The Life and Loves of Saint Columba

Main Characters

Northern Ui Neill

The Conaill Clan

Saint Columba, named Crimthann at birth, christened Columba, known as Saint Columcille after his death.

Fedhlimidh, Columba’s father

Eithne, Columba’s mother

Cousins of Columba

Áed mac Ainmuirech, High King of Tara (AD 568–594)

Báetán, king of Ulaid (AD 574-586)

The Cairpre Clan

Tuathal Maelgarb, High King of Tara (AD 528-544)

The nEógain Clan

Fergus, Domnall, Baetan, Kings of Tara and sons of Muirchertach Mac Erca, [High King of Tara (AD 504-527)]

Southern Ui Neill

Diarmait, High King of Tara (AD 565–574)

Dalriada

Cousins of Columba

Conall mac Comgall, king of Dalriada (AD 560–574)

Eoganán mac Conall, chief of Clan Oengusa, Dalriada

Áedán mac Conall, king of Dalriada (AD 574–606)

Maithgemm, aka Gemma, daughter of Áedán

Genogram of Ui Neill and Dalriada Royal Families on p.277

Connaught

Áedh mac Echach, King of Connaught

Columba’s Teachers

Cruithnechan, Christian school in Donegal

Gemman, Teacher of Poetry & Minstrel Lore, County Meath

SAINTS, ABBOTS and CLERICS

St Brigid, Patron Saint of Ireland, Kildare

St Finnian, Moville, Ulster

St Finnian, Clonard, County Meath

St Mobhi, Glasnevin, nr Dublin

Bishop Etchen, Clonfad, West Meath

St Enda, Inishmore, Isles of Aran

St Brendan, Clonfert, Galway

Abbot Laserian, Inishmurray Island (also known as Laisrén, St Molaise)

Comgell Mocu Alti, Cormac, and Saint Cainnech, Abbots who visited Columba with Saint Brendan

Laisrén, St Molaise, hermit on Holy Island

MONKS

Ciaran mac In Tsair, friend and fellow-traveller of Columba

Diormit, Baithene and Ernan, monks on Iona, Tiree and Jura

Picts

Bridei, son of Maelchon, King of Picts (AD 554-584) Inverness

Broichan, Chief Druid to King Bridei

Emchath, Pictish Lord, Loch Ness

Virolec, son of Emchat

Royal Families of Ireland and Dalriada in the Sixth Century

Part 1:

Ireland

Map of Ireland in the 6th Century with Clans (Cenél)

Chapter 1

Niall of the Nine Hostages

Once upon a time there was a High King of Tara called Eochaid…

Eithne spoke in hushed tones so as not to wake the other children.

His wife, the queen, was a beautiful, dark-haired woman called Mongfind. She had four sons by the king and for a time she was the most contented and the most powerful woman in the whole of Ireland. But one day Eochaid fell in love with Caireann, a girl he had taken from the Saxons as a hostage.

What’s a hostage, Mam? asked Crimthann.

When a king wins a war, as Eochaid did against the Saxons, he brings home someone the other king thinks the world of and keeps him or her locked up in his castle to prevent that king taking his revenge.

Does Papa have a hostage?

Oh yes, he has three!

Where does he keep them? I haven’t…

Do you want to hear to rest of the story or do you want to keep asking questions?

No! no! The story! What happened next?

Mongfind so hated this girl…

Caireann!

Yes. She made her carry water from the well for the whole household. Every day she toiled under the weight of the buckets and jars, but no one dared challenge the queen.

Mongfind the Horrible!

That’s right, they were all afraid of her. And when Queen Mongfind found out that Caireann had become pregnant by the king, she made the poor girl work even harder, carrying firewood as well as water, hoping she would lose the baby through her struggles. But Caireann was strong and, sure enough, on the way to the well one day she felt pains in her belly she gave birth to a baby boy on the grass.

Oh no!

