5 - TUTGUAL TUTCLYD

It took Tutgual some time before he could stop coughing. He had never counted on Riderch to have anything to do with ruling, he knew he was not suited. His firstborn Morcant luckily had the character for leading his people. But that didn't allow Riderch to live idly, oblivious even of his own family. Tutgual had to ask him to perform his duties. And then, there was something that even Riderch needed to know: it was about a possible attack on his clan, after all.

"I didn't want to talk to you about the Engle, anyways", he told his son after he had caught his breath. Even if no one was close enough to hear them, Tutgual lowered his voice: "There is a more serious matter. I received some confidential information: apparently some of my cousins are conspiring against me. My informers told me that my cousins have been meeting in suspicious circumstances. And the other day, when we had an assembly of the clans' chieftains, that hothead Cynan said that our cousin Neiton would be the right guletic, should a new war be waged. That was outrageous, just in my face! I could have even put him under arrest, but Serwan intervened shouting at him and Neiton himself declared that I am the only rightful guletic. As if I needed his backing!".

Riderch frowned, but when he spoke it was only to say: "Father, I have always wondered, does the word guletic stand for 'chief' or 'administrator'?".

Tutgual had another sudden fit of coughing, but he managed to recover soon his breath. He must remain calm: "Riderch, even if you don't care, this is a serious issue. We are under a threat of a dynastic clash. My cousins claim that Neiton would be entitled to rule because his father was regent of Alt Clut for few months, when our grandfather Dumnagual died while my father Clinoch, who was Dumnagual's firstborn and heir, was away at war. In any case, the Royal Guard is loyal to me and the Guards of the Rock call me 'Defender of the People'. The conspirators don't stand a chance". Then, he changed his voice to a more resentful tone: "And to answer to your question, the word guletic means both 'king' and 'administrator', and 'chieftain' and 'warlord' too. A good guletic is the one who fulfils all these roles. I have been doing my part in that for many years, but now I am old and sick, and the conspirators come to the fore. Your brother Morcant is well aware of all this, and we have plans ready, if need be. But it was important that you knew, too."

Riderch now looked serious: "Father, I wanted to tell you that Languoreth and I were thinking to travel for a while".

"What?!", shouted Tutgual, repressing a cough: "Travel? For what reason? And where?".

"Soon I might be too absorbed by my duties as a member of the royal clan, as you just told me", replied Riderch, "so this will be the last chance for me and Languoreth to leave the Rock for a little bit, just for few weeks at most. Languoreth and I have been discussing that for a while. We don't plan to travel soon anyway, maybe during the next or the following waxing moon, if you will agree".

Tutgual tried to keep calm and not to fly into a rage: "Riderch, you are in a privileged position, you could have so much power if only you grasped it. Instead, you decide to escape".

"I promise you, Father," he replied, "I don't want to waste my role in the clan. That's the reason why I decided to give Languoreth this last occasion for traveling, in order to dedicate myself only to my duties once I'm back".

Tutgual sighed, silently. He could forbid Riderch from going, but it wouldn't do any good. "So be it, then," he said, "but you will bring something with you". He stood up and he told Riderch to follow him outside.

The guards, Artmael and Caratacos, followed him out of the hall. It was their duty and no matter how much Tutgual hated to be followed everywhere, they wouldn't leave him without their protection even if he ordered them to. Only seven where the royal guards, but these seven, together with some of their own most trustworthy subordinates, vowed to protect the king and his family with their lives.

The wind chill made Tutgual shiver, even with the thick fur he was wearing, and he got again a fit of coughing while he was walking in the cold.

Luckily his abode was close to the hall. He told the two guards to wait outside, together with the guard who was already stationed there, and he went inside with Riderch. Here the temperature was warm, thanks to the coals still glowing into a metal box at the centre of the room and to the furs hung on the walls, which shielded from the outer chill. The warm air made his breathing much easier.

