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.