I was torn for a moment between going back to Dumbarton and getting to the bottom of the mystery, and pushing on to Lindisfarne and Whitby. I wanted to do both, but that wasn’t possible: I couldn’t be in two places at once. My orders and my mission were ahead but the dark puzzle was behind, back the way I’d come. I couldn’t decide which was the more important. I looked at the sky and the horizon in both directions: to the East, the land sloped downwards towards Melrose and the coast beyond; to the West the hills rose up and up to the pass back to the Clyde valley.
I was in a dilemma and sat down to contemplate and think, and to ask God for guidance. No direct answer came but the feeling that I should continue to Lindisfarne grew. Whatever may be going on - or not - in Dumbarton was a vague feeling, whereas the Synod at Whitby was of real and immediate importance. I knew that I ignored my Feelings at my peril but I also believed that all would be revealed at the right time. For now, Lindisfarne, and then Whitby. After the Synod I would go back through Dumbarton and stay there until I was able to solve the problem.
“Are we going? I don’t like this place.” I’d forgotten all about Bedwyr. His voice brought me back and I wasted no more time. I picked up my bags - still bulging with the herbs gathered on the hill above Owain’s castle - and set off at a brisk pace, following the Eastward course of the Tweed. “Why didn’t that man say anything to me? He was an outlaw, wasn’t he? Is he a really bad man? Has he killed many people”
“Enough!” I laughed. “One question at a time, boy. And wait for the answer before you ask the next. Listen a little more and you may learn much. But why didn’t he say anything to you? Or about you?” I stopped and looked down at the boy. “I think you’re very lucky, Bedwyr, and you’ve been selected for something very special. The bandit didn’t notice you, I think, because God must have clouded his eyes. I think he may be a very bad man indeed.” With that I swung the boy up onto my shoulders and was able to make faster progress over the next few miles.
We reached Melrose on the evening of the following day, and were made welcome by the monks at the Abbey. Their buildings weren’t grand but simple pebble-and-mortar-filled timber frames thatched over in the local style. Outside the monastery proper there were two distinct settlements: a small town, which pre-dated the religious community, with a thriving market and regular fairs, and a smaller group of houses belonging to lay Christians. This latter settlement was made up of people who were attracted to the religious life but were not, at this stage, prepared to commit themselves totally. They continued as farmers, weavers, herdsmen or whatever, and they supplied work to the monastery in exchange for a share in the land’s produce. They attracted hangers-on, of course, people who heard the word ‘charity’ and thought they were in for a good time freeloading on the labours of others. They soon learned that they were expected to work for their bread and most moved on. A number, people who had fallen on hard times, were happy to stay and contribute. Some joined the monastery full time, others swelled the religious group as they established and raised families. The religious houses of Melrose now made up a substantial part of the town.
The monastery knew of the summons to Whitby and they had supplied a couple of clerks for the weeks of preparations. They happily gave me, their brother monk, shelter for the night and they replenished my store of food before sending me on my way with their blessing and good wishes. Before I left I had a meeting with Eata the Prior and formally handed Bedwyr over to his care. I told him where he’d come from and we agreed that the boy would receive instruction in reading and writing, as well as the Scriptures. He was led away and I realised that he’d been unusually quiet for some time. I was reminded of it as I heard a series of questions being fired at the monk who had been appointed his guardian. We smiled with a little apprehension at the future demands he would place. Eata put my mind at rest.
“I’m sure he’ll do well. We need inquisitive minds in the monastery and if he gets too much for us we’ll send him over to Cuthbert at Lindisfarne. He might keep our holy friend’s mind off those matters that bear him down and remind him of Christ’s love of children.” I raised the issue of the seed corn I had promised for the boy’s family and the Prior agreed to send a bushel with the next person travelling that way. I also mentioned that the village was without its hermit and again was assured it would be dealt with.
I discussed my feelings about Strathclyde, as much as I could. I was eager for whatever counsel there may be. Eata was about the same age as I and his position indicated the respect in which he was held.
Eata was aware that Strathclyde still clung to Druidism. He knew something of the mysterious power of the Druids and respected them as learned men but feared where their studies and interests could take them. There was still the suspicion that its barbarous past could arise again, especially in a world where the Devil seemed to have no shortage of either disciples or influence. I stressed that I had no proof of anything evil, just the formless fear and a couple of strange visions. I also mentioned the lack of young ones. Eata paused as we walked up the slope outside the monastery.
“It’s no proof, as you say, but it is strange that there are so few. Soldiers are a lusty lot and any army on the move is always followed by a rag-taggle train, mostly made up of their doxies and their by-blows.” We walked on again. “There never seems to be any shortage of them, usually causing more trouble to ordinary folk than the soldiers ever do, it has to be said. Were it not for your Visions I’d say it was just coincidence or a temporary situation - Owain has been busy with his men for quite a few years. And were it not for your temptations I would put my faith in your Sight completely.” He stopped at the top of a hill above the Abbey and looked down on its neatly farmed fields and well-tended livestock before continuing. “But it is the Devil’s way to sow confusion among his enemies. You believe Owain to be fundamentally good?”
“If ambitious.”
“Not a handicap for a king these days. And his brother?”
“He carries a burden, but it has no bearing. He is not my friend but only because I upset Ieuan, I believe. They’re very close.”
“The Druid, yes. A bitter and frustrated man, I think. What do you think of him?”
“He has been a good friend. He saved my life more than once, at great personal risk, and rescued me from beatings and unwanted attention many times when we were boys at Innisgarbh. I can’t believe he would have anything to do with anything truly evil, although he’s changed greatly in appearance and his path has been a lonely one. He’s much aged since I saw him last. And there’s this.” I took the small statue out of my pocket and showed it to Eata, who quickly made the Sign of the Cross. I described where I’d found it and told him where I’d last seen one, in Lucius’ company. “Lucius was hurtling down that road and he took many with him. It took a lot to defeat him in the end, at the Ballaogh. He was a wicked and dangerous man. But he’s been dead these twenty years. His coven is either sharing the fires of Hell with him or locked in madness.”