The Adventure of Fitz Michael

By Lee W Crossland

In the late ninth century, the Vikings have entered Irish waters and also the Isle of Man. Plunged into a cylindrical tower by the late abbot Father Daniel, Fitz Michael Ghabron is chosen to escape off the isle with the last remaining relic of the monastery belonging to St. Columba. After following a mysterious angelic voice, Fitz finds himself in an unknown cave belonging to a Scottish hermit who belongs to the sacred order of monks called the Samhadi Paidraig. The two monastic warriors decide to seek out revenge on the pillaging Norsemen who have sacked their monastery called Patrick. The adventure to take the relic of the saint to the High King of Tara is sidetracked with a new and divine purpose, and also with a divine ax inherited by the Irish from Inuit Eskimo hunters. The two monastic warriors find themselves in faraway lands belonging to the Viking, Pict, and Micmac warriors that Fitz calls the children of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532021473

Lee W Crossland

Lee Crossland is currently a social worker for aging citizens and autistic children. He has a Bachelor degree in LIberal Arts and has graduated from the University of California. He has now published his first book and does plan to publish one more. Lee and his wife Ashley have two children named Launa and Vivian and live in Scottdale Pa.

Book preview

Chapter Two

God’s Holy Rain

THE ONLY MONK ABLE TO survive with the early fathers of the first monastery stood early in his cloister when the wanderer monk arrived. Fitz Michael Patrick Gabhran was brought to the second monastery as a youth when he lost his father, and his uncle decided it best for him to be brought to St. Patrick’s. Dropping him off on the Isle when he was still just a young man due to the devastating raids, Fitz’s Uncle Aden left him with the Gaelic fathers off the coast of the monastery.

He did this favor for Fitz’s father and chief of his military tuath who had died at the hands of the Vikings. Presently, Fitz stands at his private cloister, the only monk at St. Patrick’s who was able to survive the first raids.

Fitz is in charge of picking up the grain mill and walks this evening also in the darkened passages for the attendance record of all the monks who live inside the monastery. The monastery grain is kept inside the mill refectory and is his to take to the temple clergy below the earth of this monastery. Awakening in his cloister this evening, Fitz had made his wooden cot’s small blanket in perfect fashion by folding all the corners so tightly the room seemed to look even more perfect in its symmetrical design. The furnishings in his humble quarters are so simplistic only a cot made of wood and a few shelves that have some books laid upon them.

Fitz is a thinly built monk, yet his body certainly boasts a solid muscular appearance. Short blue black-colored hair and green eyes are his most prized features, for they have been praised by the Abbot’s for resembling his father’s. The monk puts on his brown cloak and its hood representing the classic Irish monastic frock and walks out from his simple cloister, then down into the small mill passage that is the refectory.

Proceeding down the passage of this small stone and wood Monastery, Fitz moves toward the towering arched beams that lead the monks inside. The beams are made entirely of wood, so sturdy and unshakable that they remind Fitz of his own faith, one so impenetrable.

The refectory in route was made of stone that went beneath the Monastery’s center conservatory room and then further down the main path just beyond the first house of St. Patrick’s monastery.

Fitz enters, passing the alert monk who is standing near the mill, while moving further away from the passage beside the many wooden dining tables. He begins washing his hands in a water basin that sat beside the bowls of holy water just below some stained glass of an earlier time. The refectory clergy had many more tables set up with hanging motifs in Gaelic just above them where they dined.

Passing his good friend Brien O’Conner, who was steadfast in prayer, Fitz continues on his route to the hidden mill room and its stony open enclave immediately annexed to the stair.

Above the wooden beams’ enclave is an engraving that states Cead Mile Failte or Salutations to those entering the mill. Fitz never tired of reading those words, for they always provide a sense of honor and safety to him.

The monk treads in from the dining hall, while slowly taking in the hanging tapestries all adorned with motifs of ancient tribal designs. The yarns of the motifs, though a bit faded from age, still retain richness about them and as they drape over the stone floors, the crimson and chocolate colors seem to be almost trickling down the stone and into the floor itself.

The mill area resembles a cave, enclosed in flag stone and also made from the sedimentary rock called tilis. It retains a kitchen with a fire pit for hanging sheaves to make the monastery bread. Once allowed into the kitchen by another younger monk guarding the mill, Fitz enters the chamber behind the partitioned wall and goes deep inside the stone and mud passage that is carved out just for the monks stretching the leaves of corn.

Fitz can’t help but notice that the hanging leaves almost resemble the hanging tapestries that he had just passed. He looks inside the stone walls where the corn is held and where he has been given a specific duty, and thus has been allowed into them even though no one else ever is. He meanders through the kitchen area to take the sacks of corn while passing beside the many hanging sheaves being thatched.

