We then began carrying the supplies down to the wharf. The bank was steep, as I say, and stony-and the stones slick with moss, making the footpath hazardous. Dugal lifted the bundles from the wagon and gave them into our hands, and we trundled them down to the water.
As the pile of bundles and grain bags dwindled, I worried that I would not be able to say my farewell to Dugal. "Time grows short," I told him, stepping near as he pulled the last grain bag from the wagon. "I wanted to say farewell."
"But we are not parted yet," he replied-somewhat curtly, I thought. Nor did he look at me. Instead, turning away quickly, he hefted the bag into the hands of a waiting monk, then called to the abbot that the wagon was empty.
The abbot nodded, and whispered to all around him, "Let us go down to the wharf. The ship is waiting."
Most of the brothers were already assembled on the wharf-only the bishop, abbot, and several of the elder monks stayed behind, speaking to the king and queen. I picked up a bundle and started down to the ship as the last of the provisions were being handed aboard.
As it happened, there was a particularly treacherous place where the path switched back on itself, passing between two rocks. The morning mist had made the place very slick indeed; as I had passed the spot twice before, I knew to step lightly and put my hand on the taller rock to steady myself. With a grain bag under one arm it was no easy feat, but, with care, I was once again able to avoid any mishap. Thinking, however, to call a warning to those coming behind, I paused and was just turning around when I heard a sharp, strangled cry. Someone had fallen on the path!
Fumbling for a handhold, I glanced back to see that Libir had slipped and gone down. Fortunately, Dugal was right behind him. "Brother!" Dugal shouted. "Here now! Take my hand!"
So saying, brawny Dugal reached out, took hold of Libir and hauled him upright-a tragedy narrowly averted. The elder monk, white-faced and trembling, regained his feet and pulled violently away from Dugal. "Take your hand away!" Libir cried, embarrassed, I think, by his own unsteadiness.
I turned and started down the path once more and had taken but one step when I heard a loud crack-as that of a branch struck against a stone. An instant later Libir screamed. When I looked again, he was crumpled against the bank with one leg jutting out at an unnatural angle.
"Libir! Libir!" Brocmal shouted, thrusting himself from behind Dugal.
"Stay back," the big monk warned. "Do you want to fall, too?"
The elder scribe was moaning, head back, eyes closed. Dugal edged down beside him, and carefully gathered the monk into his arms. "Easy," Dugal said. "Easy, brother. I will carry you."
Dugal straightened his back and lifted the softly moaning monk. Then, half-sitting and half-climbing, Dugal edged his way back up the bank to the top. Those of us closest to the accident quickly gathered around to see what had happened.
Brocmal pushed Dugal aside and knelt over his friend. "I told you to be careful," he said sharply. "I warned you."
"Sure, it is not his fault. The path was very slippery," Dugal observed.
Brocmal whirled on him. "You!" he shouted. "You did this!"
To his credit, the big monk let the remark pass. "I tried to help him," he replied simply.
"You pushed him!"
"He pulled away."
"Peace, brothers!" rasped the abbot, stepping in quickly. He knelt over the fallen Libir. "You have had a bad fall, brother," Fraoch soothed. "Where are you hurt?"
Libir, grey-fleshed and sweating, muttered an incoherent word. His eyelids fluttered and he lost consciousness.
"It is his leg, I think," Dugal pointed out.
Cellach, kneeling beside the abbot, lifted the monk's tunic. Many of those standing near gasped and looked away. Libir's right leg was hideously bent below the knee and gashed; a jagged stub of broken bone protruded from the wound.
"Ah," sighed the abbot heavily. "Dear God in heaven." He sat back on his heels and drew a hand over his face. "We cannot leave now," he said. "We will have to take him back to the abbey."
Lord Aengus, standing with the bishop, pressed forward and said, "Please, let him be taken to my stronghold. It is nearer, and he will receive the best of care. I will return him to the abbey as soon as he is able to travel."
"I thank you," Fraoch said doubtfully. "But it is not so simple."
"Cannot another take his place?" wondered the king.
"Yes," the abbot agreed. "Another must be chosen. But the choice is difficult. There are many factors to be weighed and considered."
"No doubt it is as you say," said Queen Eithne. "Still, it seems a great shame to tarry even a moment longer than necessary."
"Come," said Lord Aengus heartily, "you make it more difficult than it is. While I do not presume to instruct you in such matters, I would simply have you observe that the tide is flowing now. If another can be chosen at once, your journey can proceed."
