“Aye. And he seeks the Bishop’s robe before he’s much older,” he replied.
Behind Wilfrid came another striking horse, which was led at the bridle by a well-dressed squire. It was covered with a scarlet cloth and a magnificently attired figure was seated on it. The rider was older and wore the Roman church’s ceremonial vestments, which caught the sun and seemed to glow and reflect back its rays in even greater glory, shimmering in purple with the design of the cross picked out in cloth-of-gold and edged with pearls. On his head was a bishop’s mitre, in one hand was his crook and the other gave out the Sign of the Cross in blessing to all and sundry. His face was thin and foreign-looking, with a prominent nose that gave him the profile of an eagle. His eyes swept this way and that, taking in everything. They paused as they lighted on Colman and the rest of us, then continued their quartering of the monastery which had seemed so large and so well organised but which now appeared shrunken and dull, too small to contain the splendour that had deigned to visit it.
“Agilbert the Frank, Bishop of Dorchester,” I said in answer to Cedd’s raised eyebrows.
“Apparently a very holy man with Grace to spare if he can dispense it as freely as that,” Cedd responded.
“Behold the Whore of Babylon, arrayed in purple and gold, seated on a beast of scarlet,” came an angry voice from the group of Lindisfarne monks.
“Enough of that,” Colman said sharply, and he looked around into his little flock. The speaker stayed silent and he wasn’t identified by the Abbott. “There will be time for arguments soon enough but I will not tolerate open insult. We will maintain our dignity and purity. We will not seek to imitate or respond to any provocation.”
He looked back at the Roman party, who didn’t seem to have heard either the comment or Colman’s reaction. The jingling of the horses’ bridles and the excited hubbub that stirred the monastery yard had probably obscured both.
“Come, the sun will soon be below the horizon. Let us go into the House of God and make our thanks for safe delivery after our journey. And some of us should pray especially hard for grace and wisdom.” With that he herded his flock into the chapel.
As I was about to turn I caught an interesting tableau: Hilda had arrived to welcome her latest group of guests and stood at the door of the convent, which was raised three steps above the level of the yard. She was tall and erect, queenly even, a few wisps of greying yellow hair finding their way out from under her loose veil. Her hands were spread open in a gesture of welcome although her face was serious. She was approaching fifty and had been Abbess at Whitby since its foundation. Another may well have glanced straight over her grey habit and her dark dress and been drawn to Wilfrid and Agilbert’s magnificence. But I saw a woman composed of quiet and restrained dignity, while before her a group of garishly dressed barbarians made vulgar obeisance.
“Has Oswy arrived yet?” I asked Cerdic.
“No, but he’s expected hourly. I doubt if he’ll put on such a show, though.”
“No, I doubt he will,” I replied. We went in to the cool dimness of the Chapel, where only a simple carved wooden Celtic Cross could be seen against the dying light behind the eastern window.
16
The Prior’s Pride
Oswy arrived after midnight in a commotion of hoofs, neighing, shouted orders and demands for admittance. He had ridden hard and long after a successful journey to Mercia and was in a good humour - which was not always a good thing for his hosts. He yelled for food and drink, for himself and his men, and it was fortunate that he’d sent the main body on to Bamburgh with the Mercian tribute so that it was a relatively small group that disturbed the monastery.
Hilda was a princess herself and wasn’t intimidated by the Northumbrian king or his entourage. She arranged for them to be fed and watered quickly and efficiently, refused him ale as it was the Sabbath, and had him and his men bedded down in the infirmary just over an hour after his arrival. The monastery and its outbuildings resumed their quiet slumber shortly afterwards.
I was obliged to deliver Owain’s message as soon as could be, so I went to the king’s chambers after the morning offices and breakfast. My way was barred by two tired and irritable guards.
“The king rests. He’s not to be disturbed.”
“When will he be about?”
“When it suits him. By midday if he feels like it. Later if he doesn’t. What do you want with him?”
“I have a message for him.”
“If it’s written you can give it to me. I won’t read it. If it’s from God, he’s probably got it in his dreams already.” The other guffawed.
“I’ll come back later,” I replied, and left.
The monks of Columba’s church took the Sabbath seriously: we would rest and do absolutely no work at all. There had even been heated debates as to whether we should read the Bible on the Lord’s Day: it had been decided this was acceptable, although even now there were some who grumbled that it was an indulgence. Rest and quiet contemplation was the case in normal circumstances but the Synod wasn’t normal circumstances. Colman wished to meet Hilda and discuss the likely course that the discussions would take and what inclination she expected Oswy to have, and for this my presence wasn’t necessary. I decided to go for a walk on the hills to the east of the monastery, the opposite direction from the village of Streanashalch. Cuthbert, who had become my constant shadow, prepared to follow but I dissuaded him.
“Cuthbert, don’t you think you’d be better staying here?”
“I don’t know,” he replied without emotion.
“I think Colman would like you to be with him when he sees Hilda, both you and Cedd, isn’t that so Colman?” He agreed, vigorously.
“Cuthbert, your knowledge and spirituality would be a blessing. Please stay with us.”
“Tell me what I should do,” he asked me.
“I think you should stay here with Colman and help him in his meeting with Abbess Hilda,” I replied. Without any display of either enthusiasm or reluctance Cuthbert walked the two steps to join his Abbott and stood there, loose limbed and with an unfathomable expression. Colman, Cedd and I exchanged looks: we were relying on Cuthbert’s intelligence and knowledge of the Scriptures as part of our strategy. He would need to be more alert than this if he was to be of any assistance at all.