He notices several of his brothers inside the kitchen who are working beside the large wooden barrels of grains next to the wall. The monk whose job it is to make the daily corn mill, and who is to store fine buttery shortbreads, along with the Welsh lamb’s mint for diner, is also to prepare the record attendance of all the monks this night. They cook beside the hearth in its chamber that holds so many fine foods to be stored in the kitchen.

The monks of the kitchen now churn the corn into mill and are steadfast while the monk Fitz leaves them to see his guardian Abbot.

That night, The Abbot named Daniel called over to Fitz, who was still just coming in after his attendance count. He walked up to Fitz and he whispered the command for him to depart from the rest. The Abbott, who gave him the order to carry the holy cross of St. Columba, was a fairly older Abbot with a thinning beard and glasses. Fitz was the very last monk told and newly selected to depart on a secret mission.

Fitz, I have a very important mission for you to take care of.

Fitz sat in front of Daniel’s desk, staring out to the window, looking at the moon as if it were one of his final moments viewing the precious light. He now knew that he was the monk chosen for the last divine relic.

You are to complete this mission no matter what occurs here in this temple. Will you accept this? asked Daniel.

The shorter dark- haired monk was a younger Gaelic monk from Ireland, and he was not very surprised at the decision. On the other hand he had never been a wanderer monk, or ever known of any from the temple of Patrick. He was the first to be asked by the secret council and he was proud to hear this.

He was the warrior and leader amongst his brothers and would be the most likely to hold out until the end. Daniel, who gave him the order to carry the holy cross, was also from Ireland. He was one of only a few monks who belonged to the secret order of St. Patrick. Fitz was chosen because he was a monk who helped the other monks escape the prior raids of the Vikings. He did this from making good sense of his military conscience and knowledge from his father’s Uineill clan in the north called Cenel Conaill. He had been part of a tuath or millitary clan within the Cenel Conaill of Tir North Eoghain, yet their royal High kings of the Cenel North Gabhran were becoming extinct due to raids by the Vikings.

The clans held out against the Viking’s there until the end, but Fitz had to retreat with his uncle due to the final loss of his father’s clan. He was part of a Tuath or military clan belonging to Cenel Gabhran also a relation to the High kings related to St. Columba, who were nearly all destroyed fighting the Norse. Fitz was the only young man able to survive after his dying father’s last wishes were to send him to the first monastery of Patrick.

Fitz was now going to have to carry a cross of importance off the island, with the Viking’s already besieging the Isle.

Father Daniel had waited for Fitz, and was waiting for him to leave upon the last day, when the Vikings were already nearing the temple and about to loot its last remaining relic. Fitz was a man who was weathered from war and atrocity since the time he was young. If Father Daniel was going to need someone to hold out and possibly fight through the perils of the Vikings it would be Fitz.

The Viking Raiders remained too close for comfort even for Fitz Michael, as Father Daniel watched him take his final glances at him before he answered.

I’m choosing you, Fitz, because you are the one among us whom I feel can survive the feat ahead.

Fitz gazed at Daniel, not yet understanding what he was to do, but knowing in his heart that he could never refuse the old monk.

Fitz, you are graced by God. You always have been ever since the death of your parents. You will use this grace to guide you on this most important of missions. Will you accept the cross and protect it with your life?

The monk stood up saying yes, and then began shaking the Abbot’s hand as he walked out of the secret quarters.

The Gaelic monk had once been in the wars with the Vikings and had to adapt by surviving in the rough element and terrain. The wars were quickly over for this young man when all of his clan members were annihilated. He had aided those monks by protecting them while enduring all. Yet the monastery at St. Patrick’s was burned to the ground and many had been killed, except for the monk Fitz Michael and a few temple fathers who had survived.

It was then that Fitz Michael realized that his day to become chief of the tuath was finally lost, and so he took up as a monk apprentice with a new grace that had come from God.

Chapter Three

A Voice

THE MONKS WHO STOOD EARLIER with Fitz Michael were loyal to him. They believed in his uncanny ability to protect them. They went with Fitz everywhere when they could even when he did his solace climb over the rocky coast of Mann, and now they chose to close all gates to the monastery. It had been something they once had done before to help defeat a small band of pillagers.

They stood outside the monastery, even though it was Fitz Michael who nearly did all of the immortal work taking the courage in his own strides to sneak down and scout out the Vikings.

The monks of the Monastery of Patrick are now inside its walls and walking together in a unique kind of procession. As they process, they hold candles, as if performing a vigil of protection for their brethren. The psalms are being sung in Latin, and the monks can sing their songs in all pitch and note for they live and commune with God the captain of this great vessel.

