The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3)

by Ruari McCallion

  Cuthbert had again latched on to me after our morning prayers and he seemed fascinated by the whole performance: the intricacy of the priests’ interaction and movement, the choir rising and swelling as they intoned their responses and their songs of praise, the vergers’ co-ordinated circulation and assistance, even the little interventions of the young servers - and the congregation itself! They stood up, they knelt down, they sat, they knelt down, they stood up again, together, disciplined and without any signal or instruction that he could see. His head swung this way and that, but they were all as one, they all knew when to stand, when to kneel, when to bow their heads, when to raise them again - it was astonishing even though he had seen it before, but the mass of priests concelebrating with Bishop Agilbert made it seem as if he had only fully taken it in for the first time on that day.

  Then he spotted Eanfleda, right at the front of the congregation, surrounded by her ladies. His face softened, then there was a yearning in it that would have broken the heart of any who saw it. After a moment he turned and fled back across the yard to our sleeping quarters. I followed him with my spirit and watched sadly as he threw himself onto his bed and wept silent torrents of tears.

  The tension between the two communities increased after Mass and threatened to escalate into physical conflict. Colman took it upon himself to take the lead in defusing the situation as Wilfrid had the day before, and confined the most volatile and zealous of our community to their sleeping quarters, leaving the yard and grounds largely free for the Romans to occupy.

  Hilda had foreseen the problem and the two camps were kept apart during the mealtimes. The Romans went in two sittings to the convent refectory, we in one and a half to the male monastery.

  With the situation within the walls seemingly under control and without the company of Cuthbert, I went out to the massed tents of the temporary town to see if I could render any service to the people camped there. As would always be the case wherever people grouped together, there was sickness, disability, fervour, hope, and seekers of miracles. There were doomsayers, soothsayers, prophets and seers by the hatful. There were children playing, running about and squealing, as well as jugglers, players, honest merchants selling food, drink, hardware and souvenirs. There were pickpockets, fraudsters, hucksters, flimflam men and confidence tricksters selling everything from plots of land in strange countries allegedly discovered by Brendan on his voyage across the Great Ocean to the west, to guaranteed genuine relics of saints and apostles, all the way from the Holy Land. All the fun of the fair. I had a quiet word with some, who packed their bags and moved on. I threatened others into retreat and had the man who was selling Christ’s foreskin (enough fragments to make a decent-sized tent, I reckoned) arrested by Oswy’s guards. Trickery and theft were one thing and I was loath to condemn the mostly pathetic individuals practising it to the certain death their activities would attract from the King’s justice: but blasphemy was unacceptable and I was more than ready to see its perpetrator hang.

  I skirted a group of children who were playing in the mud. A woman was in the early stages of labour. I located a midwife who had brought her herbs and plants with her and brought the two together. I was almost knocked over by a charging group of excited youngsters, all of whom had been up too early and out in the sun too long, as they ran from their playground to a pool they discovered. Then I treated a man who had a boil on his bottom and was severely distracted by it. Smiling at the man’s embarrassment and discomfiture, I went on then to a woman with a stye in her eye. A portion of ointment and rest was what I prescribed. I ordered her tipsy husband to help with their brood so that his wife could recover.

  I set a young man’s broken leg and splinted it while his wife and brother held him down against the pain, and their children howled in sympathy. Then it was on to the next tent and an aged grandmother with an abscess on her cheek that had to be lanced while her grandson looked on, wide-eyed. There was a rotten tooth to be extracted with the aid of sufficient whiskey to help the patient not to care very much. And three milk teeth to be helped out of their various owners’ mouths, to the accompaniment of applause and a little blood. And at last, as the sun was low in the western sky, a baby’s colic and painful gums to be soothed with dilute alcohol-and-peppermint and numbing ointment, respectively.

  My medical tasks complete, I let the group of swimmers run screaming back to their tents before I made my way to where I’d promised to meet the parents of four children who needed baptism. A barrel had been upended to act as a stand, with basin sitting on top of it. One of the fathers had thought to heat the water. I sternly demanded to know who had done it, and congratulated him with a smile when he shuffled forward to confess. It was a happy little ceremony, four families of various sizes - for one it was their firstborn - bringing new souls to the harvest. I smiled and shook their hands and they thanked me. I urged them to keep always to the right path and gave blessings to them all. Baptisms always put me in a good mood.

  I leaned back and stretched, pressing my hands into the small of my back which was most affected by all the bending I’d done and looked around at the noisy, chaotic, happy scene. A good day. There’d been no serious illnesses, which was very good. If I had any regret, it was that I didn’t have Ieuan’s healing Gift but there had been no severe complaints, nothing that I couldn’t handle with my learning, my herbs and my ointments. I knew I should be grateful for the Gift I had and not wish for Ieuan’s as well. I had sufficient to avert catastrophe; it was enough. It was more than enough. It was far more than most people had. Most had to make their way with no Gift at all, just their own strength and resilience, the power to work, and serve, and feed and care for their families. That was a Gift in itself. I should ask for no more, I shouldn’t even think of wishing for more. I was blessed, more than most. I was grateful.

