The Island of the Strong Winds

Brother Corman awoke in his cell. Outside he could hear the chants of the monks in the chapel. The bark of the seal colony on the exposed coast of Holy Island, the cry of the gulls, the wind and the sea combining with the plain song in worship to the Creator God. As Corman sat up, he tried to work out what day of the week it was. Tilting his head, he tried to catch the words of his brothers. Which office was being said?

Corman listened. Something registered as wrong. The words of the Psalm were those associated with death. Did they think he had succumbed to the fever that had so afflicted him. In his haste to comfort his brothers, to tell them that he was still alive, Corman stood up. Days of fever and lack of food took their toll, and Corman found himself feeling faint through hunger. Sinking back down onto his cot, Corman looked around for sustenance. On the floor a bowl lay upturned, the bread with it covered in dirt. A pitcher of water also sat there, and Corman took a draught. He was thirstier than he realised. Still too week to go out of his cell, Corman knew he would have to wait for the service to finish.

Lying back down, Corman started to recite the Scriptures to himself. After days unable to attend prayer with the community, he needed building up Spiritually as well as physically.

It was some time, Corman did not know how long, that he heard footsteps of people come past. Two pairs stopped and someone put their head inside. It was a face he had dreamed of during his illness, that of a young novice - Brother Samson.

As Samson's anam chara, his soul friend, Corman spent a large amount of time with his young friend. His eyes were red ringed through his crying, yet Samson's eyes lit up when he saw Corman awake and all but recovered from the fever.

"Brother, it is good to see you better."

"I've been awake for a while and joined you, in words, in the prayers you prayed. Tell me, Samson, what have I missed? Who was it who has gone to be with his Saviour?"

Did Corman detect a pause before Samson answered? "Brendan, my brother. He fell ill with the fever and passed on to glory yesterday." The young monk's tone was emotionless, almost as if he had cried himself dry of tears.

"Now, no more of this." Samson took the chance to change the subject. "I will get Brother Marnoc, and a bowl of gruel to silence your appetite." With that Samson left and went in search of the apothecary.

In the time it took for Marnoc to arrive, Corman lay thinking. Brendan and Samson had been slaves who had been set free by Aidan and had joined the community. Brendan was the older of the two, and the more physical. Like Esau he was hairy, and ready for the outdoors. Samson was gentler both in appearance and nature. He preferred the work of the scriptorum and the art of illumination. It was known that Brendan had bullied his brother, taking advantage of physique. But, while Corman suspected, nobody knew how far this had gone.

The arrival of the apothecary brought an end to Corman's meditations. Marnoc had been one of the original twelve who had accompanied Aidan on the journey from Iona. As such he held a position of respect and authority.

"Meditating on the Lord's words or has some problem passed your way already?" Marnoc's tone was light and as gentle as the elderly man's wind swept features. Yet did Corman detect a sense of apprehension?

Corman chastised himself. He needed mental stimulation as well as food. But it was no good running after spirits.

Marnoc carried on his ministrations of word and deed. "You have been with fever for five days. So you need to rest and build up your strength. Samson will bring you some vegetable broth, but you are to stay in your cell for at least another day. It will do neither you or the community any good for you to go about your work too soon.

"I suppose you would like to partake of the Blessed Sacraments? I will see which of the priests is free to celebrate with you. But now rest! Ah here is Samson."

Having finished with his patient, Marnoc stepped aside to let the young man in then went on his way. The soup was hot and, in his hunger, Corman had to be careful not to eat it too quickly. As if often the way, the simplest things give the greatest pleasure. While he took nothing of the meal, Samson received his pleasure from seeing his old friend eating so heartily.

Finishing his broth, Corman felt refreshed. A man of keen intellect and practicality, he did not like the idea of being confined to his cell. While he could not work, surely he could go for a walk. Fresh air would be good for him and, if Samson should accompany him, there should be no problem.

Also, something was different about the young man. He had just lost his brother, but he did not seem to be grieving him. In the conversation that would come may be Corman could learn something. The elder monk knew not to ask questions, but to allow the conversation to follow its course. Over the course of his life, Corman had learnt that much is discovered if you just listen.