They stand singing in the house’s front conservatory where the long benches inside the room are visible beside the refectory and its long rows of torches beyond the great door. They stand in the conservatory taking in all of the sound and harmony of the spirit of the Lord who holds them this evening without fear, and from those they fear have spawned to take them this night.

The sounds are melodious in their procession, a humbling call to the monks all ready and steadfast. Their tears run down their faces in joy for they are from God who they hope will protect against those who disrespect the house of the Lord.

Tonight nearly of all the monks took their vows to stay and guard the monastery, while the night’s moon calmly waned on the Vikings’ approach. They are hungry and skulking like feral wolves on the hunt for food, thought Fitz as he watched their longships coming in from the hillocks and upland moors.

The monks now move into the conservatory in front of the large oak door in silence. Some stand tall as others sit in front of the great door with hooded cloaks. They wait on every corner bench and all the small wooden steps, some even going below the small stony rooms of the refectory. The monks and Abbots hold their candles high as they make their way down to the front with their hoods draped over their heads steadfast in prayer. They wait patiently for another attack to emerge.

The monks who await the Vikings sing their chants during the quiet of the storm, as the Vikings who are still approaching from off the shore dock quietly while carrying their supplies. The monks at the monastery of St. Patrick’s were never given any mercy from the Vikings of the north, who came in the dead of night to pillage their temple.

At times, they had come from their frigid lands to pillage the monastery and the surrounding Isle, spreading fear among the inhabitants, usually the Christians, who would flee from their evil destruction. They sail out once again from the distant tribes of the north, but this time to pillage the whole Isle with its newly built monastery.

The Vikings had arrived to the harbor’s bay with their many Dragon longships along the coves of the harbor filling up the shores with men of the Voes. The scouting monks still run along the cobble path and open fields above the harbor coves, and they act as the eyes and ears against all who have come in to besiege it.

Fitz’s companions processed from the outside falling into the monastery walls, passing their Abbott, Daniel, who was also watching the coves from the hill. The monks could see the Vikings had snuck up like hungry dogs from out of the fog in the darkened night’s sky. The giant warriors begin to climb off of their boats from all along the inlets to the Isle and also off the Irish Sea. The boats boasted terrible dragon heads mounted on both sides of their hauls and were much bigger than the last or any that the monks had ever seen.

The younger monks gather at the front of the monastery, this time without Fitz. He was still checking the perimeter, and was getting ready for his departure. Fitz only remained at this hour to make sure that he knew which way the Vikings would be blocking the Isle with their men. He knew that he only had a small window of time to escape, and so he tried to time it exactly right in the skilled preparedness that he was known for.

Fitz was given a short notice from Daniel but still he had waited up until the end because he didn’t wish to leave his brothers undefended.

Brother O’Brien gave the order to close the foyer hall and was barring the oak door shut just before the scouting monk came in before the storm. Abbot Daniel told him to wait.

"Not until Fitz and the rest of the monks come in the whole way would Danny shut the monastery door. The Abbot began to remember the first raids in the old monastery where the Vikings had taken so many lives of his men. He could see boats now filling up the harbor in the exact same fashion as they had done back when he had hid himself from the fires that burned the old monastery. The aging monk now watched in memory his younger self in times of turbulence, remembering himself being concealed in some stone quarry, everything else burning all around him. He remained hidden while watching the temple fall to ashes, as the Vikings who disrupted the Isle for the first time destroyed all with only one longship.

There are now five warships with two larger longships called Drakkars blocking the harbor and its bay. Daniel, still wearing a Celtic type kilt under his frock resembling a leine with its Celtic embroidery of patterns, watches as the Vikings who are entering the harbor are also gathering their men.

Well-equipped, they scurry along the coastal shores as the rain strikes down upon their masculine bodies. Daniel views Carrick Milligan arriving from down the hall and he voices his fear to Daniel. His eyes began to fill up with tears as he listens.

They are not just here to plunder, Danny. They have come to destroy us instead, quivered Carrick.

The two men traversed through the passage together and seated themselves in front of the large oak door just beyond its pulley system. Fitz entered shortly after. His entrance seemed to be just in time, for Daniel appeared relieved by closing the oak door and pulling its large chains shut behind the monk.

Then he began barring the door with the lever-like pulley that reversed the fulcrum with its weight and connected the piece of wood to its sturdy metal and bronze frame. The wooden slat fell evenly, locking the door like a great seal, as Fitz Michael now walked in and down the torch-lit passage to the conservatory hall.

The men inside the room’s opening voiced their fears before entering past the rest. Beyond the small hall to the house conservatory the monk’s were guarding the entrance mostly for an attack in these darkest of times. They were now before Abbot Daniel who took the time to hear the younger and more frightened monks who had earlier ventured out with Fitz Michael. He also knelt with them just in front of the large oak door to pray.