Riderch had stopped just inside the entrance. "Follow me," told him Tutgual, "I want to show you something". He walked across the large room, too large for him since the day Elufed died.

He let his son follow him up the steps which led upstairs, where the guletic's private sleeping area was situated.

Tutgual didn't have many personal belongings, but those few ones were very valuable. Next to his bed, under a pile of fine leather, there was a low and elongated metal chest, closed by a lock. Tutgual bent down, took off his ring and opened the chest with the key inset on the ring. He took out a metal scabbard, richly decorated, from which an ivory hilt was sticking out.

He turned to Riderch and handed the scabbard to him. Riderch looked puzzled: "This is Dyrnwyn, White-Hilt, our family's ancestral sword, is it?".

"It is. Take it", Tutgual answered.

Riderch took the scabbard, confused, watching the embellishments encrusted on it.

Tutgual carried on: "If you are really deciding to leave, you will take it with you and you will pledge to bring it back as soon as possible".

Riderch gaped: "But Father... Dyrnwyn is a precious legacy of our family, I cannot take it. It should belong to Morcant, after you".

"It belongs to the guletic of Alt Clut, you are right. And I lend it to you as a pledge. If you accept it and you won't come back as promised, the damnation from all the previous generations of guletics of Alt Clut will fall upon you".

Riderch, his stare still fixed on the scabbard, unsheathed the sword.

"Dyrnwyn", Tutgual continued, "is not only a sword of excellent manufacture. It's also extraordinary powerful. My father used to call it Caledbulch, hard breach, because of its cutting power".

Riderch looked at him: "Father, I am grateful for this responsibility. I pledge to bring back Caledbulch safely".

Tutgual grimaced: "You don't have to keep it safe, you can use it if it will be needed. You will need an escort, anyway".

"The Bear and his men will come too. I wanted to go just on a family travel, but alas, the Bear insisted on taking with him all his henchmen".

That was good. Caimir, called the Bear, was one of the seven royal guards and his duty was to protect the king's second son and his family. "So be it", Tutgual said. "Where do you intend to go? And for how long?".

"I don't know exactly, I am thinking southwards, maybe as far as Cair Ligualid. But Father, I haven't told anyone that I am leaving, besides you, Languoreth and Caimir, and I would like if it stays that way".

"Of course it's not other people's business", Tutgual replied. "If you are going to Cair Ligualid, bring my greetings to Urbgen. But remember, son, your place, your life, your people are here".

"I know father, I promise, once I am back I will dedicate myself to my duties, and everything will change".

4 - RIDERCH

The stronghold of Alt Clut was built on two massive rocky hills, hence the name of that place: the Rock. From the parapet at the top, Riderch was watching the wide expanse of water below, where the river Clut, from which the kingdom got its name, was flowing broaden as a lake towards the end of its course, the western sea.

The sunset was closing in, he didn't have any more time to spare. He left the parapet, replying with a nod to a soldier's salute.

He passed through a scattering of dwellings, mostly inhabited by some of his relatives. At that time of the day, only few men were already at their homes, while the women were busy preparing the evening food and doing the last chores of the day. So, only the children were running around and crossing his path. But he knew that the person he was looking for was there.

When he reached the royal hall the guards recognised him and, after searching him quickly, they let him in. Weapons of any sort were not admitted in the royal hall, besides those of two armed guards standing at the entrance.

The wide space inside was lit by a small fire. Only one person was in the room: a bald old man, wearing a thick fur, was sitting behind a table and he was impressing his seal into the wax on a tablet, under the light of a torch.

"Good evening, Father", said Riderch moving closer.

"Look who's here", replied the old man distractedly, without even raising his head.

They were alone, besides the two guards at the entrance. He could speak freely: "I wish to speak with you".

"Speak about what?", asked his father, still busy with the seal.

"Well, it's been a long time since when we talked last time. I thought...", but Riderch stopped in mid-sentence. He had hoped that his father would be the one who started speaking.