Oh yes! She was so afraid Queen Mongfind would discover the child and kill him that she dared not pick him up or even touch him. She knew the other women would be too scared to help her and she didn’t know what to do. But by chance the king’s poet happened to be passing and heard her crying. His name was Torna. He looked at the child lying in the grass and wondered what to do. Then he had a vision…

What’s a vision, Mama?

It’s like a dream, only not when you’re asleep but when you’re wide awake.

Like I am now!

Yes, but you need to go to sleep soon, my child.

Please Mama, go on with the story.

Oh all right. The poet Torna saw in his vision the baby all grown up and sitting on the throne at Tara, the greatest king of all. He knew he must hide the baby from Queen Mongfind and he took him to a village many miles away. He named him Niall…

Niall, I know that name, I…

Hush, child, let me tell the tale. So Torna raised Niall and didn’t let him near any of the king’s palaces until he reached an age to take the throne. On that day, Torna and Niall travelled back to Tara together. As they approached the palace, the first person Niall saw was a woman dressed in rags carrying two buckets of water. He knew from Torna’s tales that the woman was his mother and he went over to her, put his arm round her and told her to put down the buckets. Why are you dressed in rags? he asked. Don’t you know you are my mother and I am the High King’s son?"

Poor Caireann was terrified what the queen might do but Niall took her inside the palace, dressed her in purple robes and made her take her place on the seat next to the king’s throne. As soon as Queen Mongfind saw this she was furious and began yelling at Eochaid to get rid of the imposter."

What’s an imposter, Ma?

Crimthann yawned and stretched his arms out. His eyes began to close and Eithne gently raised him from the bed, wrapped him in a sheepskin rug, then settled him down. In a moment he was fast asleep next to his little brother who had long been in the land of dreams. But the next night, he demanded that she finish the story of Niall and promised to stay awake and be quiet until she had finished.

Imposter, remember Mama?

Yes, it means trickster, a person who pretends to be someone he isn’t. Queen Mongfind tried to convince King Eochaid that Niall was not his son at all but just a poor boy trying to fool them. But King Eochaid was delighted with the newcomer; he was such a beautiful young man and so noble in his bearing that he believed he must be the long-lost son he had so often been told about. Queen Mongfind knew that the king would not listen to her, so instead she demanded he choose an heir from among the five young men, Niall and her four sons. She was confident he would choose their eldest son Brian. Niall might have charmed the king but he was really just a stranger to them all.

Not to the poet Torna!

No, but to all the others; and there were many, many people who lived in the High King’s palace. Anyways, King Eochaid decided to ask his Druid to give the boys a test to find out who was most suitable to become the next king. The druid told the boys to enter the forge and choose the object they thought most important. He closed the gate behind them and waited outside with the king. Brian came out first, carrying hammers, and the druid told the king this meant the boy was a strong man both at home and in battle. Fiachra brought out a cask of beer and King Eochaid knew what it meant and waved him away. Then came Aillil with a chest full of weapons and after him, Fergus with a bundle of firewood. Niall came out last, carrying the anvil. So what do you think the old Druid said to the king?

I would choose Aillil because a king should be the best fighter.

No, the druid chose Niall, telling the King that the boy would become solid and dependable like the anvil, where all the hammers and weapons were forged.

Did the king and queen agree with the druid?

The king, yes, but Queen Mongfind, no! She stood firm against her husband and tried to persuade her sons to kill Niall so that things could return the way they were before ‘that devious poet Torna’ had brought the boy, whoever he was, and upset the true order of things in Tara. But Queen Mongfind’s sons did not want to come between their mother and father. They all agreed one day to go hunting with Niall and one way or another decide amongst the five of them whether to side with their father or their mother. They ranged far from home and eventually killed a deer, then made a fire to cook it. But they had forgotten to bring any water with them and after they had eaten they were struck by a powerful thirst. They sent Fergus, the youngest, to search for water. He looked here and there until at last he came across a well. But barring his way was a woman – no ordinary woman but a filthy hag with long, crooked limbs and skin covered with the pox. Her hair was greasy and as coarse as a horse’s mane and her teeth were green and mossy. Fergus shuddered but he plucked up the courage to ask if he could draw some water from the well. ‘Of course my love,’ the old hag replied, ‘you can drink all you want as soon as you have kissed me!’