They came in filling up the house conservatory still filled with praises and voices held high, so that the Lord could hear them. But now Carrick and Fitz Michael stood back, the last to arrive.

The halls of the Viking vessels are larger and curved higher than before. It seems they approach with more military fashion this time, informed Carrick.

The Abbot, down in the narrow hall of inlaid stone quarry also saw O’Brien walking in quietly beside his brother Carrick. He listened while just standing in the shade of the entrance. Carrick spoke as if he were a child in fear of going back to bed, and so Daniel removed him down to the quarter behind the torch where Danny had always sat. It was a marble bench that was the only lonely passage bench in the hall.

The younger monks were more hysterical, as Carrick explained in his scouting report a rational fear of Viking colonization. Daniel listened to the scouting report as Carrick began explaining his theory that the ships were larger now for the purpose of taking Irish slaves.

Carrick had studied the Viking ship making in the recent years from scrolls and manuscripts about the years past. They were first hand accounts of invasions sweeping all over France, England, Scotland, and Ireland. Their knowledge on such boats had come from experts who taught local people how easy they could float up a river and capture their native towns.

The longships had two enormous dragon heads on it, one mounted on the hull and one at the bow with dragon designs. There were about sixteen warriors in each longship. The dragon longskips had at least thirty to fifty long oars with their row locks and higher prow vastly expanding through the Berling and the vessel decks, and higher than I have ever seen, even the rudder was affixed to the star boards quarter tied.

Danny approached to calm him and placed his hands on his shoulders as if to communicate that everything would be alright. He continues,

The dragon longship mast was affixed with aft and fore so supportive beside the oak gunwale which hung so sturdily each long shield, even with a kerling supported of two oaks and perfectly balanced halfway in the center of the shallow more narrow hull, it was longer and narrower with rowers’ benches all across the long hulls clinker built design, with its central mast also supportive with a mastep for the square pitched sail, explained Carrick.

Carrick had begun to study the skilled ship making of the Vikings ever since the invasion to Mann thirty years before when Inus Patrick had been killed. Carrick was a skilled ship maker himself who trained himself to understand Viking boats, but usually only ever saw curragh boats of leather, a kind of Celtic boat once used by St. Brenden himself when exploring the New World in its overlapped planks so wrapped in leather and Celtic fashion. Carrick never saw any ship of this kind of magnitude, but remained allusive when it came to the monastery. He wished to be like Gilas, a monastic messenger for God. He was a wanderer monk but only at heart, a wanna be, since he, too, was a divine messenger from the St. Patrick’s monastery, but only in his mind. He continued with his emotional yet intelligent report in the hall.

One might see these slave ships as the new weapons of colonization I’m afraid. Mostly of the newly built and heavy longships that have a good looking prowl and stern, rising up from the water alike with for and aft, some have a rudder attached to the front of the stem post just to the right side of the ship. On some of the smaller yet wider trading longships called Knarrs the rudder consisted of a large paddle on the styr-board or right side, of the ship and tied low under knee and possibly made of birch tree sap to soak its fibers and tightly affix to its prow.

This new ship building is perfect for pillaging and the taking of Irish slaves, father Danny, since they are quick in speed and sturdy in their ships defenses over the high sea’s, said Carrick emphatically to Daniel.

It was a pondering dilemma since nearly all of Britain, and Scotland were being taken over this way, and it would only be a matter of time before all of Ireland and the Isle of Mann were taken as well. Daniel knew it was close to the end as he raised himself from the side bench into the foyer hall while trying to contemplate what he should do. He thought obsessively about what and who he should allow into the tower, if any. He tried to think of what to say or do to improve the situation. He tried to figure out if the Vikings were going to try and reach the relics, and if so, if it was worth continuing to sacrifice others just to help hide such an important relic. How could he explain to the men that the evil Vikings wanted the relic and they would do anything for a chance to get at it? He knew that he would have to tell the remaining brothers that their fate was now in God’s hands.

The men seemed to cease their fear just enough in time to listen to Daniel who told them that they are all survivors. Have we not survived three pillager raids and three droughts before? asked Daniel He said this to calm them but it was fairly noticeable that Danny was scared. He told them this even though the monks had been too young to have been part of the first raid on the Isle. Carrick had told him in his explanation that the appearance of large dragons only meant colonization and that meant slavery. This was something the monks felt would probably be completely new for Abbott Daniel, who never yet saw the colonization process as some had in England.

This was true because the boats did have larger sails and larger masts for the downwind, plus a larger bow and stern for the quarters, but were they actually for the transportation of Irish slaves, Daniel thought silently.

The Viking colonizing strategy had taken into effect in 837 A.D. and after the first mainland raids into Ireland was part of a mission to take over the whole of the British Isle and conquer Europe.

