alerted the warriors inside the refectory. Assuming surprise was lost, Culann called to Marcus “Go inside and entice them out. Don’t fight them by yourself.”
As Marcus disappeared inside the refectory doorway, Culann issued orders to the other monks to kneel on either side of the door with their staffs shin high. He wanted to trip any warriors who emerged from the refectory. “But don’t trip any of us.” Then waving to Fergus they too stepped inside the hall.
Fergus first handed the glowing stick to the nearest monk. “Hold this.” he instructed.
Pandemonium had already broken out. It was dim inside the hall and at first glance one could notice the eating benches lined up along both walls. At the far end were perhaps twenty warriors in various stages of sobriety. Some were lying on the floor as if sleeping or more likely passed out. Others were sitting on stools or tops of benches. Most had mugs of mead in one hand and food in the other. The nearest ones had turned and were laughing at the raging monk standing in front of them, spittle running out of his mouth, cursing and swearing. They couldn’t understand his Irish Gael tongue, but the tone and body language was obvious. One hand held his staff and the other fist he thumped at his chest as if to say, ‘Come on, here I am, take me on, you killers of unarmed monks’.
No warrior felt threatened by a single monk. A couple wondered how he had escaped their original killing spree and jokingly asked, ‘Who was going to do the honours on this one?’
A few noticed another beardless monk in his white robe and a youth also enter. This was too much. What was it with these weird monks? They just present themselves to be sacrificed. The two new comers walked purposefully toward the nearest warriors. Too late the swords held at the ready were noticed.
The warriors at the far end were confused. There was noise and screams in front. The flashing of blades could be seen in the dim light. Out friends in front are having all the fun, slicing up these stupid monks. But wait, what is this? Those monks are still standing. They are the ones swinging the swords. And one is belting us with that wooden staff.
“We are being attacked!” yelled one warrior before he was felled with the staff. Two more or less sober warriors leaped up onto a bench with their axes held high. “Legs.” yelled Culann and in the blink of an eye both warriors had their leg tendons sliced as the tall monk and the Pict passed in front. They fell screaming, twitching and bleeding to the floor.
Culann and Fergus despatched more stumbling warriors but then stood back to back as they were gradually surrounded by the milling enemy. Suddenly Marcus burst through the throng but as he reached Fergus he was cut down. “Back outside,” yelled Cullen, “and bring Marcus.”
Each grabbed the bleeding monk by an arm and surprised their adversaries by changing direction and slashing their way back to the door. Culann had discarded his staff to help drag Marcus. They ran the last few steps and were abruptly in the early morning sunlight.
As they turned four warriors running in pursuit tripped and sprawled over one another on the ground. The monks with the staff had done their work well. Culann and Fergus quickly dispatched the struggling combatants. One further warrior stuck his head out the door and Fergus deftly sliced it off. The rest of the warriors inside were stunned to see their comrade, spurting blood where his head used to be, take a step back inside and collapse.
For a breathless few moments there was a standoff. The warriors inside trying to determined what had happened and who had attacked them. More importantly, how many were outside waiting? It was dim inside but outside was sunlight. However all they could see was the bodies of their comrades lying lifeless on the ground outside the door.
Outside Fergus asked “What do we do now?”
Everyone looked at Culann. “We stay here and kill them as they come out, or until they kill us.” Well that was clear to everyone. Brother Daray of Ardslignish squatted down next to the bleeding Marcus. “I think he is alive, but I don’t know for how long.”
“What if they don’t come out?” asked another monk.
“They’ll come out.” stated Fergus as he reached for the glowing stick still held by the Ardslignish monk. He doubled down so he was below window height and ran to the far end of the refectory. There he stood and thrust his glowing stick into the lowest levels of the thatching that covered the roof. Within a few heartbeats small flames flickered upwards. Fergus ran back stopping every ten steps or so repeat the process. By the time he had returned the far end thatching was well afire and heavy smoke was rising up the roofing.
“Good lad,” murmured Culann.
Inside, order was being restored. Their leader was one of the fallen, but the more senior warriors calmed the rest down and began planning what to do next. The consensus was - do nothing. “We are safe for the time being inside here. Just cover the windows and the doorway to make sure no one can enter. No one can hack through these wooden walls. We will just stay here in our secure little fort and wait for our comrades at the boat and those checking that library over yonder to come and rescue us.”
“Why haven’t they come already?” asked one warrior with a wounded shoulder.
“It’s only just become daylight. They’ll be here soon.” responded the senior warrior confidently.
That was a good plan. Or at least it was until they noticed the roof was burning and the large room began filling with smoke. Discipline disappeared. Every able bodied man ran for the door.