Yuk! I wouldn’t kiss her even if I was dying of thirst!

Nor did Fergus. He returned to his brothers and pretended he hadn’t found any water. Then one by one the other four boys followed in his footsteps, they too discovered the well and met the old hag and her demands. Aillil and Brian refused. Fiachra forced himself to give her a peck of the cheek.

Ugh!

The old hag was pleased and promised him that two of his descendants would one day be kings.

But did she give him some water?

No! So it was left up to Niall to go looking. Like his brothers he soon found the hag, but she said the price of the water for him was not only to kiss her but lie down with her in the grass as well.

Crimthann shuddered and covered his eyes with his hands.

Niall held his breath and took her in his arms. No sooner had he done so than she was transformed into the most beautiful young woman, with straight limbs, soft white skin and golden hair. After they had lain together she told him he was destined to become the High King of Tara as would his sons and his descendants after him. She instructed him to take the water to his brothers but not to let them drink until they had given up all their claims to the throne and given him dominion over them. This they did and the five brothers returned to Tara with the matter settled once and for all. Of course, Queen Mongfind tried her hardest to persuade them to challenge Niall but they had given their word.

Is Niall…?

As on the previous night, little Crimthann was flagging, his eyes closing for a moment, then half-opening. Eithne stroked his red hair and smiled at him.

Yes, it is the same Niall your father has told you about, who ruled Ireland and fought wars in foreign lands and won them all, bringing back bounty and slaves, one of them who became Saint Patrick. All in all he took nine hostages, one from each province and…

I knew it! Father calls him ‘Niall of the Nine Hostages’! He was my great, er…

Great, great…

That’s it! My great, great, grandfather, Niall, High King of Tara! One day I’ll be like him. I’ll become chief of the Ui Neill, king of Donegal, and I’ll rule over the whole…

But he fell asleep even before he could finish the thought in his head, let alone his words.

Chapter 2

Fedhlimidh and Eithne

Crimthann was a headstrong boy, tall for his age with a shock of red-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His voice was loud and clear, his manner enthusiastic and somewhat overbearing for one so young. His three sisters and younger brother Eogan loved to play with him because he always dreamt up the most inventive games. But they were also somewhat wary of him, knowing he would become caught up in his own imagination and forgetting himself, push them over or scare them or speak harshly.

His bearing and his self-confidence was instilled in him from an early age by his mother, a noblewoman from the Corbraige clan, born in the wild Fanad peninsula at the northern tip of Donegal. She was a passionate and forceful woman who married young into the royal family of the Ui Neill. Her husband was Fedhlimidh, a prince of the Northern Ui Neill, the most powerful and fearsome clan in the land. But unlike his cousins, many of whom went on to become High Kings of Tara in due course, Fedhlimidh was mild-mannered and somewhat withdrawn, a soft-spoken man with little interest in politics and no interest at all in the warmongering that so concerned the rest of the clan. He devoted his time and effort to improving the local farmlands and supporting the many farmers and craftsmen in the region. He preferred poetry and music to battle cries and clashing swords, and although of high birth he strived to better the lot of the poorest in his province. He was regarded as weak by the more assertive royals of the Ui Neill clan, but by virtue of his steady leadership and good husbandry he had established a sizeable stronghold beside Lough Gartan in the heart of Donegal. The province he ruled with a firm but fair hand over the nobles and farmers and soldiers. There had been peace in the area for many years and the people swore allegiance to him not out of affection but because they thrived under his rule.

From the outset Eithne believed, as mothers often do, that Crimthann was a special child, destined for greatness. Just before his birth she had dreamed of an angel appearing before her and presenting her with a robe of the most extraordinary beauty. No sooner had she accepted the gift than the angel snatched it back and flung it far into the sky. Looking up as it floated on the wind Eithne saw to her amazement the robe unfolding and expanding to unbelievable proportions, spreading beyond the plains and forests and mountains, covering the whole land in a kaleidoscope of colours. On waking, she told her husband of the dream. It was a sign, she said, and it could only mean that her child would become a man reckoned among the highest and the most revered in the whole of Ireland.

