What I had seen would be. Certainty, bright and full as the sunrise even now bathing my face with light, removed even the smallest shadow of doubt. All my visions came trailing deep assurance of truth: what I had seen would happen. Time would prove it true. My death loomed before me as surely as the rising sun; I would go to Byzantium, and there I would die.
I endured prayers in a welter of dread and disbelief. I kept thinking: Why? Why now? Why me? But it was no good; I knew from long experience that I would get no answer. I never did.
Joining the others in the refectory after prayers, I broke fast on barley bread and boiled beef-a hearty meal to begin our journey. "Ah, Aidan, your last meal before you join the vagabundi, eh?" said Brother Enerch, the chief herdsman.
"Prudence, brother," advised Adamnan, sitting beside him. "When next we sit together, one of us will have supped with the emperor. Think on that."
"Think you the emperor dines with every ragged wanderer that presents himself at the Golden Gate?" wondered Brother Rhodri next to me.
Oh, they meant it for jest, but their words filled me with apprehension. Though they tried to engage me in pleasant conversation, I could not rise to their banter and quit the board after only a few bites, claiming that I must gather my belongings.
Leaving the refectory, I walked quickly across the yard to the scriptorium. The sky above had grown dismal grey; a cold, crabbed light leaked from an obscure heaven, and a fitful wind gusted over the stone walls to the west. A desolate day to match my own bleak mood, I thought.
Several of the abbey's piebald geese waddled across my path and, as if to emphasize my distress, I lashed out at the nearest of them with my foot. The geese scattered, raising an unholy squawk as they fled. I glanced around guiltily, and repented of my hastiness as the gooseboy came running with his stick, hissing and whistling to call them back into his flock. He threw me a darkly disapproving look as he darted past.
"Look you! Keep them out from under foot, Lonny," I shouted after him.
Alone in my cell, I sank to my knees in despair. "Christ, have mercy," I moaned aloud. "Lord, if it please you, remove this curse from me. Restore my happiness, O God. Save your servant, Lord."
I poured out my anguish, pounding my fists against my knees. After a time, I heard voices in the yard outside and, rising, gazed a last time around my room. Who would have this cell after me? I wondered. Taken by the notion, I prayed for the man who would inhabit my small, bare room. Whoever it might be, I asked God to bless him richly and bring him every good thing.
Then, taking up my bulga, I put the strap over my shoulder, left my cell, and joined the travelling party in the yard.
The whole abbey had gathered to bid us farewell and see us on our way. The abbot and Master Cellach, who would go with us as far as the coast, stood talking to Ruadh and Taum. The bishop and visiting monks were assembled and ready to depart. I saw Brocmal and Libir, standing nearby, so took my place with them. Brocmal regarded me with a sour expression as I came to stand beside him, then turned to Libir and said, "One would think that any monk fortunate enough to be chosen for such a journey-against all proper expectation, mind-that monk would at least see to it that he did not keep others waiting."
This obscure rebuke was, I suppose, meant to shame me. But, as I had learned to expect no good word from those two self-satisfied scribes, the remark passed without offence. Ignoring their scorn, I searched the crowd for that one face I longed most to see. But Dugal was not there. Sick dread came over me as I realized that now, in the moment of leaving, I would go without bidding my dearest friend farewell; and once gone, I would never see him again. The finality of this realization filled me with inexpressible sadness. I could have wept, if not for all those looking on.
"Thus the journey begins!" Fraoch called, and, raising his staff high, turned and led the way to the gate. The brothers cried farewell and lifted their voices in song. They followed us to the gate, singing.
I passed through the portal and beyond the wall, and out…out, my feet on the path now, leaving the abbey behind. I walked on, telling myself that I would not look back. After no more than a dozen paces, however, I could not bear leaving without a last look at Cenannus na Rig. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw the curved bank of the ringwall and, rising above it, the tall belltower; the roof of the refectory hall, chapel, and abbot's lodge showed above the wall. Monks crowded the gateway, waving their arms in farewell.
I raised my hand in reply, and saw, just passing through the gate, the ox and wagon bearing the supplies for our journey. And who should be leading that ox, but Dugal himself. The sight brought me up short.