After a silence which lasted too long, the old man coughed loudly. Finally he raised his piercing deep blue eyes, his features illuminated by the fire's light: "Let's talk then", he said. "Tell me, who was Coil Hen?".

"What?". Riderch was totally puzzled by this request. "Coil Hen? He was... He was the one who took control of all the Northern Brittania after the Roman troops left, was he? That's what they taught us. I am afraid I don't know much more than that... But if you please I have recent and spicy rumours about Coil Cenet: in Peartoc they say he has been cuckolded by his wife, and in response...".

But Riderch didn't carry on. He was expecting the faintest reaction from his father, instead the old man remained stone-still and, frowning, he answered: "We call Albion our great land, for the gods' sake, Brittania was the name used by the Romans. And what happened to Albion after Coil Hen?".

Really? Riderch had no idea of what was that about, yet he didn't have much choice but to answer: "After Coil Hen, Albion was divided by his generals and successors in smaller territories that eventually turned into different kingdoms".

His father coughed again, but then he insisted: "And how many are these kingdoms?".

Riderch sighed: "Now I don't recall, Father. Can we go straight to the point?".

"Seven are the main ones," continued his father unstoppable, "Rheged, Ebrauc, Bryneich, Elmet, Gododdin, Dunoting, Deifr, not counting the smaller and insignificant territories controlled by high chieftains and want-to-be petty kings".

"Fine, but...".

"And then there's Alt Clut...". A fit of coughing interrupted him in mid-sentence.

Riderch seized the chance of the interruption, he grabbed a stool nearby and he sat. He had enough of standing there like an imbecile.

When he stopped coughing, the old man looked at him grimly: "Our kingdom is unique, Riderch. At Coil Hen's times, the ruler of Alt Clut was Ceretic, one of my forefathers. While other clans raised and died and so many warlords fought and killed each other, our family rules over Alt Clut since the old times when the Roman soldiers occupied Albion. The Rock has never been breached for generations, and under my father's and my rule it has become a political and economic centre".

Riderch yawned, but his father had not finished: "And now, do you know what is happening?".

"What?", replied Riderch, feeling tired of all that.

"Our family's survival is itself at risk, and in this situation you spend your time drinking mead in company with prostitutes, unconcerned about your children and your wife...".

This time Riderch raised his voice: "Enough Father, I've had enough of people speaking to me like that!".

"Don't interrupt me!", boomed the old man, and this time it was not his father, it was King Tutgual Tutclyd of Alt Clut: "Today I received another report from Din Eitin: my cousin, King Clitno, writes that the Engle, or whatever they are called, are slowly occupying more lands along the coasts of Bryneich. He thinks that soon a war will be inevitable".

"A war for taking back an insignificant fort such as Din Guaire? I don't even know how that Morcant Bulc managed to lose it, anyways. Too bad that my brother has the same name of that wimp", replied Riderch sarcastic.

Tutgual had another fit of coughing. The healer had diagnosed some lung disease and had prescribed some potions, which apparently had proved useless. Actually, Riderch realised that his father was coughing even more than the last time he had seen him.

In any case, Riderch couldn't understand why his father was confiding in him about these issues. His elder brother Morcant was the heir designated to succeed Tutgual as high chief of Alt Clut, and despite Riderch's sarcasm he had already proven to be skilled in command, unlike that other Morcant Bulc of Bryneich.

While his father was still coughing, Riderch started to feel uneasy. He had come there with a precise purpose, but it looked like the talk had turned into something very different from what he had in mind.

3 - LANGUORETH

A group of horsemen was approaching the Rock. She could see them from the parapet and she knew they were Riderch and his fellows, even though she couldn't recognise their faces from that far. After entering the lowest rampart they dismounted from their horses and she saw them climbing the slope. After a while they were already close to the top, she could even hear their cackles. They must've had fun, judging by their laughter.

