“Abbott Colman,” she said and nodded briefly in acknowledgement. “We have prepared accommodation for you and would like you to use it. Why do you refuse?” She spoke to him with courtesy but there was no deference at all. As Abbess, she was his equal in rank and, while he may possibly have a higher reputation as a religious leader, Hilda was not about to have a mere monk dictate to her. Colman replied to her enquiry with a degree of indignant self-righteousness.
“Abbess Hilda, it is good to see you again.” The courtesies out of the way he got straight to the point. “We thank you for the efforts you’ve gone to on our behalf but it wasn’t necessary. We would not displace anyone for our own convenience. We will be pleased to sleep in the stables and will rejoice that we can share Our Lord’s Estate, for it was in such a place that He was born. We have no need for more.”
“Firstly,” Hilda replied crisply, “you would not be displacing anyone. We have planned for your accommodation. Indeed, I see that there are fewer in your company than I had been led to expect. Second, you have no need to remind me that Our Lord was born in a stable. However, there was no Synod going on, with monks, nuns, Abbots, Priors, Bishops and Kings coming from all over the country, not to mention the idle and curious. A great deal of organisation has gone into providing for all who will attend here. Your humility, and that of your brothers from Lindisfarne and Iona, is legendary but we will not open proceedings with a contest to see who has the dirtiest bed. You will find that the arrangements we have made are humble enough. You will have nothing to complain of and no opportunity to pamper the flesh, I can assure you. Brother Cerdic will show you to your quarters.” Colman opened his mouth to protest but Hilda cut him off before he could get started.
“I don’t suppose you have brought food or anything useful with you, have you?” Colman’s mouth shut like a trap and he shook his head. We’d travelled with the minimum, as usual. “I thought not. No consideration of Earthly realities. Half a cartload of turnips would have been more welcome than you, as well as displaying a degree of thought.” She turned to leave but Colman called her back.
“Sister Hilda,” he said contritely, and she half-turned in the doorway. “I apologise for my thoughtlessness. We all stand rightly chastised. I’ll dispatch fruit, vegetables, honey and some livestock to replenish your stores as soon as it can be arranged.”
“Thank you,” Hilda nodded, “but if you send too much I will send it all back - all of it, mind - and your penance will be worthless. A moderate amount from your surplus will be sufficient. I will not allow you to starve yourselves in self-righteous repentance. Cerdic, show them to their quarters.” and then she was gone, leaving no time for further debate or protest.
An audible sigh went round the room. We had all been unconsciously holding our breath while the Abbess had been present.
“A great lady, your Abbess,” Colman remarked to Cerdic, who snorted.
“Very impressive. Please don’t cross her again, our lives have been miserable enough for the last few weeks without anyone else irritating her.” Colman bowed his apology.
“Please show us to our beds, brother Cerdic. And after, perhaps you would be kind enough to show us where we may make our Sabbath devotions?”
“I think I can manage that,” he replied, and he led us across to a new, wooden framed building, which had been erected against the resident monks’ sleeping quarters. There were signs of haste but all the gaps in the wooden slatted walls had been effectively sealed with moss and mortar. The earth floor had been swept clean and was almost completely dry. New wooden pallets with straw-filled mattresses were arranged in two neat rows, against either wall. “Abbess Hilda asks that you keep the straw in the mattresses as it makes it easier to clean up afterwards. She also asks those of you who wish to sleep on the floor to remember that our laundering facilities are under great pressure for the period of the Synod.”
“Do I take it that Abbess Hilda is suggesting that we will not be welcomed enthusiastically if we arrive at the hall anything less than clean and shiny?” Colman asked sardonically.
“I wouldn’t seek her censure, Brother Abbott, she believes that outer cleanliness is a reflection of inner purity,” Cerdic smiled. “You’ve seen only the smallest touch of her disapproval. I know you know her of old and would be prepared for her anger but some of your brothers may find the experience harrowing.”
“I understand. Thank you brother Cerdic. I trust that the mattresses are not too soft, however?”
“We used the coarsest straw we could find,” Cerdic’s smile split into a gap-toothed grin, “and should any require them then I’m sure that the boys in the village could be encouraged to collect a herd of hungry fleas.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. We shall be pleased to sacrifice our familiar homely comforts in a greater cause.” Colman’s natural good humour could not stay buttoned up for long and he smiled in his turn, then ordered his companions to deposit their belongings or otherwise indicate where they would be sleeping.
After this, we followed Cerdic back across the central yard on our way to the chapel. Before we made it there, a commotion and wave of excitement swept through the monastery: a great troop of riders was approaching and the declining sun was catching and reflecting off metal.
“Oswy, do you think?” Cedd asked.
“Let’s wait and see,” Colman replied. I looked keenly down the hillside, thinking of the message I had to deliver on Owain’s behalf. I knew even before the dustcloud cleared that this was not the Northumbrian king.
The troop was preceded by a double line of twenty armed and armoured horsemen whose bronze and brass embellishments chinked merrily against each other and the studded leather waistcoats they wore. Their swords and shields glittered in the sunlight as they swung round and formed two protective lines to receive those they were escorting. They were as disciplined as the best-drilled army of the English, possibly better armed, and certainly better dressed.
Next there was a double line of twenty-four young boys, holding their hands together in prayer and singing sweetly - between coughs brought on by the horses’ dust - a hymn of praise to God and to His Church.
“They can’t have walked like this the whole day, can they?” - “No. Just from that last line of trees yonder.” - “How can you be sure?” - “Their habits are barely dirtied, look.”
Next, six priests in line astern, intoning bass and baritone harmonies to the young choir’s melody, swinging censors from which sweet-smelling incense rose. They sported the short hair and round tonsure of the Roman church.
Behind them came a man on horseback, sumptuously attired in a red cloak with a thick border in gold. He wore a broad-brimmed hat to shade him from the sun but his features were still visible. This was Wilfrid, Prior of Ripon, formerly a young novice of the monastery of Lindisfarne. He regarded the group of monks by the chapel door from the height of his great chestnut horse and his face registered recognition, but there was no acknowledgement.
“He’s risen far and seems so magnificent, doesn’t he?” Colman whispered to Cedd.