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 figure 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.