  It had been a good day. A visit to the oasis during the journey through the desert. A reaffirmation of my life, my vocation. I should be here, it was right to be here. I loved being alone for an afternoon, a day, even as much as a week. There was that spot atop one of the mountains of Mull where I liked to go for pilgrimage and contemplation - which affection may now disqualify it for me, I thought ruefully - but, yes, I enjoyed the opportunities I had for solitary contemplation of the creation and my own part in it. But here, healing, helping the sick and infirm, working among ordinary people, it was…fulfilling. Giving was fulfilling, in a way that solitude wasn’t. This was my place.

  Yes, it had been a good day after all, and now it was coming to an end. Even the musicians were winding down from their performances, the groups of dancers thinning out. They would continue around the various campfires but it would be quiet solo recitals and spoken stories of heroes and monsters, saints and miracles, tales suitable for the occasion until, only a couple of hours before I and my brothers rose for our morning offices, they would find their way to bed. Which is where I would go now. The sun was failing, it was already below the hills to the west although the sky was still light. I was tired and would sleep well.

  And tomorrow would be the first day of the Synod.

  21

  The Synod

  We rose before dawn, as usual, and made our way quietly to the chapel, where we were joined by monks and nuns from the community of Whitby. While it was not as overflowing as it had been for the Romans the day before, the little church was comfortingly full. There was a sense of foreboding in the air and the prayers were frequently for aid and comfort in the days just ahead. Some private thoughts were for triumph and conquest but these were not voiced aloud.

  In less than an hour we were finished and, as we made our way to the refectory for breakfast, we saw another small example of Abbess Hilda’s organisational skill. We were clearing the yard as the Romans made their way from their sleeping quarters to the chapel for their own morning prayers. They were walking in procession, vergers leading a group of yawning choirboys, who preceded a gaggle of priests, who led the priors - Wilfrid’s tall figur
e was clearly visible - then Bishop Agilbert in his vestments, and finally more priests and vergers. There was no singing, just the chinking of censor chains, the dim glow of the smouldering incense just visible in the soft light of dawn, and the first taste of its sweet smoke. It was not as magnificent as their arrival on Friday - but then again there was no audience.

  “Do you think they ever run anywhere, or dance?” Cedd asked Cuthbert, but he was silent, and hazarded only a quick glance back over his shoulder as he went in for breakfast.

  By the third hour after dawn the chapel had been prepared for the Synod. At the foot of the altar steps were ranged chairs for those who would - or were likely to - take a direct part in the debate. At the centre was King Oswy’s travelling throne, a large oaken chair with curling arms ending in the carved representation of his symbol, the bear. To his right was the Irish Church representatives’ seating; simple folding chairs of heavy linen and wood. On his left was another grand semi-throne, less ornate than the king’s but only by a degree. This was for Bishop Agilbert. Beyond him the chairs declined in quality but the meanest of them was more ornate than any of ours.

  It had been intended that the body of the chapel would be filled with as many chairs as could be placed while still leaving space for respect for the participants and room for the speaker of the moment to move around and address the King and the audience. However, when it became clear that hundreds wished to witness the Synod, seating was abandoned in order to accommodate the maximum inside except for one row at the very front, and a simple rope separated the debating floor from the congregation.

  The chapel was full when the participants entered. Our party came in casually, in small groups whispering amongst themselves. Abbott Cedd, who would act as translator for both sides, took the seat closest to the throne, Abbott Colman alongside him, then Cuthbert, then Hilda, then Cedd’s brother Chad and other senior monks. I was four seats away from Colman, close enough for him to call on me if need be, but far enough not to be conspicuous.

  A bell tinkled for silence, and the murmuring in the crowd petered out. We all stood respectfully, expecting King Oswy to appear: instead, it was two serving boys, dressed in red soutanes with white surplices over, swinging incense-filled censors and spreading sweet smoke over the chapel from the door to the top of the aisle that opened before them. There were a couple of exaggerated coughs from the audience, but glares from Colman and Cedd cut that demonstration short. Then came another server, dressed similarly, and carrying a cross, mounted on a long pole. Both looked golden in the dim light, but were actually made of brass. Then four more servers, singing sweetly in Latin. The boys arranged themselves along the altar side of the rope facing the sanctuary, the cross-bearer offset from the centre and then the incense-boys, one either side, then two choir boys, hands together in piety, at each end. Three vergers came in and stood before the three lowest seats. Then three priests, who took the next group up. Then Wilfrid and another prior, then an Abbott, and finally Bishop Agilbert himself proceeded with a stately walk to his throne. The boys closed the gap. He turned to the congregation, blessed them, and sat down. His followers - except the server boys and choristers - followed his example. We had stood politely, but sat slightly ahead of Agilbert. The congregation relaxed and started a hissing of whispered conversation, the choristers continued their song and the incense billowed out as the boys swung their sensors enthusiastically.

  A commotion at the door got everyone’s attention. Two armed guards, with shields and spears, took their places either side of the door.

  “Make way, there!” they ordered, just as a tall, well-muscled figure with blonde hair over a gold-edged red cloak strode powerfully into the church. The boys at the altar just managed to shuffle out of the way in time for him to breeze past and plonk himself in his throne.