Whenever his father rebuked Crimthann, even in the gentlest fashion, his mother Eithne would spring to the child’s defence and remind Fedhlimidh of her portentous vision. And so it was that summer’s afternoon when they were sitting in the sunshine looking across from the entrance of Eithne’s room to the lawn where the children were engaged in a game of hurley or at least some semblance of the game which was so popular in that era. Crimthann, as usual, was not only winning but also refereeing and keeping score and when his older sister Cuimne pointed out that he had just broken the rules he had himself established, he berated her in the most vociferous manner, so much so that she started to cry.

Crimthann, behave! called Fedhlimidh, be kind to your sister. It’s only a game.

Don’t tell him off! Eithne chided her husband. He means no harm, it’s just high spirits. We don’t want to box him in so he grows up to be self-conscious and shy. He cannot fulfil his destiny if he becomes introverted.

Like me, you mean? Fedhlimidh asked, smiling at her. He took one of the tiny gold balls tied to his long hair and twirled it in his fingers. This is the time, he thought, to make decisions about our first son, not engage in our usual banter. There was a moment’s silence and then he said,

Eithne, my dear, I believe we should talk to Cruithnechan and make arrangements for the child’s future.

Cruithnechan was an old cleric who lived at Temple Douglas, in the parish of Conwal, an hour and a half’s walk to the east of Gartan on the way to Letterkenny. His house and chapel were built beside the Mound of the Dark Stream, one of the burial mounds believed in those days to be the gateway between the living and the dead. Cruithnechan had established himself as a man of great learning. He conducted circuits – called turahs – of the stations and wells and other sacred places for those who sought the truth, whether pagan or Christian. He also tutored some of the favoured children of the local royalty and aristocracy. Thus it was only natural that Fedhlimidh should think of him in relation to Crimthann.

I agree, replied Eithne. We should go now before the autumn rains come and seek guidance from Cruithnechan as to whether we should be preparing our son for kingship or... She stopped in her tracks, not wanting to admit to any other future for her son.

Once preparations were made, Fedhlimidh, Eithne and the four-year-old Crimthann set off together in their chariot, accompanied by their servants, two champions for their protection, a rhymer to keep them amused on the journey and their historian to make record of the occasion. Once over the forested hills behind their stronghold it was an easy journey for the charioteers as they made their way across farmlands and around peat bogs until they reached the holy man’s village.

Cruithnechan welcomed them and asked if he might take the child for a walk before discussing their options. This would have been a daunting request for most children of tender years, but not Crimthann. He talked about himself and asked questions by the dozen as they walked together to the mound and the dark stream and beyond. It was dusk when they returned. The child’s irrepressible excitement and the quiet look of contentment in the old man’s smile reassured Fedhlimidh that the future would be well decided.

After a modest dinner of oats and honey, Cruithnechan spoke with the parents and advised them of his considered opinion:

I do believe that the dream you recalled, Eithne, was indeed a harbinger of things to come. Your child is quite unique, so alert, so observant, so enthused of the beauty of nature and the world around him. I am as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow that he will make a name for himself in the coming days and years…

He fell silent as if in meditation for a few moment,

… and who knows for how long.

So tell me, holy one, Fedhlimidh asked, how do you see the future for our son? Will he become a king, like so many of the Ui Neill before him? Or is there some other calling you can see?

He is headstrong, I have no doubt…

That’s for sure!

… but not in a destructive way. He seems to me too intelligent to lead an army or wield power when he reaches manhood. He is… He paused. Of course, it is too early for me to tell. I suggest you bring him to me so that I can teach him the arts and music and literature and above all, the holy scriptures. We will see then what is the best path for him to follow.