She went to the house and waited inside. The children were playing at Guenfron's place, and that was good: they didn't have to see what was going to happen.

Riderch took his time, but eventually he arrived: "Hi wife!" he said, entering and getting closer.

Languoreth slapped him on the face. Riderch looked affronted, but he answered sarcastic: "I love you too, my dearest".

"Do you even dare to take me for a fool? In which brothel have you been today?" Languoreth retorted.

"Now you are going too far...".

"Am I going too far?", Languoreth spat out: "Stop inventing stories, the truth is that you like to spend most of your time getting drunk and seeking the company of whores in Peartoc! Your children are growing, what'll they see in you?".

"They will see who I am! Their father, and a prince of Alt Clut!".

"The good-for-nothing prince!".

Languoreth saw anger on Riderch's face for an instant, but then he turned away and took off his sweaty clothes, leaving them on the floor.

She had no intention of letting go: "The rumours about your frolicking have reached the royal hall, today even your father talked to me about that!".

Now Riderch stared at her visibly worried and sat down, naked, on the bed's fur: "What did he say?".

"Why don't you ask him?", she said, "he told me that you haven't been talking to each other for ages and that he knows what you do only through the chatters which are spreading around".

Languoreth could see that she had hit the target: Riderch had an expression she had rarely seen on his face (the last time was when Acgarat had fallen from the parapet and Riderch was praying that she wouldn't remain crippled). But suddenly she felt that Riderch's gaze was more enquiring than worried.

She had to spare no effort: "Riderch, since we have been wed we have never left Alt Clut together. Let's go somewhere far from here for a while, you, our children and I".

"What is it about?", he replied, "again the story that here we live in primitive huts while the civilized people of Elmet and Rheged wear silk?".

"This has nothing to do with that! I am just tired of the rumours that come to my ears! I feel like in a prison here! What is wrong with travelling a bit sometime?".

"It is wrong because our life is here. Your life is here, as a princess of Alt Clut and as a mother".

"In that case", answered Languoreth livid, "I will feel compelled to behave the same as you, finding my own... favourite men, unconcerned about the insinuations which will undoubtedly spread all over Alt Clut, including to your father's ears".

This time Riderch looked struck, and when he spoke he did it in a softer tone: "But I do love you, Languoreth, you are my dearest for real. Do you think if it wasn't so we would've had three children together?".

"Then, show it!", replied Languoreth, struggling to hold back her tears.

And after a few instants of silence, finally Riderch stood up, still naked, and said: "Fine, let's talk, then".

2 - BROTHER LUCIUS

 "It's not for us to judge a Council's deliberation, all the more if the Pope of Roma, Ioannes III, agreed to it with pious zeal. Our world is far from councils, our mission is to nurture our Lord's teachings in our daily lives, and to deliver the Gospel to more and more people. In my motherland Hibernia, culture came not through the Roman legions, neither through councils. It came thanks to Christian missionaries. A great example is the life of the holy bishop Patricius, who spread Christianity throughout our lands. Many wise and upright monks followed his example. Nowadays coenobia and monasteries appear everywhere in Hibernia, while the people almost everywhere on those lands have abandoned the ancient pagan rituals."

Father Colmcille, with an absorbed look on his face, stopped his dictation. It was the first time that happened to Brother Lucius to transcribe a dictation by someone who was not reading a text, but rather improvising his speech at that very moment. This abbot had a talent for narrating and describing, and a great self-confidence: hardly ever he asked Brother Lucius to correct what he had just dictated.

"Let's continue", Father Colmcille said, and he carried on dictating:

"On the other hand, in these days Brittania is shaken by perilous times. Savage heathens laid destruction in the south of this big land. The kings of Brittania wage war against each other instead of bringing together their forces against the common enemy. As the very wise monk Gildas stated in his sermon many years ago already, 'in Brittania there are rulers but they are tyrants, there are magistrates, but wicked ones'."

