“I said that I know this man, and his reputation.” He spoke clearly enough for those nearest to hear. “He was one of my teachers, years ago when I studied at Lindisfarne. He is honest and dependable. He would hesitate before resorting to violence even to save his own life. You should have come to me before accusing him or any of his brothers or sisters. We want this Synod to be conducted with dignity.” Raising his voice, he continued. “Listen, all of you. I speak for Bishop Agilbert and, I am sure, for Abbott Colman in this. We are to treat each other with respect, for our persons, for our traditions and for the hospitality we are all receiving. The Synod will resolve our differences. Today is the Irish Church’s Sabbath. Bear that in mind and go quietly about only that business which is necessary, and do so quietly. Tomorrow is our Sabbath. I would ask the adherents of the Irish church to extend the same courtesy to us. Now be on your way, all of you.” The crowd melted away and I saw, for the first time, that Mungo had been part of it. The zealot looked at Wilfrid with suspicion, then drifted off with the others.
“This must not happen again,” Wilfrid said to his colleague. “Keep closer control of your charges in future. I will see you in my chamber in ten minutes, if you please. Go and wait for me there, I’ll be along directly.” The priest bowed briefly and headed off towards the buildings in Mungo’s wake. I thanked Wilfrid for his intervention.
“Anselm,” he replied seriously, “we may be opponents in this matter, but I am not your enemy, nor Colman’s, nor Cedd’s, nor Cuthbert’s, nor Hilda’s, nor any of you. However,” he smiled without humour, “I have done you a favour, and I may seek repayment one day. I supported you: perhaps you’ll support me in my turn?”
“Not on the current matter.”
“We’ll see. Try to keep out of trouble, and don’t try any of your Druid spells on me or any of us when the Synod starts. I shall be watching. Good day.” He walked swiftly off to his meeting with his fellow priest, his rich cloak billowing out behind him. I sighed and trod off to the hills again, trying to regain the peace of the morning. It was a fruitless pursuit. The sun was going down and I returned to the yard with time to spare before the final Sabbath service.
The chapel was full, the normal complement of monks and nuns swelled by their Irish guests and by the curious. Most of the Romans present for the Synod had never seen an Irish service before and, unable to keep away but unwilling to risk participation in heresy, they formed a tight crowd just outside the door. Late arrivals had difficulty gaining access for their meeting. Before it was over, most of the Romans drifted off in boredom or puzzlement. To those used to the pomp and ceremony of Rome, this was very watery stuff - and conducted in English, not Latin! The Word of God was spoken in the everyday tongue! There was even some outrage, but also some reflection as the wholehearted involvement of even the meanest member of the community gave food for thought.
*
Wilfrid breezed into his chamber and found the priest waiting for him, as ordered.
“Well, Aeldred,” he started as he threw off his cloak and sat in a chair, “not a very auspicious start.” Aeldred was ready to launch into the long justification he’d worked out while he was on his own but one look at Wilfrid’s set jaw made him think better of it. “You underestimated these people. They’re neither ignorant nor savages, despite what you may have been told. When the flame of learning in Europe was reduced to a single, guttering candle in the darkness of the barbarian shadow, that candle burned and was kept alive in Ireland and in the unconquered places in the north. Nor are they apostates from the One True Church, not as we would understand it at least. They never left because they were never members. When our revered Saint Augustine arrived on these shores he found that the people in the west and north were already Christians, and had been for centuries.” The priest looked startled. “Aye, centuries. I’ve read Augustine’s letters to the Pope in Rome. He was astonished to find that these shabby monks and wandering preachers had evangelised and converted many of the English invaders, particularly in the south. The only pagans Augustine found were in the east - your grandfathers and mine, Aeldred. Our people were the pagan savages, not the British.
“That is not to say that we should give up and accept their teachings: they are in error, very serious error, and they must come under the authority of Rome. But they are not ignorant barbarians. The one you challenged is a highly educated man: he was a Druid.”
“But the Druids - they are evil beyond redemption!” Aeldred interrupted. Wilfrid waved his hand impatiently.