The companions heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Marnoc entered accompanied by a younger brother named Kieran. "It will soon be time for the None, do you feel up to joining us. We can then stay behind and celebrate your return to health in the chapel?"

Nearly three in the afternoon! After recovering from his surprise as to the hour (he must have heard them celebrating Sext - the midday service), Corman looked to Marnoc. The apothecary nodded his agreement to Kieran's words. With a beaming smile, Corman accepted the invitation. With the help of Samson and Kieran, and under the compassionate gaze of Marnoc, Corman made the way up the hill to join his brothers in worship.

The time of prayer finished, and Corman made his way to the front for the Mass which was to follow. Marnoc and Kieran joined him, as did Aidan the communities founder and a number of the other brothers. To Corman's surprise, Samson excused himself explaining that he wanted to clear away the remains of the meal and tidy Corman's cell for him - including removing the bowl that had been overturned. As Samson left the chapel, Corman noticed Marnoc's concerned gaze follow the young monk's departure. So he had heard a sense of concern in the man's voice earlier that day.

Turning back Corman joined in with the words of the service as Kieran led them in the Mass. Yet his mind was not fully on the service and, at its end, Corman asked Marnoc's permission to go for a walk. Their eyes meeting in understanding. Marnoc agreed and went off to fetch Samson.

Corman enjoyed the walk. To feel the wind coming off the sea. To watch the seagulls soar above the waves. As much as anything else, this was what made the island special. Whether he recognised the importance of the elder monk's time with nature, or because he did not wish to say anything, Corman's companion remained silent. Yet Corman felt that, once or twice, he saw the struggle of what to say bubble to the surface only to subside under a blanket of fear or embarrassment.

Having reached the most northerly accessible point the two brothers stopped. On the horizon large storm clouds turned the sky a threatening grey. "We need to hurry back, before the rains come." In spite of the weariness of his body Corman picked up his pace. "Tell me, Samson. That bowl that was knocked to the floor. What was in it?"

Samson stopped in his tracks. For a moment he looked stunned at the question. "Mushroom broth. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it is just that I noticed it when I awoke today. That is all."

The younger man seemed relieved at the explanation. "I must have left it when I came in to tend to your fever. I was there when they found Brendan."

"Ah, you must have knocked it over when you left in your haste. Do you miss your brother?"

This time the pause was unmistakeable. "Not as much as I should."

Corman stopped and looked at Samson. With a nod of his head, he turned and continued back to the community. There was an urgency in his step.

"What, where are you going?"

In contrast to the fear in Samson's voice, Corman was quite placid. "To find out who brought me a bowl of mushroom broth." The sharp intake of breath was the confirmation he needed. "And then I must talk to Marnoc." The hurried footsteps behind him had stopped. "As he is my anam chara, I need to confess my guilt."

Corman looked around him, and saw some fallen trees, protected by a bank from the wind. Motioning towards them he went and sat down. After a pause, Samson came and sat beside him.

"I am your anam chara. As such I have failed you. I do not know how far he went, but I know that Brendan assaulted you. He used his status as elder brother, and his size against you. This created a seed of hatred that grew. It was established well before you came here. And while I recognised it, I did not deal with it. 'Tomorrow would be better.'

"When you came in this morning, I did not see grief in your eyes. I saw relief. You could now live a normal life. But can you? While he has said nothing, Marnoc is concerned. Neither is he happy with how your brother died. His fever was a chance to free yourself.

"Samson, you are not a man of violence. For you to take such a course, something must have happened. And I am guilty for not noticing that pain. If I had noticed your brother may still be alive."

The young man sat in silence. That Corman should be willing to shoulder the blame for his act. That Brendan's rape, while unknown, was not unnoticed. That the poisoned mushrooms, that had killed his brother could have killed his companion. Feelings struggled for dominance inside him. Guilt, relief, grief for himself, grief for his brother, fear of loosing Corman. And as tears welled up in Samson's eyes, rain started to fall from the sky as an act of sympathy.