put himself forward.
'Very well,' replied the abbot slowly, regarding the unconscious Libir with an expression of sorrow and pity. 'We will choose another-though it will be a bitter disappointment to this good monk.'
'I do not see what else we can do,' Cellach said.
'Abbot Fraoch,' said Dugal softly, 'would you allow me to take his place?' Before the abbot could reply, Dugal continued, 'I feel responsible for Libir's injury-'
'You caused Libir's injury!' Brocmal cried, pressing forward again. 'Abbot Fraoch, hear me: Dugal pushed Libir on the path. I saw him do it.'
'Brother, please,' said Cellach, 'this is neither the time nor place for such accusations.'
'But I saw it with the very eyes in my head!' Brocmal insisted. He threw a finger in my direction. 'Ask Aidan-he saw it, too.'
Suddenly, I became the centre of this dispute. I looked from Brocmal, red face alight with anger, to Dugal, calmly, quietly, still kneeling over the stricken Libir, unruffled, apparently unconcerned by Brocmal's indictment.
'Aidan,' the abbot whispered hoarsely, 'I do not need to remind you that this is a serious matter. Did you see what happened?'
'Yes, abbot.'
'Tell me now. What did you see?'
I answered without hesitation. 'I heard a cry and turned. Libir had fallen. Dugal raised him up and tried to help him, but Libir would not-he pulled away and started down the bank on his own strength. That was when he fell.'
'He fell twice?' asked Fraoch.
'Yes. Twice.'
'And you saw this?'
'I heard the cry first and saw Dugal trying to help him. I saw Libir pull away; I believe he was embarrassed to have fallen. I looked to my own feet then, and I had only just turned away when he fell again.'
'Not so!' shouted Brocmal. 'Liar! You two are in it together. I saw you scheming, the two of you.'
'Brother scribe,' cautioned Fraoch gently, 'you are overwrought. It seems that you are mistaken in your assessment of what happened.'
Brocmal shut his mouth, but continued to glare furiously at us. The abbot turned to Dugal. 'Brocmal is distraught, brother. Do not hold his anger against him. He will make amends when he is in a better mind. As for myself, I am satisfied that you tried to help Brother Libir in every way.'
'I only wish he had not been injured at all.'
'Sure, your quick thinking saved an old man a worse injury,' Lord Aengus put in. 'You have done well.'
'Still, I wish it had not happened,' Dugal said. He stood up and turned to the abbot. 'Good abb, though I am no scribe, I stand ready to take his place. If you will have me, so be it.'
'Brother,' Cellach told him, stepping near, 'your offer is most noble, but you speak neither Latin nor Greek. And as you say, you are no scribe-'
Before he could finish, however, Lord Aengus said, 'Forgive me, my friends. But it seems to me that you have scribes and scholars aplenty for this journey. It seems to me that a ready-handed man is wanted. Who better than a warrior to serve in this?' He placed a hand on Dugal's shoulder, as if commending him. 'Forgive my intrusion, friends, but these are dangerous times. I would be to blame if I did not offer my best advice in this matter.'
The bishop, nodding agreement, spoke up, 'The king argues well. I think we must consider his suggestion in all seriousness.'
'It may be that God has allowed this to happen,' Queen Eithne suggested pointedly, 'so that you would not leave your homeland without the protection of a stout warrior in your company. If I were choosing men for such a journey, I would travel with an easier mind if I knew that at least one of our number had served in the king's warband.'
'I can think of no better warrior for such a chore,' the king added, 'and I have good reason to know whereof I speak.'
There came a call from the wharf below. 'The tide is ebbing!'
'It is choose now,' Bishop Cadoc said, 'or wait until another day. I leave it to you, Fraoch.'
The abbot made up his mind at once. He turned to Cellach. 'I am sorry, brother. I know you would gladly come with us, but you are needed at the abbey.' Then, facing the warrior before him, he said, 'Brave Dugal, if it is in your heart to take Libir's place, then perhaps God himself has placed this desire in you. So be it. I say you shall go. May God bless you richly, brother.'
I stared on in disbelief. Dugal nodded, accepting the abbot's decision almost reluctantly. 'On my life, I will do all to aid the successful completion of our journey,' he vowed.
Another shout echoed up from the wharf. 'The tide is ebbing! You must hurry!'
'It is settled,' said the king. 'Go now. We will care for your man while you take your leave.' Then turning to Dugal, he said, 'The world is wide, friend, and dangers crowd the day.' He drew his sword and offered it to his former warrior. 'Therefore, take this blade for the protection of your good brothers.'
Dugal reached for the sword, but the bishop put out his hand. 'Lord Aengus, keep your weapon,' he said. 'The Word of God is our protection; we need no other.'
'As you will,' the king said, replacing the sword. 'Hurry now or you will not get clear of the river mouth.'
Leaving poor Libir in the care of Cellach and the king's men, we made our way down to the ship. The last of the supplies had been loaded, and most of the monks had already clambered aboard. The bishop, with great dignity, eased himself over the side of the boat and took his place beside the mast. Dugal and I were the last to board.
I had never been in a ship before. 'Dugal,' I said urgently, 'it is not big enough! Sure, it is too small.'
He laughed. 'Fret not. It is a stout craft.' He ran his hand along the rail. 'It was made to carry thirty men at need, and we are but thirteen. We will fly before the wind.'
I gaped at him, still marvelling at the turn of events I had just witnessed. If the archangel Michael himself had reached down and plucked Dugal from the wharf and dropped him into the boat beside me, I would not have been more astonished.
'You are going, too, Dugal!' I cried suddenly.
'That I am, brother.' His smile was broad and handsome.
'But it is wonderful, is it not?'
'Indeed,' he said.
At a shout from one of the British monks, four of the brothers standing at the rail took up long oars and pushed away from the wharf.
The abbot raised his staff aloft and made the sign of the cross over us. 'You go with a treasure, my brothers. May you return with tenfold riches and blessings untold!'
Then, lifting his poor, broken voice, he began to sing:
I set the keeping of Christ about thee,
I set the guarding of God around thee,
To aid thee and protect thee,
From peril, from danger, from loss.
Nor drowned be thou at sea,
Nor slain be thou on land,
Nor overthrown by any man,
Nor undone by any woman.
You shall hold to God-
God shall hold to thee,
Surrounding thy two feet,
His two hands about thy head.
Michael's shield is about thee,
Jesu's shelter is over thee,
Colum Cille's breastplate preserves you,