“Oh, grow up, Aeldred. We wish to keep the simple folk from reverting to pagan ways, but the Druids don’t eat babies. There was blood sacrifice and demon worship in the past but the Legions eradicated that nonsense hundreds of years ago. They’re still pagans, and have some powers I don’t understand - your lads were subjected to something of it today, I suspect - but they’re shrinking in number by the day. They’re neither powerful nor completely harmless but they flounder around in the dark, on the edges of civilisation, and their influence gets less every day. The Church advances; they’re lost in the twilight, reduced to spiteful sniping from the fringes. Most converted to Christianity years ago. The one you confronted today - Anselm - has been a monk on Iona for nearly ten years - longer than I’ve been in Orders,” he smiled coldly.
“So you’re saying we should tolerate them?”
“No I am not. We shall eradicate these erroneous and heretical practices of Columba’s Church. They shall fail, we shall triumph - not least because they are too humble and too soft-hearted. The authority of Rome will soon stretch from the north of this island to the tip of Italy and beyond, all across the world. It will be so.
“And talking of unacceptable, those braying donkeys of yours are just that, and insufferable. I would’ve given them a good thrashing, rather than just a fright, as Anselm did.” Aeldred tried to interject in their defence but Wilfrid would have none of it. “They were throwing their weight around and they got much less than they deserved. You may be impressed with their so-called nobility and lineage, I am not and neither was Anselm, nor will the other Irish monks be. The grandfathers of those ‘noble boys’ of yours were not above a fight - they had to be, they were invaders, as were yours and mine. As far as lineage goes, the lowest British slave in a freeman’s farmstead claims ancestry from their ancient gods and kings, an ancestry that goes back into the darkness before Christ. You would do well to treat Anselm and all of them with caution and show some respect. You never know what you will find yourself up against. Confine those troublemakers to their quarters until Mass tomorrow, and then again until Monday morning. Make sure all of the novices know about the punishment they’ve received - a couple of blood-curdling tales of Druidic powers may help discipline as well. A few hours on their knees praying for forgiveness for their lying arrogance wouldn’t go amiss, either. You can go now.”
The chastened Aeldred trooped off to do as he was told. Wilfrid leaned back in thought. It will be so: the One True Church would triumph. The Irish Church had - albeit imperfectly - prepared the way for Rome. They did not, could not know what force faced them. He had seen Rome and knew that no power could stand against it. To compare the magnificence of the Frankish and Italian churches and abbeys with the huts of these outlanders was a joke. The majesty of high masses, with choirs of boys and eunuchs, and congregations as awed as they were obedient. No wandering about or spontaneous dancing there! The respect that was God’s due was paid in the soaring chants and the bowed heads.
The structure, the order, the discipline! The army of God, marching inexorably and irresistibly to establish His kingdom on Earth! The martial organisation was necessary to achieve His great plan, to save the world from darkness. In hardly more than two centuries Rome had conquered much of the continent of Europe, and would continue throughout the whole world.
The Church Militant, the Church Disciplined, the Church Triumphant. He had got quite dizzy when he finally comprehended the power of St Peter�
�s inheritors! The legions of vergers, priests, canons, priors, abbots, bishops, cardinals, and of course the nuns and abbesses, all organised and under the leadership of the Pope himself, carrying out his instructions and orders to the letter - there was no toleration of dissent. The Church had learned the lesson of the Roman Empire and all within its ranks - at all ranks - were subject to the central, governing discipline of Rome. And that was why it would triumph.
Whatever means were necessary: evangelisation, the sword where evangelisation failed, food to the starving, law imposed upon the lawless, whatever was necessary. If the sword was used more often than the Word alone, so be it: it was all as it should be, set out in His plan. The Elect would survive any amount of warfare, their names had been recorded in the Book of Life from before time began. The Irish, too, would become soldiers in the army of the Lord and they would do what they were told. And when they bowed the knee to Rome they would, in time, bow their heads to him. There were some he wanted more than others: Colman was always kind and gentle but Cuthbert had been impatient with the young Wilfrid, dismissive and superior. Cedd had never had time for anyone. The slights and snubs he had suffered! How he had gritted his teeth! Finan was little more than a puff of wind, a buffoon. And how they had treated him when he had pointed out their errors! He would be Bishop soon enough, after this victory he had planned for was gained, and he would have all of them acknowledge his authority.
