When Finian found out what Columba had been doing he was outraged. He demanded that his former student hand over the copy, which was nearing its completion. But Columba was wouldn’t listen. To the increasing frustration of his former teacher, he refused to surrender his copy of the manuscript. Naturally, their once-friendly rapport became notably bitter and hostile. But neither man could have foreseen that their combined obstinacy was sowing the seeds of a bloody, pitched battle.
Unable to convince his student to do away with his copy, Finian arranged to have the matter brought before a tribunal presided over by the High King of Ireland, Diarmait mac Cerbhiall. Finian’s argument was straightforward: because the original text belonged to him, so too should any copy of it, especially one made under his own roof and without his consultation. Columba made the counterargument that, while Finian did indeed own the original, he had done all the work translating and therefore the copy should be his. He failed to convince the king, however, who arbitrated that:
“To every cow belongs her calf, therefore to every book belongs its copy“.
Unnecessary pastoral analogy aside, the king’s message was clear: as the owner of the original work, Finian was therefore entitled to ownership of any subsequent copy. Should we believe this to be true, King Diarmait’s words mark the first verdict in a copyright case in history. His verdict proved too much for Columba, however. The two may have been related by blood, but because of another run-in they’d had previously it was bad blood.
Shortly before bringing the matter of the manuscript before King Diarmait, one of Columba’s relatives, Curnan of Conn Acht, had participated in a hurling match—a quintessentially Irish sport still played today—in which he accidentally killed a member of the opposing team. Fearing for his life, he sought sanctuary with Columba, invoking the ancient “Law of Sanctuary”. It didn’t save him, however. King Diarmait sent a number of heavily armed men after Curnan and tearing him from Columba’s arms they put him to death on the spot without trial.
King Diarmait’s ruling, therefore, proved the final straw for Columba. Rallying the O’Neill clan to his cause, he instigated a full-scale revolt against the incumbent king. Eventually, the two sides met sometime in the mid-sixth century (dates range from 555 – 561 AD, though the latter is most commonly accepted) at the Battle of Cúl Dreimhne (the “Battle of the Book”).
Narratively speaking, it would be amazing to describe how the two sides drew up opposite one another one dewy, misty morning. It would be wonderful if I could say that Columba took part in the battle himself; that saints and sinners fought side by side with bravery and ferocity; and—though this is unlikely—that some participants realized the great irony of the fact they were fighting a battle that had originated with an entirely Christian attempt to spread the word of God.