  “Will someone get that sickening stuff out of here. It smells of a death-chamber. And get those brats to stop their caterwauling. I can’t think.” Oswy, King of Northumbria, had arrived. The boys were sent out urgently, their departure as ragged as their arrival had been ordered. A couple of chuckles could be heard amid the hubbub. It had not started well for the Romans. “Throw the doors wide, and all the windows that can be opened. Let’s get some fresh air in here or we’ll all suffocate before the hour is out.”

  Agilbert rose to offer a prayer and, he may have hoped, to regain some of the ground lost by his excessive display.

  “Let us pray to the Lord our God,” he began in Latin, “that this great council may be guided by His Grace, and that we may reach agreement in wisdom and love - “

  “Amen,” Oswy interjected, in a voice that would not consider opposition, and a frustrated Agilbert sat down. Wilfrid’ face was set as stone. The King hadn’t understood a word of the Bishop’s speech but had taken the first opportunity to shut him up. He had quickly formed the opinion that Agilbert was an overdressed windbag. He stood up and addressed the clerics and congregation.

  “My lady Abbess, my lords Abbots, my lord Bishop,” he addressed them in the Irish Church’s order of priority. “Priors, priests and monks, vergers, altar boys and those of you who have travelled from far and wide to witness this great Synod.” He was tall and he stood on the first step of the sanctuary, which made him taller. Everyone in the church could see him and all inside the building could hear his powerful and penetrating voice. His words were repeated to those outside. “Over the next few days - not too long, I trust - we will hear words from learned men and women who will help us to decide whether this kingdom, Northumbria, will continue to follow the Irish Christian Rule or will find the teaching of Rome the more perfect for our Salvation. I do not treat this lightly, and nor will anyone here. There are differences between these two Churches, and those differences will be resolved very soon. After I have heard all the arguments I will decide. And all Christians in my kingdom will follow my decision. Let us now hear the opening arguments. Abbott Colman?” He sat down.

  Oswy had delivered his speech so fast that Cedd had been unable to provide a simultaneous translation. He spoke quietly now, directly to Agilbert and his train, repeating his words in Latin.

  “My brothers and sisters. The Church on whose behalf I speak is not ‘my’ Church: it is our Church, it belongs to all of us. But above all it is God’s Church, his vessel to guide us over the stormy seas of the world and bring us safely to harbour in His Kingdom.” He gave a potted history of the Church of St Patrick and St Columba, from its legendary establishment by Joseph of Arimathea to the opening of the monastery at Lindisfarne, to the present day and our network of monasteries across Britain, Ireland and Northern Europe. He emphasised the role of St Michael, our patron, the warrior angel who threw down Lucifer when he made war in Heaven. He also talked of the inheritance of our Rule and teaching from the earliest days of Christianity, in the Egyptian desert.

  “It has not been corrupted or diluted, neither by barbarian invasion, nor by excessive and fruitless reassessment and revision. We do not try to be all things to all men, nor to dominate them,” Colman said. “We have simple beliefs, taken from the teachings of Christ as recorded in the Gospels, and especially we hold close to our hearts the Gospel of St John, the great Gospel of Love. We ask that we may continue our work in your earthly kingdom, Lord Oswy, and that, in allowing us to do so, we pray that much credit will accumulate to you in the eyes of God.” He sat down, and there was nodding of heads and approving murmurs from the assembly.

  “Bishop Agilbert, of the Franks and Rome.” Oswy invited. Cedd translated. Agilbert stood up and started to speak in Latin, for he had no English, British or Irish. His speech was necessarily halting, in order to allow Cedd to translate as he went along.

  “Dearly beloved, my children in God,” a murmur went around the Irish in the audience as Cedd translated into English. Bishops were no more than clerks, weren’t they? And the only priests who styled themselves ‘fathers’ were the Druids. Even Oswy’s eyebrows rose. “We are here today - […here today,
Cedd called out] - because the Church of the Irish - […Church of the Irish] - fell into error many years ago - […error many years ago].” The murmur rose again, and there was an edge to it now. “You cannot deny - […cannot deny] - that the Church in Rome - […Church in Rome] - has proved itself most worthy - […itself most worthy] - of God’s favour - […God’s favour]. It has survived - […has survived] - persecution […persecution] - at the hands of successive Emperors […successful Emperors - what? - Oh, sorry - successIVE Emperors] - until finally, and to the Great Glory of God - […Glory of God] - the Imperial heart of Rome turned to the One True God. - […One True God]. - In the time of our temptation and struggle - […temptation and struggle] - and this land’s separation from us - […separation from us] - the clergy in these lands - […in these lands] - deviated from the True Path.” Cedd stopped at this, and looked pointedly at the Roman Bishop.

  “Translate for me please, Magister Abbott. I would hear what the Bishop has to say,” Oswy said quietly. Cedd nodded and continued.

  “[The clergy in these lands deviated from the True Path]” he concluded. A shocked murmur went round the crowd within the chapel and was echoed by those outside. Colman stood and gazed sternly round the congregation and the noise subsided. Agilbert continued, and Cedd resumed his translation.