And Anselm. Yes, it would be good to have his hands on that Irishman, or Scot, or whatever he was, it would be good to have him at last, slap the vow of Obedience on him and get from him his Druid secrets! There was something about him: he had helped Wilfrid learn at an incredible pace when he had spent some time with him, years ago. He had learned more in six weeks than he had in a year with the others, and he was sure it was because of some extraordinary power the man possessed. He saw too well, he looked too far and he could divine character with little more than a glance. He must have a power Rome had never comprehended. With it at his command he would gain more than he had dreamed of when he had been a weeping boy, smarting at a beating or a lecture delivered by some bumpkin on Lindisfarne. He had already come far and he still had further to go: his time was near, it would be very soon.
*
As we walked back to our sleeping quarters I asked Colman how the meeting with Hilda had gone. He pulled me to one side so that we wouldn’t be overheard.
“Not very satisfactory, I’m afraid. She was unable to help us much.”
“Unable or unwilling?” I could see the flash of Colman’s teeth in the dim light from the distant torch at the door; the abbott had smiled.
“As astute as ever, Anselm. Both. She was unable because she hasn’t had many visitations from the Romans of late - not even Wilfrid, who’s been pressing her to join his cause for some years. Tells her he regards her holiness as a great prize, and you know she has a weakness for flattery. She doesn’t know what tack they will take. And,” he continued, “she said that she wouldn’t tell us even if she did: she is hosting the Synod, and anything she did for one side must be done for the other, in her view. She will be totally fair, although ultimately she is on our side, of course. She wouldn’t even be drawn into discussion of our tactics. She refused, point blank, for the same reason.” I nodded. Her scruples came as no surprise.
“And Cuthbert? Was he any help?” I could feel a shadow pass over Colman’s face.
“None at all. He barely said a word. Didn’t contribute anything at all. Just asked what we wanted him to do, whenever we tried to involve him. I’m very worried about him. Very worried indeed.” He drifted off and I sighed, then voiced what the abbot was too polite to put into words himself.
“I think that his rescue of me took everything he had. He’d just finished one fast and then went on to another. He wasn’t fully recovered. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, but don’t blame yourself. We still have your sharp wits to help, if need be. Hold yourself ready. Sit with us during the Synod.”
“I shall. But there’s something else you should know about him, which I hold myself responsible for.” I outlined Cuthbert’s confession, and the manner of his collapse. I’d expected distress, and perhaps some unspoken blame but my friend merely nodded.
“It doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known about his turmoil for a while. This has been building up for some time. It’s very inconvenient that his crisis should break now, though.” He sighed and hooked his thumbs on his belt. It was a gesture and a pose that I knew presaged the revelation of some deep insight or awkward truth, like drunkenness or backsliding in his flock. It also tended to come before some very plain speaking. “Her royal coquettishness, Queen Eanfleda, has caused a great deal of trouble,” he said quietly. “I saw what she subjected him to. He couldn’t get rid of her, she was round him constantly for months. Following him on missions, taking a boat out to the Farne Isles when he was in retreat, attending church at Lindisfarne on almost every Sabbath when he was there. He resisted heroically, heroically. I would have cracked and I think you would have, as well. Any ordinary man would have. He couldn’t turn her away, she was so generous, with money, with land, gifts of all sorts - always to the Church, of course, but she would require that it was Cuthbert who accepted on its behalf. Then, one day, she just stopped coming. Just like that, no warning. I asked him if he’d - you know - done anything, made an approach of any sort, and he promised he hadn’t. Swore it.” He sighed again.
