Page 52 of Summer Warrior

“They are hoping you might show them around,” said Ragnhild, as she laid back her hood. Her flushed cheeks and windswept hair drew Somerled’s gaze. He had missed the sight of her lovely face.

“The monks finished another batch of ale a sennight ago,” said the abbot. “It should be ready to drink once we have seen the abbey. You are welcome to try it.”

“Aye,” said Somerled, casting a glance at his companions. On their faces were eager acceptances of the priest’s offer. “I think we would like that.” Since ale was served with nearly every meal and contained only small amounts of spirits, it was suitable for his son, too.

Abbot Bernard led them first to the large dining hall filled with light from the tall windows at one end and beckoned them to the open hearth where they reached their hands toward the flames to warm them. Somerled purposely took a place next to Ragnhild, their shoulders touching.

Gesturing to the long table in the center of the room with a bench on either side, and a chair at the head, the abbot said, “After Lauds, we break our fast here with bread, cheese and ale before going about our work.”

He next took them to the church. “This is the Church of St. Mary, the oldest part of the abbey and its heart.” The church had been built in the shape of a cross with an altar at the far end of the chancel. Windows set high in the wooden walls allowed shafts of light to fall on the altar. “Here, we pray and hold services for the people.”

The princess explained, “My father established the abbey to promote the Christian faith, to educate the island’s young and to give alms to the poor.”

“And we do all three,” put in the abbot, “as well as produce ale, raise cattle and grow vegetables and herbs.”

“Aye,” said Somerled, “I can see you are busy. I have always thought that abbeys bring civilization to the places they inhabit, helping the people to understand God. The Gaels have them but we follow the Celtic tradition of Patrick and Columba.”

“It might interest you to know that it was Patrick who brought Christianity to this isle,” said the abbot. “And both the castle and the abbey are named for St. Russin, who, along with your Columba, settled Iona long ago.”

Somerled nodded, unsurprised but happy to hear it. “I know that Patrick traveled to many places, Columba, too. Iona is a sacred place to my people.” He raised his eyes to the timbered beams above him and then to the arched windows and felt the quiet stillness, the solemn majesty of the place.

After that, the abbot took them to the room where they made the ale, the rich earthy smell filling the air. Several monks were busy mixing ingredients for the next batch.

“What’s it made of?” asked Gillecolum.

The abbot smiled down at Somerled’s son. “Malted grains, water and yeast for fermenting. Sometimes we add heather or spices, too.”

Gillecolum nodded, pursing his lips.

“Come,” said the abbot, “I will show you a small room where I entertain visitors. There, we will share the new ale.”

The light was subdued in the corner chamber to which the abbot led them, being provided by small windows high in the walls and a brazier whose fire had burned down to coals. Still, the room was warmer than the others they had seen and inviting.

A monk awaited them next to a table set with mugs of ale, which Somerled and his companions promptly accepted. He handed one mug to his son and then another to Ragnhild. “For you, Princess.”

She took it, gazing into his eyes.

The sweet, fruity taste brought a smile to Somerled’s face. “Very refreshing.”

“I will see you have some to take with you,” she said.

“This is good,” said Maurice, “better than what we often drink.”

“And better than what we have on Islay,” put in Liadan.

The abbot was obviously pleased. “We work hard to make it the best. I will send some to the castle for tonight’s celebration.”

“We are fortunate that the monks produce enough for all,” said Ragnhild.

As they were leaving, Somerled thanked the abbot. “Your abbey has inspired me, Abbot Bernard.”

On the way back to the castle, he again walked next to Ragnhild, “One day,” he said to her, “I hope to found an abbey, mayhap on Kintyre.”

She turned to him, her green eyes sparkling. “I believe you will.”

He knew she would favor such an idea. He had not mentioned it to the abbot but, when the abbey was built, Somerled would invite Culdee monks to dwell there.