The Secret of Kells (2 page)

T
he rest of the day was very busy. Brendan had a long list of chores to do. One of the Abbot’s favourite sayings was: ‘The devil finds work for idle hands.’ So he made very sure that there were no idle hands in Kells. As well as their daily tasks in the monastery, the monks had other duties. They met at regular times in the chapel, to sing and to pray. Brendan spent many hours there, crammed in with the monks in the dark candlelit space. He quite liked the long ceremonies, so long as he didn’t have to sit beside Brother Friedrich, whose feet were a bit smelly. The time in the chapel gave his mind a chance to wander wherever it chose to go. Nobody noticed, so long as he didn’t forget to take part in the chanting and praying. The monks also all met at dinner, where they sat at long wooden tables in the Refectory, with the only light coming from rush-lights and the great open fires, where half-trunks of forest trees flamed
brightly. Tonight, there was extra food and the Abbot sat at the top table with Aidan. For once, Abbot Cellach smiled and laughed during the meal. He seemed to be sharing jokes with Aidan, old jokes that no one else knew. Brendan tried to remember the last time he had heard the Abbot laugh, and found that he could not. Everybody ate the same simple meal: a dish of lentil soup and coarse brown bread. Very often the monks were not allowed to speak at meals, but this evening, in celebration of Aidan’s arrival, the Abbot had allowed conversation. So Brendan got a chance to ask his particular friends about Aidan.

‘Ah, the great Aidan!’ said Brother Tang. Brother Tang was small and round and very kind. He had come to Kells from far in the east, travelling mile after mile in his search for wisdom. And he was very wise. The Abbot trusted him more than anyone else in the monastery, and sometimes even followed his advice, although as a general rule Cellach did not listen to anybody.

Now Tang sounded unusually excited about the new arrival. ‘Brother Aidan is an old friend of Abbot Cellach – they were young monks together
in Clonmacnoise. Aidan is the perfect illuminator, a master, one of the most skilful of our times. His work outshines what we do in the Scriptorium here in the same way the sun outshines that rush-light on the table. We are greatly honoured to have him here among us.’

‘If only Abbot Cellach would let him teach us!’ said Brother Assoua. Brother Assoua was large and black. He had come to Kells from the south, from Africa. He had the best sense of humour of anybody in the monastery. He told Brendan marvellous tales of his country – about the beasts there that you could never find in Ireland: huge elephants, and monkeys that swung from the branches of trees and seemed almost human, and about the great golden lions who wandered over the sun-baked plains. Brendan particularly loved Assoua’s stories about the lions.

Now, as he spoke, the rest of the monks nodded. There was Brother Friedrich, who was from the north, a Goth. He was wide as a door and as strong as an ox. He was seated beside Brother Leonardo, who was from Italy and did all the cooking in the monastery. Leonardo was a brilliant cook, even if
he was a little over excitable. Next to him was Brother Jacques from France. He was the bell ringer and spent most of his time napping. Brendan had known all the monks ever since he was a baby. They were like his family, although they were all much older than he was. Like a family too, they often squabbled, especially

Brother Leonardo and Brother Assoua. Brother Assoua continued, ‘You know that Aidan comes from Iona. Have you heard about Iona, Brendan?’

Brendan shook his head.

‘Iona is one of the greatest monasteries in the world. It is – it was – built on a tiny island to the east and to the north of us, near Scotland. The monks thought that they were safe because they were on an island. But Northmen came by the sea and attacked it. ‘

‘My uncle says islands are never really safe.’ Brendan’s voice was wistful. He knew he would never see Iona, or any other island. His uncle would never allow him to travel so far beyond the walls of the monastery. He was not even allowed to go out into the forest that surrounded Kells.
Brendan knew that his uncle had made these rules to protect him, to keep him safe, as he had tried to do ever since he had saved him from the Northmen. But he still longed to see the world outside the walls of Kells.