Danny had to make a decision in the wake of the destruction he knew that the Vikings would cause. But O’Brien was still not ready to leave and spoke before his turn.

Father Daniel, the ships had many men wearing enormous helms, plated male, and shining, shielded armor underneath their ox furs. They wore their masks like a giant face that hid no evil. The men were tall with long hair and beards, and all of them were carrying swords and torches, walking with them over their heads and grunting like mad vultures. Each emerged from the water, his chest massive, protruding and evil, majestic, like the dragons from out of the sea, with at least one flail and one maze for slaying! exclaimed O’Brien quietly while in the front of the conservatory.

Carrick, Prepare the men, tell them I will speak to them soon, commanded Daniel.

Daniel prayed for O Brien’s fear to diminish, but he could only see his own child hiding within the fires of the first monastery. They had to be strong. He suddenly changed his mind but knew it was the right thing to do, he had gone out prior and noticed the smaller vessels which held the men who looked to come for trade. He thought that perhaps they would come in this time only for loot. Perhaps they might spare the men. This could only occur if some of the relics were left for them and now the replicated relics would not do, and he certainly would not allow for them to take the great cross once kept by the Dove of the church St. Columba. This he had prepared for in order to not appear too suspicious or conniving, yet Daniel only counted trading vessels not the slave ships that boasted the many Gaelic’s and Celtic’s, including the Pict tribesmen on every new prow.

These vessels were much further lagging behind, and he counted three to four good trading vessels that must have been bringing woman and other settlers. They would soon be looting and fighting all who would be standing in their way. Daniel then called up the younger monk Fitz to tell him that he needed him to depart immediately.

You are to take the holy cross out of this place, Fitz, explained Daniel. It cannot fall into the hands of the heathens. Do you hear me?

Fitz listened intently as Daniel explained the entire plan, Fitz’s route of escape and how he was to succeed on his mission. The monk added one final statement: You must not fail.

Fitz was to travel to a hidden granary that was held within a secret passage shown only to him by William O’Toole. He was to get there quickly while moving steadfastly below the Abbots’ stairwell near the back of the sanctuary. He would soon have time to escape with the Vikings from this private granary and then out the secret passage within the monastery tower. It remained hidden behind a secret passage corridor were the grains had been stored for so long without anybody eating them.

The cellerium and it’s storeroom pantry was to only be used in case of droughts and was to be safely guarded, but it was not to be this night as the moon waned and then faded into a dreary bliss above the Vikings. They were like reptiles in dragon mail, fierce and weathered from the North Sea, now crawling, digging, and hauling their equipment up the monastery hill.

The hope was that the men would decide to spare the monastery and only would take the remaining wealth as opposed to the relic’s and shrines they have missed. The monks worked hard to replicate so many of the real relics that eventually they thought they would be spared. But now the Irish Abbot hoped that all could be spared if they gave them over to the Vikings on first demand. He knew that it was time to give all of the monk’s one final chance to flee, since it was the right thing to do.

He had changed his mind and was now certainly going to give them an opportunity to leave the monastery once and for all. He asked the men in front of the hall facing the house conservatory to leave demandingly,

If you wish to do so you may now leave and escape toward the kingdom of Mann, said Daniel as he then pointed to the back monastery door for it to be reopened.

The back door will be open for you, so please do not refrain, and be not afraid, said Daniel

But all had surprisingly not moved. The keen-eyed monks had just taken their vows and still remained calm. They remained just above the refectory no longer singing in their original plan. They understood the sacrifice for the last relic and knew it would not be easy. They had never thought to try to escape or stay in the tower, even when asked. They were truly filled with light. They understood that not all of the monks could fit inside the tower and sensed Daniel’s concerns. It was here that he saw they would all go down together.

Chapter Four

A New Voice

THE VIKINGS WERE JUST OUTSIDE after leaving the harbor and moving up the crossroad hill. It was now to be used as a besiege point for the last few ships. They were moving over the open plains up to the monastery with their swords and torches. They had docked their long castle in the water quickly for the emptying of equipment and now looked to drop off as many warriors of the north as they could.

They began scurrying out of the water to the shore from beneath, still lusting for booty and blood, planning to take all who were in their way, and now outside the monastery carrying their swords with a pomposity that would offend the Christian God.

The men had all decided to stay, so Danny took to saying the Lord’s Prayer for the courage of his people. The monks at the front door were sitting even closer to the giant oak and its passage, where Daniel stood on the stone floor praying the prayer Our Father. The belfry in the night rang out its echoing and thunderous warning. The rest sung psalms and prayers once again while they sat just behind those who suddenly wished for their chance to be in the tower and left suddenly afraid.