* * * * *
Culann and the monks tended to Brother Marcus while Fergus guarded the door. Marcus had opened his eyes and spoke quietly as they tried to stem the blood flowing from the deep cut in his shoulder. “I am dying, yes?” he asked. “No you’re not,” responded Culann. We are patching you up will take you to the infirmary at Lios mór. They can fix any wounds.”
“Are the foreign devils all dead?” even more faintly.
“There are some left in the hall.” advised Culann. “As soon as they emerge we will dispatch them and then take you to safety.”
Marcus moved his lips, but the words were so faint Culann had to place his ear next to the dying monk’s mouth. “I want to die here on Eigg. I want to lie next to my friends. In the church. Leave me in the church. Then burn us all together. I don’t want to be put in a grave.”
Culann spoke to Brother Daray, the senior monk, “He said he wants to be left in the church - and burnt. He doesn’t want to b
e buried.” Culann was incredulous.
“Oh, he comes from Bangor,” replied Daray. “It used to be the tradition hundreds of years ago; everyone was cremated. It is only since the arrival of Christianity the custom changed back to burial.”
Just then Fergus yelled “Heads up! Here they come,” and raised his sword menacingly. Two monks again knelt on either side of the door with a staff just less than knee high. The others including Culann stood back a few steps with weapons ready.
The thumping of heavy feet was clearly heard and this time war cries rang out as the group of large men jostled to fit through the door that was only wide enough for two normal monks. As before, the first two or three tripped over the staff, but their fellow followers jumped on top of them in desperation to get out of the burning building.
Fergus and Culann cut down four and the other two monks swinging their staffs battered more but the numbers were too great. At least eight axe wielding warriors burst through the thin defences and raced downhill to the beach and their boat.
Fergus clinically despatched the warriors writhing on the ground, then looked at Culann. “What now?”
Culann absently wiped the blood from his gladius on his habit and sheathed it. “It is best if the monks carry Brother Marcus to the church. You and I Fergus, will attend to those fellows,” nodding in the direction of the beach.
And so on this morning of carnage, the monks gently carried their dying colleague and laid him reverently among the bodies lying in the small wooden church. They then began collecting those monks who had been slain out in the open and placed them inside the church. The bodies were arranged inline with the doorway so they all faced east.
Meanwhile Culann and Fergus cautiously made their way to the beach. As they reached the crest leading down to the surf they crawled forward and peered down to the activity below.
“Damn,” said Fergus “the boat didn’t burn. They watched as the eight warriors were struggling to push their craft into deep water. Smoke still drifted from the smouldering sail, but apart from that, the boat appeared to be intact. Culann stood up as the men clambered up the boat’s sides and onboard. The current caught the craft and swung it toward the open channel between Eigg and the mainland.
One warrior slipped and fell back into the water. His colleagues watched from the gunwales as he thrashed and gurgled in the ships wake before finally disappearing beneath the waves, no doubt weighted down by his chain mail vest.
Disappointment lined Culann’s face as he watched his quarry appear to escape. The craft was now about ten boat lengths from shore and gaining speed, borne by the current.
Fergus suddenly pointed excitedly.”Look, something’s happening at the back of the boat. They are all gathering there. I think they are trying to scoop water out.”
“Yes,” said Culann suddenly smiling “your second attempt to destroy the boat by setting fire to the stern rowing bench seems to have worked. There must be a hole burnt through the hull.” The warriors appeared more frantic in their endeavours, but the stern was now noticeably lower in the water. The current was slowly turning the boat as it was dragged further out to mid channel. Then the stern dipped beneath the waves. One the warriors grabbed an oar and leapt overboard. The others then jostled to find a piece of equipment which may help them float and followed. It was to no avail. None appeared to be able to swim and their heavy clothing weighted them down. One by one they disappeared beneath the waves.
“They would have been better off staying inside the boat.” mused Fergus remembering his episode with Culann in a submerged curach off Lios mór all those months ago.
Culann clasped Fergus by the shoulder, “You’ve done it again lad. Let’s go back and tell our colleagues the good news.” They turned after one last look at the ocean, empty now of all but circling sea birds
* * * * *
Culann and Fergus - Eigg aftermath
The monks advised Brother Marcus had sadly passed on to the afterlife. They placed him next a badly disfigured monk they took to be his cousin and Head Monk of Eigg, Nuada. All the lifeless forms scattered in front of the buildings had been placed reverently inside the church with their compatriots. They then held a discussion and decided to collect the deceased warriors, from both scriptorium and refectory and placed them inside the church as well. “It is up to God to judge them, not us.” responded when asked ‘why’ by Culann on his return.