There was a silence after Brendan spoke, and then Leonardo continued, ‘But Iona was safe for a long time. The monastery had been there for over two hundred years. It was founded by the great Colmcille himself.’

‘The same Colmcille our church is called after?’ asked Brendan.

Brother Leonardo nodded. ‘Yes, the same. Colmcille was from Donegal, from a royal family. He would have been a prince if he had not decided to become a monk. And he became one of the greatest saints and greatest abbots the world has ever known. He made the most beautiful books, over three hundred of them. You know, that was why he left Ireland in the first place, because of an argument over a book. He was a man with a terrible temper, and a great warrior. He copied a book that a monk called Finnian had illustrated, and Finnian was so angry with him they ended up
fighting one another. Of course, all that was before he became a saint. Other people joined in the row so that in the end there was a huge battle. Colmcille won, but many, many people were killed. After the battle, when Colmcille saw what had happened because of his anger, he punished himself by leaving Ireland. He swore never to set foot on Irish soil again, though he loved the country with all his heart. He went across the sea to Iona. They say he started to make a book there, and that book is the most beautiful one ever created. It is called the Book of Iona and to look into it is to gaze into heaven. Sinners are blinded if they dare to look inside. No one has ever matched the way Colmcille was able to draw, the details of the designs he made. That was because …’

Brother Leonardo stopped for a moment and then whispered, ‘Colmcille was only able to draw the way he did because he had a third eye.’

‘He hadn’t a third eye!’ interrupted Brother Assoua loudly. ‘He had a third hand. And he had twelve fingers on each of them.’

The two brothers looked as if they were going to have one of their arguments, so Brendan blurted
out quickly, ‘Whichever he had, he must have been a strange-looking character!’

Everyone laughed.

‘And what happened to all the books they illustrated on Iona after the Northmen started to come and raid the monastery?’ asked Brendan.

Brother Assoua sighed. ‘They must have been destroyed, lad. The Northmen have no respect for reading or the beauty of art. They are all gone, lost, like so many other treasures.’

Brendan said nothing. Because of the conversation he had overheard, he knew better. There was one book, at least, which had escaped the Northmen, and that book was in Aidan’s satchel. All through dinner and all through the service in the chapel afterwards, Brendan thought about the Book. It was surely the one that Colmcille himself had begun, the most beautiful book in the world.

Brendan crept through the darkness to the Scriptorium. When he had gone to his cell, he had found that he couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned, thinking about the Book and imagining
what it would look like. He finally decided that he had to see it. He had noticed that Aidan had left the Book in the Scriptorium when they went to pray in the church. As he sneaked up the stairs, he saw that there was a glow of light coming from under the door. He opened the door very carefully in case someone was there. If it was his uncle, he would be in trouble again. But then his uncle hardly ever went to the Scriptorium. When he entered the room there was only one faintly shining rush-light left on one of the tables. But a golden glow seemed to come from the worn leather satchel that Brother Aidan had carried. Brendan crept a little closer. There was something there, a black shape against the light, but he could not make out what it was. As he groped his way through the half-darkness, it seemed to expand, growing bigger and bigger until it became huge and monstrous. The shadow of a dark, beast-like demon. A shadow which leapt for his throat and shrieked at him like a banshee!

Brendan yelled. The cat leapt on top of the satchel. Her back was arched and her fur stood on end as she hissed at him, warning him to keep
away.

‘You nearly killed me with fright, Pangur Bán,’ whispered Brendan, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t mean the Book any harm. I know you are just trying to guard it. I just want to see it. All I’ve ever seen is inside the walls of Kells. If I could just see one page … please?’

The cat looked hard at Brendan. Then she seemed to make up her mind. She stopped hissing and moved down from the satchel. She seated herself nearby, looking at Brendan with what seemed almost a smile on her face. Brendan realised that Pangur had accepted him and that they had suddenly become friends.

And so, very gently, Brendan started to pull the Book from the bag. It was heavy, and he needed both hands to do it. He could feel metal and leather. But he had only pulled it out a little way when a voice behind him said, ‘Well if it isn’t the little brother with the big questions!’

