With the respect and support of the army, the transfer of power on the death of the old King had been achieved with the minimum of bloodshed. The more senior position had been assumed by Owain, the older. In all but the location of the crown, however, it was a dual kingship as Gawain was the equal in intelligence and ability of his brother and was his most trusted adviser. This much I had learned during my walk through the Kingdom.
The court had turned to its own groups in conversation over the meal and, although eyes frequently looked in our direction, we were effectively alone until company was summoned. Tables were arranged down each side and at both ends. The floor was boarded; a luxury by current standards, even in areas – like Dumbarton – where rain was frequent and persistent. The walls themselves were conventional, no more than a series of upright beams atop a stone foundation line with the spaces between filled with a mixture of mud and plaited brushwood, sealed with paint and animal gum. The ceiling was of plain thatch with a small hole above the centre to act as in inefficient chimney. It was better at letting rain in than guiding smoke out, as the frequent hisses from the fire beneath it and the smoke filling the hall testified. Lighting came from fat or tar-soaked rush torches, which were unreliable, although what light they gave was warm. A slave was attending to one that had sputtered out as I watched: tending them was a full-time job. In Roman times, an insignificant provincial squire would have lived in a better villa than this place. A Governor of a province the size of Strathclyde would have regarded Owain’s Hall as a disgusting hovel. The Hall may have looked squalid to eyes familiar with the remnants of Rome to the south but it was impressive for its time and location, and an effective reflection of the power of its master. As for the glory that was Rome; the stones that had made the marvellous forums, meeting houses, dwelling places and public buildings were being taken to make walls to hold sheep and pigs.
“You’re lucky to find me here, Magister,” Owain said. “We’ve only just returned. Ten days ago we were on the lowlands of Rheged[2], south of the Ituna[3] repelling a raiding party of pirates who fancied our crops but had no desire to pay for them. Led by our friend here,” he indicated the severed head before us. “I’d thought they were from Erin and I sent a mission to find out where they were hiding out but there was no trace of any base. The people on the Antrim coast had heard of them, though. They had suffered at their hands as well. Have you seen anything like him before?”
“I think they come from the Northlands – Norway – across the sea to the east,” I said. “But who knows? Pirates are made from many different materials and drawn from many lands. Have you heard of many such raids? Was it a lone ship or are there more of them about?”
“I’d heard of raids, but I’m always hearing of raids,” Owain waved dismissively. “They’re usually in bands small enough to attract no attention before they make landfall and in and out before an armed force can catch them. Our defence forces don’t usually hear about them till after they’ve gone. There were three ships involved in this raid and it was sheer luck that I came upon them. We were on our way back from settling an argument near Deva when we heard that some pirates were on an extended raid. We engaged them near Caer Liguald - Luguvallium[4] - and chased them into the wilds of Rheged. None escaped.” he finished simply.
He had been lucky to come across them. Raiders such as these are interested in easy pickings. The fact that none will return to wherever they came from may persuade their countrymen that the lands of the south are well protected. I asked him what had taken him to Deva. He was reluctant to discuss it and changed the subject.
“It would have been a hazardous trip for you to find us there, or in the wilds of Rheged where I chased these raiders,” he said.
“I would’ve sought you there, or wherever your business took you.”
“And would you have braved the North Channel in your little coracle?”
“I think I might have walked across the Rhinns[5] and continued further south, my lord.” Owain laughed back.
“A sensible course, Magister. But you would’ve been slower than us and may have found me gone.” In fact, important news eventually reaches even far-flung Iona, I told him. Strathclyde’s movements always attract attention.
“Even to an island which looks to Dunadd?”
“Even there, sir. Although there your victories might more often be styled ‘setbacks’.” Owain chuckled at that and I allowed myself a small smile. Even though I had left the world behind when I entered Columba’s monastery at Iona, I retained slightly more than an academic interest in the affairs of the Scottish and Irish people in the lands of Donegal and the twin kingdoms of Dalriada. The pirate raids were, for now, occasional and rare but a growing population would put pressure on young men to seek their fortunes away from the narrow strips of land between the mountains and the sea, away to the east. Those whose lands looked out to sea should take the time to fortify them.
“You’re an enjoyable companion, Magister Anselm - don’t you think so, Gawain?” He was addressing a man to his right, about the same age and very similar in looks. This was the younger brother.
“I wasn’t listening.” Gawain replied nonchalantly, and took a mouthful of his wine.
“Of course he was, Magister, it’s his job - but he doesn’t enjoy wordplay as much as I do,” Owain rejoined. “May I present my brother, Gawain?”
I stood up and bowed.
“An honour to meet you, my Lord Gawain.” Gawain nodded, and indicated that I should resume my seat. I remained standing and stared at him for a moment too long.
“Are you well, Magister?” I regathered myself.
“My apologies, sir. I am a little tired after my journey.” I sat down. I’d Seen something in Gawain that he wished to keep hidden, a secret that I wondered whether even Owain knew. Gawain chose that moment to tell his brother that he was failing in his duties as a host; I had no food.
“Of course! I apologise, Anselm. Here!” He turned to a trio of servants who were standing back from the table. “Bring refreshment for the Magister! What will you have?” I asked for plain bread and cheese, and would not be tempted to the roast ox that the company was feasting on.
“Do it,” Owain said to the servants, and then turned back to me. “Unless you would rather have stale bread and mouldy cheese?” We both grinned and I indicated that fresh was preferable. “So it’s Lent for you. Early days?” I nodded. “Others have it otherwise.” I looked closer at Owain. His expression was still cheerful, but with a calculating gleam around his eyes.