In deference to Brother Marcus dying wish, came the task of collecting brushwood and placing it strategically inside the church building. They would need this to ensure all bodies were properly cremated. Just setting fire to the thatched roof was not enough. As proof, the roof of the refectory was mostly burnt and still smouldering but the walls and much of the interior was intact.
It was time for Sext (midday prayer, around noon) when all was ready. Everyone stood solemnly as Brother Daray recited a short funeral service. Then the monks including Culann collectively lit the kindling inside the church. As the fire took hold they stepped outside and made the sign of the cross as the building and its contents was consumed. After a short while the burning roof collapsed sending sparks showering skyward joining the heavy smoke.
Culann addressed them before everyone made their way back to their camouflaged curach. “Brothers I am troubled as to what our colleagues may think of our behaviour here, taking so many lives, even if we believed these foreigners deserved to die. I think it is best if we say it was me alone who killed these warriors and you were forced to look on. Any blame should be mined alone.”
Fergus took a step forward, “Don’t forget I took as many, if not more lives than you Culann. If anyone is to blame it should be me. Plus as a Pict I am expected to fight. I have no restrictions such as you monks.”
After a brief consultation, the four Ardslignish monks nodded and their senior monk, Daray, declared, “Brother Culann, we monks have already discussed this matter while you and Fergus were on the beach. While we appreciate both you and Fergus wishing to take responsibility of the killings and thereby absolve us of any blame, if blame there is. We cannot in all conscious allow you to do this. We all knew what would happen the moment we stepped foot on this island. Most likely we would all be killed or our enemies would be killed.
“Either way we did it to avenge our slain brethren on Eigg. The Lord has seen fit to grant us success over our adversaries. As compensation He has taken Brother Marcus to sit at His table in heaven.
“We monks concluded it would be best to say; Fergus skilfully disabled the Norsemen’s boat causing it to sink with a number of them aboard, as they tried to flee, they were all drowned. Furthermore, Brother Marcus was so distraught to see the bodies of his colleagues he collapsed and died of broken heart. But before dying he requested he and his slain brethren be cremated in the church.
“We simply carried out his wishes.
“I sincerely hope you both (nodding to Culann and Fergus) agree with this scenario, which we believe, while being perhaps an abridged version of what took place, has the advantage of containing no lies.” All the monks nodded in agreement.
Culann turned to Fergus, “What say you Fergus? Our colleagues seem determined to ensure that I am not censured in any way by our church for any un-Christian transgressions I may have done. I am comfortable this island has been cleansed of the evil that was originally perpetrated here. Do you see your role in these events diminished in any way by their suggested scenario?”
“I don’t go round counting notches in my sword Culann,” smiled Fergus “I can live with the version the learned Brothers suggested.”
“Then it is agreed,” concluded Culann. “What took place here will be as our colleagues suggested.”
* * * * *
The curach bearing the four monks, Fergus and Culann arrived back in Ardslignish early that evening, less than a full day after leaving. No one wanted to stay on that island of death a moment longer than necessary.
Brother Daray duly related what had hap
pened on Eigg to an astounded Abbot Morann and the assembled monks. “Praise be,” said the Abbot “I was fearful for your lives at the hands of those scoundrels. I am saddened by Brother Marcus demise but perhaps it is best he remains with his friends. Brother Culann and Fergus, you have not commented. Is everything all right?”
“We are fine sir,” replied Culann quietly “just pleased this is all over.”
Fergus nodded, then added with a sly grin “I think Culann just wants to get back to Lios mór.”
“Of course, of course. I shall arrange it. We can have a curach ready tomorrow.” said Morann.
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Chapter 10 - - Lios mór finale
Sisters Tamara and Máia, laughing said to a distraught Fea “That’s not a Ghost; that’s actually Brother Culann and young Fergus climbing up the hill”
Five days had passed since the curach carrying Sisters Fea and Tamara together with Brother Baile, the injured Brother Bryan, Sinead’s brother and the two Poolewe Picts, plus the original sailors from Iona, arrived back in Lios mór.
Fea was determined to keep as busy as possible to try and shut out the terrible ache in her heart on hearing of the death of Culann. One patient she paid particular attention to was Brother Bryan and his broken leg. Actually it was refreshing to treat someone with an actual injury not caused by sword or spear wounds. Bryan was responding well and although it would be some weeks before he could walk without the aid of a crutch. There was no infection and his leg appeared to be straight after what was a very severe break in his leg below the knee.
It was well past Compline, the patients were asleep and lights dimmed when Sister Máia swept into the infirmary. “Where is Fea?” she asked Sister Tamara.
“She is in the next room checking the herbs, why?” asked Tamara.
The Culann Chronicles, Book 2, Picts' Plight Page 14