Brendan nearly dropped the Book in fright. It was Aidan, looking rather sleepy, but not at all cross. But Brendan felt dreadful. He could feel his face go very red as he stuttered, ‘I’m … I … I didn’t
mean to …’

Aidan interrupted, ‘I understand. You got bored eavesdropping on the Abbot’s private conversations and decided to rummage through my things.’

Brendan was horrified. He didn’t know what to say.

Aidan smiled. ‘Calm down, lad, calm down. I won’t tell on you.’

Brendan’s face went even redder.

‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, honestly – it was Pangur that ran away and I chased her up the stairs.’

‘Blaming the cat, now, is it?’ said Aidan. But he smiled as he said it so Brendan knew he was only joking. The old monk continued, ‘That cat, now, is a very wise cat, and might well have known what she was doing when she led you up those stairs. So, you want to see the Book? Go on then, take a look.’

Brendan looked at him. Did he mean it?

‘Go on then,’ Aidan said again. ‘Take a look.’

But now Brendan stopped. He had just remembered something.

‘The brothers say that sinners are blinded if they look at the Book …’

Aidan’s smile grew wider. ‘Is that what you really believe will happen?’ He paused for a moment. ‘I can’t tell you what will happen when you look, Brendan. It’s up to you to make the choice. There’s nothing in this life but mist, is there, lad? It’s your decision, no one else’s.’

Still Brendan hesitated. He could stop now, because he was afraid, but then he would never see the Book. And more than anything else in the world he wanted to see it.

Slowly, Brendan pulled the Book out from the satchel. He gulped when he saw the magnificent cover. It was covered in gold and silver, and studded with jewels. Rubies and emeralds and amethysts sparkled in the light. He ran his fingers over the gold.

‘The cover is not the real treasure,’ said Aidan. ‘Go on, open it up …’

Very slowly, very carefully, Brendan opened the cover and looked inside.

B
rendan never forgot the moment when he saw the first page of the Book. It was the colours that struck him first. As he looked at the yellows and the reds, the purples and blues and greens, he felt as if he were drowning. Drowning in a sea of the most beautiful colours he had ever seen. They appeared to glow with light, to shine even more brightly than the jewels on the cover. And the more he looked, the further he was drawn into the pictures. The spiral paths led his eyes deeper and deeper into a secret space, a magic place – into a world of tiny, intricate figures and designs. The figures were of men and angels, of birds and beasts and flowers. Swirls and spirals, knotwork and mazes; each bright band of colour held a meaning and each pattern held a message. For a long time he looked into this world, slowly turning the pages as more and more marvellous things met his eyes. He was not aware of where he
was, of how long he looked, but finally he croaked, his voice hardly more than a whisper, ‘The work of angels.’

Aidan laughed. ‘The work of angels – did you hear that, Pangur? I didn’t know they made angels as funny looking as me! Maybe the boy
has
gone blind!’

Then he became serious. ‘I thought the very same when I first saw it. But ’tis only the work of mere mortals, I’m afraid. Mortals like me – or you. The Book was created as a vision of beauty, a beacon in these dark days of the Northmen. And do you want to see the most beautiful page? The one that will turn darkness into light?’

Brendan nodded.

Aidan leaned over the Book, turning the pages until he came to one which he opened out.

Brendan’s mouth fell open in astonishment. The page was blank.

‘There now,’ said Aidan. ‘That’s to be the Chi Ro page.’

‘The what?’ said Brendan. ‘But there is nothing on it.’

‘That’s right,’ said Aidan. ‘The Chi Ro page has
nothing on it yet, because the Book has not been finished. That page is to be the glory of the Book, the one filled with the name of the Lord. But it has still to be decorated. And that is why I came here, because I thought I would find a refuge here, where I could continue with the Book. I thought that my old friend Cellach would support me in the work. But Cellach has changed. He can think of nothing now but building walls. It seems that once he put on that Abbot’s cloak, he forgot the importance of the work he once loved. And now …’ Aidan sighed, then continued, ‘Tell me, Brendan, would you like to help me?’