My dear friend Cruithnechan, this is precisely what we hoped and prayed for, said Fedhlimidh. Ideally, we would like you to foster him until he has reached an age. In this way you would become even closer to our family and we can work together in harmony on moulding and shaping him for the future.

It would be a privilege to do so, my lord, a privilege!

Eithne had not spoken a word but her face spoke volumes. All the misgivings she had held about her husband’s hesitancy in such matters vanished. She only had one question.

Will you baptise him into the church, holy father? she asked.

In time, he replied, but first I would like to take him with me to Kildare. I have a prior appointment there and it is fortuitous you have asked me to tutor Crimthann at this moment since I can use this opportunity to introduce him to...

Are you sure? interrupted Fedhlimidh. Kildare is a long way for a young child to travel.

If you were to lend me one of your chariots with a charioteer, we could get there in a day. I promise you, your son will have the time of his life.

But who are you visiting? asked Eithne, still uncertain about the old man’s mysterious proposal.

I will let your son tell you on our return. If you are willing to trust me for the next few years, then you will surely find it in your hearts to trust me for a couple of days. Believe me, your trust will be well rewarded.

Fedhlimidh and Eithne agreed, and on their return to Gartan, the king arranged for his most senior charioteer to pick up old Cruithnechan and Crimthann and take them to Kildare. He also instructed two of his farmhands to take eighteen head of cattle to Temple Douglas in advance payment for his son’s fostering.

The ride to Kildare was a joy. The child showed wild enthusiasm for every new encounter with the herds of deer or the assembled water fowl on Lough Erne or the swans and grebes gliding along the River Erne and the herons standing like statues on the surrounding marshlands. Even the thunderstorm that passed over them as they were crossing the meadows of Meath excited rather than frightened him. Finally, they reached the open plains known as the Curragh and there on an expansive ridge was a large double monastery, one half for women, the other for men.

Kildare means the Church of the Oak Tree and was named after the large tree so beloved of Saint Brigid, the founder of the monastery. And she it was whom Cruithnechan had long planned to visit. Brigid, the second patron saint of Ireland after Saint Patrick, was revered like no other. Born a slave like Patrick, she had devoted her life to the church and was renowned for her service to the poor and downtrodden. By the time the old man and his young charge made their journey, Saint Brigid was in her seventies and quite ill. While the appointment Cruithnechan first made to see her was solely due to his respect for her work and a wish to pray with her before she died, his meeting with the precocious Crimthann brought to his mind a prophecy the saint had made not long before.

"There shall spring a sapling in this northern half of Erin*

And there shall be blossoms of every grace thereon,

And God shall make thee of a great tree, and

Its top and its branches shall over Erin and Alba.**

Columcille, ‘dove of the church’, shall be his name

And his word and his preaching and the fame and example

Of his piety shall reach over the whole Western World."

Surely this was the child whom he had been chosen to look after and teach, he told himself. He would not speak these thoughts to the Abbess, but he would take careful mental note of her words when she spoke to Crimthann.

It was late in the evening when they arrived at Kildare, and after a light supper they were taken to their sleeping quarters. The following morning, a nun came to tell them Saint Brigid was ready to see them and they followed her across the main courtyard to the oak tree. The Abbess was seated on a bench beneath the tree with her favourite pupil Dar Lugdach beside her. The two women greeted the old priest and they exchanged pleasantries for a while. Meanwhile, Crimthann walked round and round the oak tree, peering up into the foliage, letting out a cry of delight as a pair of robins flew from branch to branch, then wandering over to a dovecot beside the church. A white dove flew down and perched there and the child stood still and stared at it, spellbound.

Saint Brigid called to him and he came over and stood politely in front of her.

So what is your name, child? she asked.

I am Crimthann, I am a fox! he replied proudly.

And do you like being a fox?

Oh yes! Foxes are strong and brave. They are scared of no one, not even large animals like deer or wild boar. They have sharp teeth, you see.

I think they might be scared of men, interjected Dar Lugdach.