Father Colmcille stopped again and spoke directly to his scribe: "Wait a moment, Brother Lukius, I need to think". The abbot spoke almost perfectly in Latin, but with a strange accent, and sometimes he struggled in some pronounciation, for example he had not mastered to pronounce correctly the name Lucius yet. Well, after all Latin was not his mother language.

Anyway, Brother Lucius was glad to have remained at Ioua. Almost two months had passed, since his arrival on this very small island, together with Brother Leo. Their original schedule was to stay at Ioua just for a few days, but both of them got impressed by the small abbey and its incredibly extensive library. Actually it was hard for Brother Lucius to call it an abbey. In fact, it was just a scattering of small huts with roofs made of wood, turf and thatch. At the beginning, Brother Lucius just wanted to run away, but after few days he changed his mind. The abbot had a wide education and he was a wise man, and in this remote place he had collected so many scrolls on a great variety of different subjects, which left Brother Leo and Brother Lucius mesmerised. Furthermore, this place apparently looked quite renowned in the area: young people were coming to study, or as novices, to the abbey on Ioua. Eventually Brother Leo and Brother Lucius had decided to stay for a couple of months, the time they needed in order to copy at least some parts of the most interesting scrolls, since taking away the originals was forbidden. Brother Lucius had found particularly interesting the scroll of a Confessio written by a deceased bishop named Patricius, which had opened his eyes to the Christian creed in those northernmost lands.

Brother Leo had held conversations with Father Colmcille and other monks, and eventually he had joined some of them traveling to the inland of those regions: apparently on the mainland there were uncivilised vast lands populated by pagan people that needed to be converted to Christianity. Brother Lucius instead had been requested by the abbot as his personal scribe, since Brother Leo and he were the only two persons in Ioua whose mother language was Latin. Besides, before leaving the Vivarium the novice Lucius had taken his vows and he had become a monk, so he was now worthy enough to be an abbot's personal scribe. After just two weeks in that role, it was clear to Brother Lucius that the Abbey of Ioua was a hotbed of culture for the entire region. Who could have imagined that, on such a deserted island?

Without warning, the abbot resumed his dictation: 

"In light of that, we must persevere in our duty, which is to evangelise the pagan people and to pray that the Lord enlightens the Briton rulers. They follow their druids' ancient beliefs, which does no good against the demoniac invaders. My druid is Christ, the only One Who can save us. May the Lord bless Brittania with the coming of a rightful Christian king who will bring back peace and prosperity. We pray for..."

Someone knocked at the entrance, interrupting Father Colmcille. He frowned, visibly irritated, and deep furrows showed on his forehead. Even his big hooked nose turned a bit purple. "Come in!" he shouted, in his own mother language. After three months living in Hibernia and in Ioua, Brother Lucius could understand most of that language, and could speak a little bit of it, but he couldn't write any word of it: the written language in every monastery even in this part of the world was mostly Latin, albeit a rather strange form of Latin.

A gangly monk appeared at the entrance and spoke in the Hibernian language: "Forgive me father. Prince Áedán mac Gabráin has arrived earlier than expected". The Hibernian names were really strange, as was that language as a whole. Brother Lucius understood the name of that prince only because two days earlier he was standing next to Father Colmcille when the abbot received the epistle announcing this visit. Staying in Ioua, Brother Lucius had come to know that in this coastal region, called Dál Riata, was living a large community of Hibernian people.

"Prince?... His father was king many years ago, now his cousin is king, so by rights he's not prince! Because they own some goats and they give orders to a clan, they style themselves as kings and princes... Ridiculous", the abbot grumbled in his mother language. "Let's go and see what this prince wants". Brother Lucius was surprised by the abbot's irritation, especially because the chieftain - or king as they called him - of that region had donated to the Abbey of Ioua bovines, goats and sheep, which supplied the monks with milk, food, wool and, most importantly, with the primary material the parchments were made of. But Brother Lucius had learnt that Father Colmcille was a very proud man. An old monk called him toiseach once, even though the abbot reproached him when that happened: Brother Lucius understood that toiseach meant something like 'chief' in their language, so Father Colmcille must have had some kind of authority also in the place where he came from, not only as an abbot in Ioua.