Brendan’s heart leapt with excitement. He could imagine nothing more wonderful than to be allowed help Aidan with the work on the Book.

‘Oh yes, please!’ he said. ‘Of course I will. I often help the brothers get their quill pens from the geese, and clean up after them. And they show me things, how to make the shapes and the letters and the little figures. They let me practise with chalk or charcoal from the fire or on one of the wax tablets, like those over there on the shelf. Leonardo says I’m not bad, and he’s one of the best artists in
Kells.’

He stopped, realising that he was babbling with excitement. But Aidan was smiling at him.

‘Calm down, little brother!’ he said. ‘Now, one of the first things we have to do is to make more ink. The ink here is all very well I’ve had a look at it but it’s not up to the standard of what we used in Iona. We want this book to last, so that people will still come to see it, and read the story that’s told in it, far into the future. So we can’t afford to use ink that will fade over the years. We had some special ways of making ink in Iona. I’ll show them to you.’

Aidan rooted in the satchel and pulled out some little brown berries.

‘You see these? Don’t look like much, do they?’

Brendan shook his head.

‘Well, these are what we made the green ink from – the most beautiful emerald colour you’ll ever see. Look …’ He pointed to a vivid green serpent coiled around the letter S on one of the pages. ‘A green like that. If you help me get a dozen or so of these, I’ll show you how to make the ink.’

Brendan looked closely at the page, then at the berry Aidan held out. He had never seen one like that.

‘It’s not even green. Where do you get it from?’ he asked.

‘Why, in the forest. It’s an oak gall. Do you think you could get me some of these, Brendan?’

There was a silence. Brendan didn’t know what to say. ‘I, I … I’m not allowed out into the forest. My uncle says it is too dangerous out there …’

Aidan looked at him. Then he sighed and sat down at one of the desks. ‘And you know what, Brendan, he is right,’ he said. ‘There are terrible dangers out there, beyond the walls of the monastery. And especially in the forest. Wolves and worse. But it is possible to come through them. I came through them to get here.’ He paused. ‘Have you never wanted to see outside, Brendan?’

Brendan thought for a moment. ‘Sometimes I have. Especially when the spring is here and the leaves come on the trees and I can hear all the birds singing. It seems so lovely out there. So full of life.’

‘It is lovely,’ said Aidan. ‘You know, there is not
just danger out there. The forest can be as beautiful as heaven, Brendan. You would see miracles there. Blessed Colmcille loved the woods. He used to say he would rather suffer the torments of hell than hear the trees being cut down in his beloved oak woods in Derry. He said there was an angel in every tree. If my brothers from Iona were here now, they would tell you that you could learn more in the forest than you ever could behind these walls, Brendan.’

Aidan sighed again. ‘But I do not want to force you to go outside. For, as your uncle said, it is very dangerous. I would go myself, but I am a bit old to be climbing trees. God be with the days when I could. Now, we must try to get some sleep. Good night, Brendan.’

As Pangur and Aidan left the Scriptorium, something rolled off the desk. Brendan caught it before it fell to the floor. It was a little brown berry.

Back in his cell, Brendan found that he could still not get to sleep. His head was full of the wonderful colours of the Book. Then he thought of how dreadful it would be if it was never to be finished.
He wished he could go out into the forest to find the berries that were needed to complete the Chi Ro page. He thought of how happy Aidan would be if he brought them to him. He thought of how proud he would feel to be able to help his new friend. And then he thought of his uncle, how angry and disappointed
he
would be if he found out that Brendan had disobeyed him.