Meanwhile some men were leaving all too quickly out to the court when they heard such terrible roaring sounds of the Vikings coming in to destroy them. Fitz, who took the cross Daniel had given him had already fled past the monastery court. There were now about fifteen monks all chanting in the small flat floor of the monastery all huddled together with only candles and their faith to light the room. Run, men and flee for your lives! exclaimed Daniel.

Yet the monks who remained waited the new arrival of the Viking pillagers full heartedly hoping for God’s grace. They had been asked to move out through the court if they wanted to, but now they heard the terrible slaughter just outside. The monks remained together and continued to sing through the loud and incessant poundings on the giant oak door.

All the monks who did not escape looked around at each other with a countenance so pale and white, it seemed they were finally about to meet the devil face to face. Yet all who remained were willing to take God’s side and protect the monastery before they died. Fitz’s green eyes lit up with tears as he helplessly watched his brothers from under his hood out in the court escape. He had set out from under the wooden arched beams that protected him all of his years. He ran out of the mill exit chamber and down through the court as quickly as he could, but then had to turn around and witness the horror that was his brothers fleeing towards their deaths.

He feared the Vikings would do as they had always done and destroy everyone without a bargain. He wished to be a part of the grand and holy sacrifice, a vow in front of God that he once took, but he had to depart knowing his own brothers’ deaths would eventually buy him time. He remained allusive and thus continued to depart to the underground escape he knew would be best.

Fitz continued his jog beyond the monks, escaping by running through the court to the second house with its lower second floor passage of the monastery. He had passed right beside the remaining Abbotts who had promised they would stay, and as he did the late Father Carrick’s words echoed in his mind.

The reason why no one should pass through this sanctuary and beyond, is it was designed for the martyr and is even too powerful a place for our blood that was shed by these monks, Father Carrick had said.

Fitz continued on his secret passage. However, he felt an eerie presence as though another entity was now entering the monastery on the wind. It seemed to him as if it were the Holy Spirit or an exceptional presence entering, and for a brief moment he stood and felt the other escaping monks hearts betrayal, and he witnessed their doom as they now lay in green field’s slain by the Vikings outside the Monastery.

He heard the Vikings through the above belfry tower, their yells and distant cries beyond the echoes of the tower bell. But he heard the spirit sound even louder. This reminded him that these were his last moments with his brothers in Christ, and it was now time for him to believe himself courageous remembering the martyr’s in order to make his welling tears disperse.

He had experienced what he thought was a ghost or a spirit that had come back again like a deceased brother from the cemetery. He said his last good bye in Gaelic while voicing his prayer in pain from the distance. He was reminded that he was never to return. Fitz stopped and said a blessing he brought from Ireland while entering below the second house secret passage: May the roads rise to meet you, may the winds always be at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, The rains fall soft upon your fields, and until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Here below the second monastery the walls are more heavily reinforced with stone and mud, but behind the mud is where the pantry granary is held. Fitz realized that at any moment the Vikings could enter from the back near the cemetery, finally reaching the secret sanctuary below the monastery. This is where a square door in the sanctuary stair case led to the granary that concealed the way he was now passing. He walked through the stair that went beyond the many paths in the first granary hall, and then entered into a stone aqueduct, so humble that it resembled another gateway off the Isle.

As he entered the hidden path a cell rum opened where there was a number of granary barrels in long rows that stood out in the dark for Fitz to step in through. Here another corridor of stone and mud existed and was where the other monks and Abbots had placed a secret entrance into the tower in far better times. He remembered Daniel saying before his mission that the cellrum holds the finest granary that ever existed here in St. Patrick’s monastery. It is a secret food source of thatched grains. Candle in hand, Fitz moved quickly beyond the steps entrance, which was short and just wide enough for him to fit into. The passage on either side now opened into an expansive room filled with longer rows of grains.

Fitz needed to raise his candle up in the air so that the glow could reflect the expansion of the area. The room had grains stored in barrels and wicker baskets that were all neatly placed on the sand and stone floor. Shelves lined the room and Fitz took note of the many footprints, making him imagine those who had traversed amid the tall shelves many times before. He walked along the shelves at its center path taking notice to the many baskets filled with breads. It was uneasy to see the room in its entirety especially in the surrounding night with what little light he had from his candle. So he moved along the wall to a torch but did not pluck it. He saw the room’s eerie glow but it was nothing compared to the strange countenance filling his presence.

While he was unable to see through the many rows of baskets, Fitz made his way through to the other side of the granary. He traversed past the many foot prints in the sand that were now leading off into some other directions. Searching the main portion of the room beyond the long rows of barrels and wicker baskets, Fitz looked around to see the path with his candle and noticed a small door at the back of the granary. He quickly walked into its small square doorway and soon realized that he was just below the tower. He approached the escape ladder hanging on the tall cylinder wall that he was to take into the tower cautiously knowing the Vikings could already be out in the large courtyard looking for monks in the tower. It was a last resort that he had with so little time.

