Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [97]
The little monastery stood on the slopes just south of the ridge where the old rath of Fergus had overlooked the dark pool of Dubh Linn. It had been there when first the Vikings came—a small religious house protected by the Ui Fergusa descendants of the old chief. In the centuries after the death of Fergus, other small chiefs had set up raths here and there in the broad plain of the Liffey’s estuary and their names had survived. Rathmines, Rathgar, Rathfarnham all lay within a few miles’ distance. The old rath of Fergus now lay within the walls of Dyflin, but the little clan of the Ui Fergusa were still recognised as chiefs in the area, and they had a farmstead nearby.
As he gazed across to the dark pool and the walled Viking settlement beyond, Osgar felt a comforting warmth spread through him. This was home.
When the Norwegian Vikings first arrived, his ancestor, the Ui Fergusa chief of the day, had wisely decided not to put up a futile resistance. It was also fortunate that, like Fergus long before him, this master of the rath had been an excellent cattleman. The Vikings had no sooner arrived on the Liffey than they began to look for supplies. Having dispersed his livestock to places where they would be hard to find, the cattleman made himself useful to them in every way, supplying them with grain, meat, and cattle at prices which were fair. The Vikings might be pirates but they were also traders. They respected him. Despite his Christian religion, this descendant of Fergus had still proudly preserved the family’s ancient drinking skull. The Vikings could relate to that. He soon learned enough of their language to conduct business and made sure that none of his people gave them trouble. He became quite a popular figure. There was open land all around: there was no need to throw the old chief off his territory. And if he wanted to keep the little monastery, whose only object of value they had already taken, the pagan Norsemen had no objection. The monastery paid them a small rent. The monks often had skill in medicine. Vikings from the settlement would trudge over there for cures from time to time. And so it was that the family of Osgar had held on, by ancient Ath Cliath, down the centuries.
The two children were nearing the monastery gate, from which an elderly monk was emerging, when Caoilinn declared her intention.
“I think,” she said, “I should like to get married in church today.” And approaching the old monk, she asked politely, “Is the abbot in, Brother Brendan?”
“He is not,” came the gruff reply. “He’s gone fishing with his sons.”
“We can’t use the chapel, then,” Osgar told her firmly, “or we’ll be in trouble with my uncle.” The abbot was strict about such things. If he allowed the children into the little chapel when there was no service, well and good. But if they sneaked in there without permission, they could expect to feel his strap across their backsides.
The fact that Osgar’s uncle the abbot was a married man with children was not an indication of moral laxity at the monastery. Ever since, about two centuries after Bishop Patrick’s visit, the Ui Fergusa had allowed a party of monks from a great religious community to the south to settle near their rath, the family had associated itself with the monastery. From time to time down the generations, if some member of the family felt a desire for the contemplative life, what could have been more natural than for him to enter their own religious house? Indeed, it even added to their prestige: for just as their ancestors had sometimes become druids, so the greatest families in the island would often have one of their number in holy orders at any given time. And it was only natural, also, that the Ui Fergusa should think of themselves as guardians of the monks.
Not that the little monastery was in need of much protection. Some of the great monasteries on the island had grown so rich that the chiefs in the region, for whom cattle raiding, after all, was an ancient and honourable tradition, could not resist the temptation to plunder