They walked outside the abbot's hut. Fresh wind was blowing from the sea, but it was a sunny day and it was nice walking outdoors. Their guests were awaiting not far from the main building, which held the function of a church. They were three armed guards, a big bearded man who was wearing stitched clothes and comfortable footwear, and a thin small boy. Father Colmcille strode downhill towards them, followed by Brother Lucius and the other gangly monk. When they were closer, the big bearded man smiled and held out both his hands to the abbot: "Venerable Colmcille!" he said in his language. Of course he couldn't speak Latin.

The abbot shook the big man's arms, but he answered gruffly: "Not venerable, I am not dead yet, by the Lord's mercy. How do you fare, Áedán mac Gabráin? Last time we met, you were with King Conall". The big man, still smiling, answered: "Yes, that time my cousin the king came to ensure that you and your monks were doing well". Then, he became serious: "This time instead, Father Colmcille, I come here with a request".

The abbot invited Áedán to walk on the path that ran amongst the abbey's huts, in the open air. The gangly monk and Brother Lucius followed them closely, while the three armed guards walked just few feets behind.

"Father, this little boy here is my son Artúr", started the big man, stroking the child's ash blond hair. "The reason of my visit is that I would like it if Artúr could stay and study at your abbey".

Father Colmcille raised an eyebrow: "Uh? I thought the best for the Dalriatan youth was to become warriors and leaders".

"The time will come for that too", replied Áedán, "but my son is only seven years old and he deserves a good education. As you know, father, I'm among the ones in Dál Riata that follow your Christian beliefs. I think that Christianity will be important in the future of our kingdom, as it is already in the rest of Ériu".

Father Colmcille didn't look flattered, as he answered: "This boy is not your only son, is he?"

"Oh no, father, he is the oldest of five, ah ah! If you will accept him and if he will do well here, I may consider to send you some of my other sons later. Who knows, maybe one of them will decide to become a holy monk!"

Father Colmcille didn't look impressed. He engaged Áedán in a conversation about Dalriatan politics, using such specific Hibernian terminology that Brother Lucius lost the thread of their conversation. So he glanced at the small boy's face: he was thin and a bit pale, but he had clever eyes and he was actively listening to his father's talk. But wasn't he too young to come to Ioua?

They were walking up the hill now. After a while, Father Colmcille stopped, stared at the boy and asked him: "Artúr, would you like to study here?". The child nodded firmly. "And why?" insisted the abbot. Artúr swallowed, then he answered: "Because I want to become wise and learned like the kings". Father Colmcille wasn't amused: "My boy, do you know that often the kings aren't wise neither learned?". Artúr replied readily: "Yes, there are bad kings, but I mean those kings who want the well-being of all their people, not just the power".

The abbot turned to the prince: "Áedán, the boy's mother is Briton, isn't she?". For a moment the big bearded man looked puzzled by that question: "...Yes father, my wife is a daughter of Tutgual Tutclyd of Alt Clut. My mother too, she was Tutgual's aunt... Marriages with Briton women help to prevent wars between us and the neighbouring territories".

"So the boy is three-quarters Briton", said Father Colmcille softly.

"I don't understand father, in which way does that matter?" asked Áedán. He looked worried, as if he thought to have said too much.

The wind was blowing stronger, at the top of the hill. Father Colmcille turned to go back to the abbey, followed by the others. "You are right Áedán", he said. "Here your son can receive an important education. Our monks are wise, cultured and holy men. Brother Lukius here, for example, my personal scribe, comes from a very important monastery near Roma, the heart of Christianity, and Latin is his mother tongue. He can be an excellent tutor for your son Artúr".