Brendan thought of the forest itself, the forest that surrounded the monastery for miles and miles, the forest where he had never been, at least not so far as he could remember. Of course, he had been brought through it on his journey to the Abbey when he was a baby. His uncle had carried him through those woods, when he had brought him to Kells, and kept him safe inside the walls he had built. If Uncle Cellach had not come to get him, he would probably have died. He owed his uncle everything, so how could he risk disappointing and hurting him yet again?

But maybe he could get the berries without his uncle finding out. Perhaps he could go into the forest and be back before anyone knew he had gone. And Aidan would have the berries to make
ink, and he would make the Chi Ro page, the most beautiful page of the most beautiful book in the world. Brendan would have been the one to make it possible. But how would he get out? The big wooden gates were always locked and his uncle held the keys of all the doors and gates in the Abbey of Kells. Then he remembered something.

When he had been chasing the goose earlier that day he had found himself at a part of the walls that had still not been finished. Through the grey stone and wooden scaffolding, he had seen a ray of light, a narrow green tunnel to the forest outside. The gap there was a small one, but big enough for a thin boy to creep through. If I slipped out through there, he thought, no one would know that I had even left the enclosure of Kells.

And, he thought, if I keep thinking about the Book, I won’t be afraid of the dark!

There was nobody about as Brendan made his way through the silent monastery. The rooster that slept on top of the henhouse looked sleepily at him, then stuck his head back under his wing, deciding it was still too early to crow. Brendan
crept along the wall, searching for the gap he had seen during the goose hunt the previous day. He reached the place where a piece of sackcloth was hanging loosely against the scaffolding and lifting it, he could see where the light came through from the other side of the wall. He gave a quick glance behind him, but he could not see anybody. He lifted the sackcloth further, so he could creep through. But just as he did, something touched his shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin, imagining the Abbot’s angry face looking down on him. Then, with a sigh of relief, he realised that it was only Pangur Bán, who had come to keep him company.

‘Pangur!’ he whispered. ‘Thanks for coming with me!’

The two of them entered into a tunnel of green light. He could hear his own breath in the deep silence. He wriggled his way through the dark passage in the scaffolding, Pangur following close behind. Ahead of them, he could see a patch of light and as he moved through the tunnel the light became stronger. When he came out the other side, the sun dazzled him. He could feel a breeze,
blowing more wildly than any breeze he had ever felt inside the monastery. The world smelled different. This was the wide world; there were no walls to keep him safe here. He was in the forest.

When he had seen the forest from the top of the Round Tower, it had seemed like a green sea of leaves surrounding the monastery. Now he was under the waves. And it was beautiful there. Brendan could not understand why his uncle did not want him to see such a beautiful place. Green branches, covered in lichen, twined together over his head. He touched one with his hand; it felt warm and soft as Pangur’s fur. Much of the floor of the forest was covered in moss, so that he felt he was walking on a green rug. Some of the trees did not yet have their leaves, and he could see the small buds on many of the branches, but even so he could feel the green life all around him. Birds began to sing, more and more of them joining in, as if overcome with excitement that the sun had actually come up
again
.

He followed what seemed to be a path, twisting through the overhanging branches of tall trees.
Butterflies flew past, bright yellows and scarlets, then a dragonfly, its colour the most luminous blue. A robin chirped busily. Something moved suddenly to his right and he realised that he had almost walked into a brown deer. He had not seen it, as it had been carefully camouflaged against a tree trunk. He watched, delighted, as its white bobtail disappeared into the trees.

He heard water, and now the path crossed a clear amber stream, with an otter standing on the bank, its black button nose alert and twitching. A frog croaked from a hole in the side of an old tree, and rabbits and hares darted across his path. In a strange way, the feeling in the forest somehow reminded Brendan of the Scriptorium. It brought him back to those times when all the monks were working hard; when everyone was quiet, so concentrated and so contented in their work that it felt as if their brains were buzzing together like happy bees. Pangur darted about, playing, grabbing at butterflies with her paws, but not seriously trying to catch them. The butterflies themselves seemed to be enjoying the game, because they would dart close, as if teasing her a
little.