Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [114]
“Come,” said the novice when they got outside. “You haven’t seen the best yet.”
He led Osgar across a little bridge over the stream and turned right, onto a track that led up the valley.
“We call this the Green Road,” he explained. As they proceeded past the lower lake, the valley narrowed. On their left, the steep wooded slope was almost a cliff and Osgar could hear the sound of a waterfall. On his right, he noticed a grassy earth circle, like a little rath. And then, just as they passed through some trees, suddenly: “Enter paradise,” his companion said softly.
For a moment, Osgar caught his breath. The upper lake was large, about a mile long. As its quiet waters stretched before him between the high, rocky slopes that rose through the trees, it seemed as though they might have emerged from an entrance into the mountain itself.
“There’s Kevin’s cell.” The novice indicated a small stone structure some way off by the lakeside. “And up there,” he pointed to where Osgar could just see the entrance to a small cave under a rocky ledge overlooking the water, “is Kevin’s Bed.” It looked a hard place to reach; the rocky slope beneath it was almost a cliff. He noticed there were banks of sorrel growing down below, and nearby those, a swathe of stinging nettles. Following his gaze, his companion smiled. “Some people say that’s where the saint threw himself in the nettles.”
Everyone knew the story of Saint Kevin’s youth. Tempted by a girl who wanted to seduce him, the young hermit had driven her away and, stripping himself naked, had rolled in a bed of stinging nettles to cure his lust.
“He used to stand in the shallows of the lake to pray,” the young monk went on. “Sometimes he’d stand there all day.” It wasn’t hard, Osgar thought, to imagine such a thing. In the perfect peace of the lake he, too, he felt sure, might do the same.
For some time, the two young men stood together, drinking in the scene, and it seemed to Osgar that he had never known such a sense of perfect peace in all his life. Indeed, he hardly noticed the sounding of the bell from down the valley until his companion gently touched his arm and told him it was time to eat.
His interview with the abbot had taken place the next day. He was a tall, handsome man, with curly grey hair and a kind but stately manner, who came from an important family. He knew Osgar’s uncle, and welcomed the young man warmly and asked after the affairs of the family monastery.
“What has brought you to us at Glendalough?” he enquired.
As best he could, Osgar explained to the abbot his situation, his hesitation about his marriage, his sense of disquiet and uncertainty; and he was relieved to see that the older man listened in a manner that suggested he did not think his concerns were foolish. When he had finished, the abbot nodded.
“Do you feel called to the religious life?”
Did he? He thought of his life at the family’s little monastery beside Dyflin, and of his possible future there. Was that what the abbot meant by the religious life? Probably not.
“I think so, Father Abbot.”
“You think that if you marry, it will …” the abbot considered a moment, “take you away from the conversation you wish to have with God?”
Osgar looked at him in wonder. He had not formulated the thought in that way, yet it was just how he felt.
“I feel