Fitz suddenly realized that he would probably not make it out alive. He had hoped to make it past the men outside of the monastery while grabbing up the bread and cheese he now filled in his pack, as the time had come for him to make it the whole way off the great Isle. He began to climb up the ladder to a piece of mortar that opened with a handle inside the tower. He could feel a ghost like presence filling the long dark tower as he entered just in front of its stairway to the top. Soon enough Fitz heard the Vikings outside, hungry like animals scratching at the door. Such a sound Fitz wished never to hear.

The noises of evil were at the tower which stood alone beyond the cemetery. He could hear the Vikings outside the tower, just beyond the river that he used to fish beside, so he locked the tightly secured door in fear of these voices that seemed to ring out in the dark.

He walked up the narrow old steps that seemed embraced to the walls as if squeezing him in and suffocating his space. He entered the top ledge of the floor where he and Danny often sat and spoke. He looked out the towers window frame slowly and found the stream in his mind, but it was nothing but the night’s darkness now to him, and all he could do was hear its torrent waters moving so rapidly. Fitz found his mind suddenly fading into a memory of a warm summer’s day sitting on the bank of that river. Pole in hand, sunflower seed shells tossed at his feet, he had not a care in the world. Certainly this day never entered his mind.

Snapped back to his reality by the gruff voices below, he heard the Vikings as loudly as ever, full of vigor as if ready to pounce on the first being they saw. He could see that the more experienced Vikings were now across the tower’s field and approaching the monastery up the turbulent hill. They were pulling a large battering ram, thick at its ends, where the log’s besiege point had been sharp to batter down the great monastery door. The Vikings held their swords and shields in hand while pulling the ropes long cords that accompanied it, as each man was fastened tightly and securely into the ram’s chains so that he may not escape its grueling task.

The Vikings were marching from off the beaten path in front of the monastery where Fitz had seen how many men had now marched.

They were encumbered heavy with perching chests and raised helms for the killing of the Gaelic’s, Fitz remembered Carrick saying.

It was just like Carrick had described, except now the warriors were walking in a heavy straight line. Their glow from their torches made it look as if the eyes of demons were emerging from the forest. They had all come to breech the monastery door that was known to be impenetrable, even with its fulcrum pulley so securely locked and barred by father Daniel himself. The horror struck Fitz when he saw how many were armed for an additional attack. It looked like the tower would be a target and would soon also become devastated.

Fitz stayed in the tower fearing that they would eventually come too near. Then he waited in its circular tube of stone protected that seemed to suffocate his whole body with the feeling of being trapped. He was to protect the cross here for the time being until he could assess which way the Vikings were moving on the Isle. His breathing became more fearful and his heart was beating with every pound on the monastic door.

He then continued to listen with his pulse throbbing, looking back through the rain, while the Vikings were leaving the square entrance he saw through his tower window so slightly open. He could see that some of the other Vikings were making their way now over to the tower. Fitz grew afraid that they would come over and find him there and would eventually take the time to commence in destroying the blocked tower. He had a fear that the Vikings would find its door within its stones and would bash it open. After some examining of the tower they were called back and left quickly where Fitz had saw were he would flank them beyond the harbor and trail.

Fitz heard their commander call over to them in a Nordic language. There are no monks in there. Bring the castle ram! Another man yelled, Olaf more chains! Make sure the men can definitely breech the door tonight! Fitz ducked down from seeing below the tower and hid quietly knowing if they broke in they would come to the top.

Walking a large battering ram up the hill that was also being seen by Fitz, the Vikings were coming up in rapid succession to the monastery. The monk quickly chose to close up the stone floor as well before the men searched below its tower. They were waiting on the monastery’s cobble stone path in military fashion as the rain beat down on them. They were the same men from the ram tall and towering, and yet none were actually tall enough for the sturdy monastery door.

He hid again above in fear of them discovering the secret entrance. They come to the door and again they were ordered to move away from it and concentrate on the monastery’s giant oak. It had looked impenetrable even to Fitz who thought to himself, that it was like a rock of Christ, a sturdy rock that Christ had built himself to lay a monastery upon.

They were ready, and waiting, yet the men from the ram needed more to arrive. The ram was no good on such a large and impenetrable door. They were now being tightened into the ram’s final chains, as Fitz listened to their Nordic tongue that seemed serpentine to him. He waited for its operators to get in so that he might escape and deep in his heart he prayed that they could not. The monk had hoped that he could run from out of the granary tower as soon as the men had completely passed through the Monastery. The Monastery door would soon be destroyed by the first wave of Vikings who were about to use the battering ram for their own destruction.

