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".