I tried my luck in the forest again: nothing. I went back to the cave and there was a bowl of freshly-cooked meat, just an arm’s length from the bushes and well away from the Man. I could see the steam rising from it and could smell the delicious smell. I stretched out a hand, quietly, quietly and snatched the food out of the bowl. It was hot and it burned my hand and I let out a small yelp I couldn’t stop myself and I ran back into the forest but I didn’t let go of the food, no matter that it burned me. It was a whole rabbit, young and tender and cooked with herbs and it was delicious.
The next day the bowl was not so close but the Man was standing up, head back and arms outstretched. The food wasn’t as hot and I had to step out of cover for only an instant to get it and run back into the forest again.
A few days later I had got used to it; the food just a little further away from the bushes and if I went at the right time the Man would be standing, head back, and he would pay no attention, not even if I rattled the bushes and snarled, so I sat by the bowl and ate the meat and the roots with it at my leisure.
It was raining in the morning and I was wet and cold. He had a fire, a warm fire, and was cooking something in a pan. I whimpered and the Man looked up towards the bush I was behind. He smiled and purred and I could make out some of what he was saying. He was calling me ‘Lockeran’. He stood and pointed at the cave and the fire and he brought the pan up to his face and smelled it and smiled at me. He wanted me to come to the fire. I hesitated and turned to go. The wind changed for a moment and the smell caught me and I turned again, back to the Man. I sneezed. Then I smelt the food again. The Man was purring again and I could understand him, I knew what he was saying.
“You’re going to catch your death of cold, out in this weather. Come in,” he said, “come in and get dry and warm.”
I wanted to get warm, I didn’t want to be cold and I was so, so hungry.
I could resist no more and I walked over to the monk, naked and dirty and stinking, with my rank and matted hair hanging half way down my back and my beard on my chest and I knew I was mad but I wasn’t as mad as I had been and I didn’t want to be an animal anymore.
The man who had brought me out of the woods and out of the hell of madness was Padhraig, the monk from Iona. He helped me back into the world, but not back to myself: not the self I had been. He cleaned me up and cut my hair. He gave me his spare robe to wear, the only other one he had, and repaired it when I tore it on the bushes.
Under his guidance, I became Anselm. Monk of the community of Iona.
“Remember this day. And now,” Padhraig said, with the smile that I knew so well, “you’d better answer that knock at the door. Be careful of what the world wants from you.”
I looked around in puzzlement at the rocks and bushes surrounding the pool and wondered what he meant, but then I saw it and laughed that I hadn’t noticed it before. There it was, a black wooden door set into the rock face across the shingle shore. Someone was knocking softly from the other side. I walked over and opened it and
there was Ieuan.
I felt an enormous ache in my head and staggered over to the bed, followed by the Druid, who helped me to sit down. I felt a wave of sadness at the loss of my friend Padhraig, leavened with joy and there was the scent of apples. I held my head against the searing pain in it and lay down on my bed.
“Do you still carry the medicine?” Ieuan asked. I tried to nod, but the pain was too great. It would be easier to talk.
“Over there. Floor. In my bag,” I managed to whisper. Ieuan got the brown bottle out of the pack and poured a strong draught straight into my mouth.
“What did you See?”
“Padhraig.” He asked who Padhraig was. I took a moment before answering. The draft was working quickly, thank God, and after a moment I was able to sit up. He asked again who Padhraig was.
“My friend. More than that, my Soul-friend. My guide and counsellor. He brought me out of the woods, out of my madness and back to sanity. He baptised me into Christianity and introduced me to the Community at Iona. He’s dead. Just. I smelled the apples. He’s gone to Emain Avallach[7].”
As the headache subsided I offered a prayer for the repose of my friend’s soul. Ieuan responded with a quick ‘Amen’. I expect he silently offered a prayer to Danu, his own goddess, just to be on the safe side.
6
Ieuan
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Early. A couple of hours before dawn,” Ieuan replied. I sighed and shook my head. Very little time had passed during this Vision; on other occasions, an apparently short one could take hours. There was no logic to it at all. “I knew you rose early for your morning devotions. Have you finished? Shall I leave you?”
“I’ve finished for the moment. God has been speaking to me with a loud trumpet blast, and I think He’ll allow me time to recover.” Food would help, so we went to seek out a light breakfast. It was still cold but the kitchen was warm. The great cooking-fire was kept in all night; it and the other in the hall were the main sources of heat in the fortress. When the when late winter sun gave only watery light and little warmth, both were essential. The castle walls were three or four feet thick and stone takes a while to heat up. Once warmed, they hold heat for a long time but four months of the northern winter gave more than enough for them to cool off. It was still cold but without the two fires it would have been damp and unhealthy, even worse than a cave. Belligerent neighbours required a fit troop of warriors. The fires would be kept burning round the clock till nearly midsummer.
The big kitchen was used for storage, preparation and cooking. Foods that had to be kept cool were racked in coldstores off it; fresh vegetables and bread were kept within the kitchen. Drying racks and smoking hooks crowded the space in and around the fireplace. We found a loaf of bread to share, an apple each from the dwindling store and a pitcher of fresh, icy water.
We sat down at the big table and I reminded Ieuan of our brief words of the night before. The only light came from the fire, but it was enough for me to read his face. It was important to me that I could, as it assisted in divining the truth of what was being said to me. It was force of habit.
He warned me to take care in my relations with Owain and Gawain, that they were intelligent but proud, and were used to taking their own decisions. Too much pressure would be counter-productive; Owain would not tolerate manipulation, he said, and smiled when I asked whether he had remained above manipulation in the case of the Fife settlement.
“Ah. That,” he said. “Yes, I used a spell to manipulate the situation. It is quite easy with Owain; he always looks you straight in the eye and listens very carefully to what you are saying.”