Their anger was seemingly fit for such a miraculous door. Fitz feared the men would continually walk up the hill in many waves eventually seeing the demise that would eventually take all of his brothers. He needed to run across the precarious river beyond their beaten path without being seen. The Vikings were moving too quickly for him to hear its waters so far away from his tower in route. He witnessed the cruelty on the men’s helmed faces. He watched them from afar swing the ram more cunningly back and forth. They were wearing the plated strips over their foul noses that all seemed to look the same, as if spawned from hell.

The men ran forward with the ram, while pulling on the ram’s fulcrum, and then again by swinging the chain’s harness with the men of the dragon, who now nearly breeched the door.

Fitz looked out the entrance once again and saw the men of the ram with a company of Vikings. They waited with their arms still folded as he could see the men’s faces yelling from behind their soaked beards. They ran with the Ram at full speed with the giant Monastery door about to become shattered and after a few more hits, its sturdy monastery fibers still did not completely come down. From inside the small opening beside the hidden entrance to the tower, Fitz watched them beat down the door, his chest so tight, he felt as if it was twisted in knots. He could see the Vikings were now pulling the wooden ram back in order for their commanders to set a pitch into the rest of the door. Lighting the door ablaze with their torches and then bouldering through, the Vikings ran in single file while the fire still burned into its wood.

The door was obviously respected and had to be burned immediately to set the stage for their raid. Fitz was happy to see that the door was heavily fortified, stalling the men from the first wave. However, the rest of the men ran through after the ram had been removed. They ran in directly over top of the younger monks who were now witnessing the dragon warriors rushing in like a wave beating against an unassuming shore. Fire still eating at the door, the Vikings entered into the conservatory filled with the chanting monks.

Fitz knew he had to leave the tower soon, but then the second wave of men arrived from off the shore. He had no time to wait until they were nearly inside but instead had to make an immediate break for it.

He was planning once again by avoiding the back routes the Vikings were taking and would instead run across to the river below the valley of the cemetery. He had no time to stall his escape since so much time had elapsed, but some of the men remained in the yard and still would not leave.

He heard the monks shrilling cries. It was torturous for him to sit idly by while other human beings, his friends, were being slaughtered. The urge to barge into to the rooms below waving his blade in defense was hard to resist, but he knew this was a foolish notion. He had to stay his course or more would be lost than just lives. Even so, he had to hatch another plan to escape, so he decided to reenter the monastery.

Deciding to run back down into the granary from the tall towers steps, Fitz ran back to the monastery’s sub levels in hopes to find a newly acquired passage. He ran avoiding being out in the open and caught in the pouring rain. He had been given no choice since the Vikings left so many guards out in the yard. He could delay no longer. The younger monks were still chanting through the commotion with many of the fathers seated just behind them.

As the monks continued to chant, the Vikings now entered through the many beating sounds of the fiery door. They poured forth and surrounded the monks outside the lower refectory that the monks noticed were like a pack of hungry wolves. But still the monks did not stop chanting in their Gaelic, staying in the center of the torch lit conservatory. Now approaching the few younger monks seated at the front on the monastery floor, the Vikings in the room pretended they didn’t exist by stepping in and killing their hooded bodies.

They passed quickly over top of the lifeless monks one by one and yet still they did not move from the courtyard. They watched as the many monks began to crawl below to the refectory in fear for their lives. This was good for the monks who scattered in fear since the others did the opposite and grew more courageous. Stepping in pompous and loud while walking right over top of the dead monks through the door, the Viking leaders entered the house. Then they walked straight through its short hall back to the large assembly of monks. The Vikings saw no resistance as they walked down the stone passage to the conservatory and moved quietly past the row of torches.

They were now at the row of monks so humble and unafraid to die.

The Vikings that passed were now in a hoard at the end of the passage, witnessing the many brown- cloaked monks still chanting. The Vikings, for a brief moment, candles shining, now listened to the Irish monks singing in their Gaelic song. They heard their melodious harmony of chanting in a beautiful vigil, and for just a moment, the Vikings stood together in peace while in the midst of their war time strategy. The Norse Vikings eventually made their way in and surrounded the rest of the monks to the back of the refectory. Moving in violently and more quickly through the flaming doors of the monastery, Ronan the seven foot red-haired raider now accompanied the hoard who stood in the shadows.

Ronan yelled out from his metal mask and his bearded face and suddenly came in with the last of his men, while surrounding the good Abbot Daniel. He started the conversation first.

Quiet! My name is Ronan. I am an avenging angel, sent here to destroy your monastery, so cease your chanting before everyone here gets killed. I come here for the golden relics that I know you and your Abbots have kept hidden for so long. Silence was felt throughout the room as the monks suddenly looked up for mercy. Fitz had found an escape route that his newly acquired tower passage had taken him, and yet was too far to see what was actually going on. He was unwilling to escape