By late afternoon Oswy had had enough for one day. The Romans sought to prevail upon him to continue the discussion but he was bored and fractious like a child. We were happy enough: we had calmed our supporters so that the morning’s scenes were not repeated, and had won the discussions hands down. Oswy’s memories of the day would reinforce his support of us, we believed.
Godwin had been in the audience and he was as contemptuous of the insensitive Agilbert as was his master. He was of the opinion that his King should declare for the Irish straightaway and be done with it, but Oswy refused: he had to give them every chance to explain their position or, he knew, he would not get Eanfleda into his bed. She would say he had cheated in order to get his own way.
*
Our party was, on the whole, very happy with the day’s proceedings: the exceptions were Cuthbert, who was as weighed down as ever with his own private thoughts, and the zealots, who were delighted. Mungo and one of his cronies put on an imitation of Agilbert and Cedd that even raised a smile from Colman and Cedd themselves.
“We will show - [will show,” his companion murmured] - these blasphemers - [blasphemers] - and idolaters [idolaters] - the true meaning of - [meaning of] - humility - [humility] - when we put their painted bishop - [painted bishop] - to work in the pens - [in the pens] - cleaning out the ordure. - [out the ordure.] - For verily it is said - [it is said] - that you shall reap [you shall reap] - as you have sown - [as you have so-o-o-own!].” They concluded together on a falling descant, to gales of laughter. Cedd stood and held up his hands for silence, but he was smiling.
“Our Church has had a good day, brothers, but let us not be prideful, for such will attract the wrath of God. Let us face the next few days with confidence and faith, but also with humility. This is only one day, only the first day, and there is a long road to travel yet. The Romans will learn from today’s errors and will return better prepared. We must be prepared for harder work tomorrow but I am sure the Truth will triumph.”
“Amen!” came the enthusiastic response from all but Cuthbert. It was impossible to dampen our spirits, the tension that had been building up for days had been released - but we were a little more restrained thereafter.
*
In the Roman quarters, the mood was sombre. Small quarrels were breaking out all over the place, like bushfires. The priors and the Bishop were busy quelling the flames before they exploded into a blaze of mutual recrimination. The serving-boys were not directly involved in the arguments: they sat silently wherever they were sent, or remained wherever they found themselves, utterly desolate. They had been defeated, they knew it, and by a rabble of rustics. They were downcast and depressed. They appeared to have no conception of the time the Synod still had left to run. For them, it was all over.
Some of their elders shared this view and they were as furious as the boys were depressed. They had lost, and to a bunch of wild-haired heretics who should have been seen off before noon. They would not blame Bishop Agilbert openly but their sniping was a symptom of the fact that they believed that his strategy had failed, disastrously.
Wilfrid also believed that his superior’s strategy had flopped, but he was not surprised. He felt that it was doomed from the start. Even had he been lucid, considerate and diplomatic, his lack of English and consequent need for translation would have undermined his case. When his stern discipline and authority had quietened his quarrelling brothers he marched over to the Bishop’s rooms and entered, barely pausing long enough to knock.
“Your Grace,” he knelt and kissed Agilbert’s ring of authority. Then he stood and started without waiting for invitation. “Today has gone ill for us. It is my belief that you should now consider allowing me to speak on our behalf. I at least have the language, as well as some experience of these people, and I believe that our case can be served better if it is made from my mouth.” He stopped and stood before the Bishop, waiting for a reaction. Agilbert had been thinking over the events of the day and had not paused to change from his ceremonial vestments. A tray of food lay untouched on a small table to the side of his chair. He took a breath and replied at last.
“Prior Wilfrid,” he said formally, “you are much favoured within the Holy Church. You have influential friends, well placed to advance your career. At thirty you are the youngest Prior in Christendom, and I expect to see you a Bishop before many years have passed. You have the resources and influence yourself to raise much materially for the glory of Our Lord and such success is heard of and noted in the right places. You have done well and will continue to do so.” He took another deep breath. “Your time is not yet come. Patience. You will achieve your aim, so long as that is not to be Pope itself. That you will not attain. For the moment, you have taken a Vow of Obedience and will do as I say. And I say that you will resume your seat tomorrow and will keep silent. That is all.”
“My lord Bishop,’ he said, and bowed, turned abruptly and made for the door but before he left he stopped and dared to speak again, “We can win this debate. If we lose, it will be your responsibility, yours alone.” He opened the door and left before Agilbert could reply.
The Bishop was furious, and stood facing the closed door for some minutes, shaking with rage. The insolent whelp! How dare he challenge him, he who had faced down armed Frankish warriors, determined to spill his blood! And Saxons, and Goths: why, he had even come unscathed through the country of the savage Basques and lived to tell the tale, with a dozen converts in his train!
He gradually got himself under control and resumed his seat, his chin on his fist.
The worst part of it was, this insubordinate and arrogant Prior had a point: he had made a mess of the day’s proceedings. He had underestimated both the Irish Abbots themselves and King Oswy. From the pomp of his entrance to the tone of his opening speech, from his vestments to his attempt to divert the discussion into esoteric areas while he recollected himself, all had gone wrong, horribly wrong. Wilfrid was a skilled preacher and debater but he couldn’t stand the man’s smug arrogance, nor his influence with the Archbishop of Lyons, nor his way with ‘the ladies’, the queens and princesses around the island of Britain and beyond. Everything about him was guaranteed to irritate the Bishop. He was able, and skilled, and efficient, granted: he was one of the New Men of Rome, his star was rising and Agilbert’s was fading, he knew all of that. Wilfrid could even be described as devout, certainly he seemed determined on the triumph of God’s One True Church and they had that in common, if nothing else.
But Agilbert could not stomach Wilfrid, and that was the truth of it.