“But she’d done something. She’d released a demon in him that he fights now, night and day. It may have broken his spirit. He never sees her at all these days, he’ll go out of his way - even in his current mood - to avoid her. He counted her turn of allegiance back to Rome as a blessing. Now she favours Wilfrid, but he takes himself off to Rome or the kingdom of the Franks two months out of three, and whirls around the country like a dervish when he’s here: a church here, a chapel there, a priory somewhere else. She can’t keep up with him.” He paused. “I have no proof - none whatsoever - but I think this - “ meaning the Synod “ - has come about because of her. Oswy never voiced any concern about our differences with Rome to me, none at all - quite the opposite, especially when his wife took up with them. Then, out of the blue, ‘we’re going to have a Synod. It will decide which Rule Northumbria - all of Northumbria - will follow.’” He paused again. I let him take his time without interruption.
“There is still no heir. It’s important to him. He’s proved that he has no problem siring sons - even if one of them is a vicious little thug - but nothing from Eanfleda. Nothing to tie Northumbria and Kent together. I don’t believe she has a physical problem, either. I think it’s in her head. I don’t think the marriage has been consummated.” A door opened and a voice shouted for water, and the mood was broken. “Say nothing of this to anyone, not to anyone at all. We must pray for Cuthbert’s relief, but privately. It’s very inconvenient.” I agreed and we went off to our beds. I was getting used to keeping secrets.
I dreamed of my Mother weeping over a lost child. I cried out in my sleep but I was unintelligible. When I awoke the following morning I could barely remember it at all.
20
Last Night
Sunday was like a holiday for the visiting Irish clergy as we had agreed to respect the Romans’ Sabbath. Hilda had the monastery so well organised that there was nothing for us to do except walk, talk quietly together and enjoy the beautiful Spring weather. Colman found a few small jobs for the brethren to undertake within our own circle and he concentrated the tasks among the younger, more volatile members. He paid particular attention to Mungo, who’d made it plain that he thought some of us were altogether too forgiving of the heretics and blasphemers he saw all around him and, from the direction his eyes took when he voiced these thoughts, he had Colman and me particularly in mind. Whenever possible, he was sent out of the monastery proper to the furthest reaches of the lands on one errand or another in order to ensure - as far as we could - that his opinions
were spoken only to himself. It was getting more and more difficult as word about the Synod had spread far and wide and every hour brought more arrivals. These uninvited guests set up camp outside the monastery walls until there was a tented settlement larger than Streanashalch, both in size and population.
To complicate matters, Mungo was a quick and efficient worker and he was back from the most tortuous and pointless assignment only a few minutes after he had left, or so it seemed. Eventually, Colman had to keep him by his side as there was nowhere left he could safely be sent.
Notwithstanding the best efforts of the Abbot on one side and Bishop Agilbert on the other, tension between the two camps mounted during the morning. It became palpable and some physical confrontation took place. It was largely restricted to a little jostling along common paths but there was the concern that it could come to more. The mid-morning Mass of the Romans arrived in time to remove their young men and women from the scene.
As with the Irish the day before, curious non-adherents gathered at the door of the chapel to watch while Agilbert led the grand concelebration of sung High Mass. There were fifteen priests on the altar itself, as many vergers, a flock of servers and a choir of thirty. It wouldn’t have been thought possible that there could be any room for a congregation but the body of the chapel was full with dozens more. It was a service that looked out of place within the simple little chapel, being more suited to a grand Frankish cathedral than a windswept Northumbrian clifftop.
The worst fears of the uninitiated were confirmed. A service conducted in Latin, a tongue most of the lay people would never understand, bells, clouds of incense so the air became thick and choking with it, the celebrants moving around as if in an intricate dance, brightly-coloured vestments, rich ornaments on the altar and - worst of all for the adherents of the Irish Church - something that looked like idolatry: the elevation and adoration of the communion bread as if it was itself sacred - which, of course, the Romans believed it was. Colman took Cuthbert, Cedd, me and a few of the more trusted and experienced monks to the chapel to watch for signs of trouble. We managed to avert it, but only just. A few younger members - and even some older hands - were so incensed by the consecration and elevation that they were on the verge of moving in and disrupting the proceedings. Most were held back by a quiet word and the order to return to their quarters, but four had to be physically restrained. One of the four was Mungo.
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 25