Of course, the child said. That’s because all the creatures of the earth are frightened of men. But when I grow up I’ll be scared of no one, neither animal nor human.

I see, said the Abbess.

She peered into Crimthann’s bright, shining eyes and smiled at him, then she beckoned him to come close and placed her right hand on his head.

Bless you, my child. I can tell you are full of delight in the world around you and that is a wonderful thing. But think a moment: the small birds who fly above our heads neither frighten us nor are frightened by men. Take the dove, for example… And she pointed to the dove sitting atop the dovecot. …he is peaceful and serene; he may appear weak but he can fly all the way from here to your home in less time than it took you in the chariot.

Really?! the child gasped in amazement and stared at the old lady with a quizzical expression on his face.

It’s true, she confirmed. Just imagine the strength and perseverance of such a creature. Wouldn’t you rather be like that?

Crimthann did not answer, but the old lady’s words caused him to stop and reconsider. Perhaps the fox was not so wonderful after all, he thought. The Abbess’s words also struck a chord with Cruithnechan. Her recent prophecy was surely intended for this child as he had suspected and he was overwhelmed with happiness.

A few weeks later, the old priest sent a message to Fedhlimidh informing him that his son’s baptism would take place in his chapel at Temple Douglas. It was an auspicious occasion and in true fashion the family organized an impressive formal affair on the lucky day of Thursday. Not only did the entire royal cortege attend in full regalia, silk and satin cloaks draped over their tunics, gold necklace for Fedhlimidh and gold crown, brooch and bracelet for Eithne, but all the local chieftains and their wives also arrived in response to the invitation. The ceremony itself was a simple affair, as was Cruithnechan’s habit. The child was washed and spruced up, then dressed in white linen. Everything was agreed beforehand in order, except for one thing. At the very moment of baptism Cruithnechan raised his eyes to the assembled congregation and announced that Crimthann would henceforth have a new name. There were murmurings in the chapel.

I baptise you Columba, the dove! I know how high-spirited and exuberant you can be, but peace and love will be your destiny. Crimthann was your name from the earth but Columba is your name from heaven and it will become yours from this moment henceforth.

The child behaved immaculately throughout the ceremony. His mother’s heart swelled with pride and his father smiled in quiet satisfaction. The boy had, after all, told them all about his trip to the oak tree monastery and everything the lady saint said.

Thus began the second period in the boy’s childhood, the beginning of the slow transition from fox to dove. Thus the prophecy made by the Abbess Brigid, Ireland’s second patron saint, was fulfilled. Or perhaps the old priest was confused in his mind. Perhaps he had mentioned his intention to call the boy Columcille, the Dove of the Church when they met the saint at Kildare. Perhaps she had seen the same promise he had seen in the child and wrote her piece afterwards.

As it was, Saint Brigid died the same year and Columba was only four years old, so we can only rely on the priest Cruithnechan, whose memory was unreliable like all old men, and whose belief in his own perspicacity and the miraculous qualities of the Abbess of Kildare no doubt outweighed any blind commitment to telling the truth.

* Erin = Ireland.

** Alba = Scotland.

Chapter 3

Columba at Kilmacrenan

Columba spent the next few years being trained at the monastic settlement of Eithne’s Oakwood, near Kilmacrenan, some two hours’ walk north of Gartan, bordering the land of his mother’s kin. Several other boys and girls from the aristocratic families of Donegal were already fostered there, as was the tradition at the time. From the outset, Cruithnechan instilled in the minds of the children who played with the new boy that his earthly name was unfitting for a child of God and they should call him by his new name.

Columba had been living with his foster family for several months when the old man decided it was time to take him to visit his parents and reassure them how well-behaved he was in the monastic school and how dedicated a student he had become. Luckily it was a mild winter that year and the long walk was invigorating rather than icy, with wind rather than rain sweeping across the hilltops. They arrived as the sun was setting and a light frost began to settle on the ground. The lake beside the family’s settlement was still and grey, reflecting the dark mountain on the far side.

Cruithnechan sent no forewarning to Gartan and