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.