Colman looked at me directly, with strength and with sympathy.
“The fear may be a deceit of the Enemy, Anselm. I think you have to open the door and see what is behind it. You have to take your courage in your hands and hold fast to it. Open the door when next you have the opportunity to - I’ve known you long enough to know you can’t force these things. If the choice is your own sanity or the destruction of Strathclyde, where does your duty lie?”
“To bring down this evil thing,” I said, but I could not hide my reluctance. “To protect the people from being harmed by it – and that may be more than just those in Strathclyde. But I’m frightened for my mind. I remember my madness; I have no desire to go there again.”
“We will be with you at all times and in all circumstances,” Colman replied, “in spirit if not in person. And you will be in my prayers constantly from now on. Come on in and eat now. Let the condemned man have a hearty breakfast.” He smiled and put his arm around my shoulders as we went in to the refectory.
The reconvened Synod looked similar to the day before but the feeling was different. The Irish were arranged to Oswy’s right, the Romans to his left. The entry of Agilbert was much more subdued, while the Irish were much more cheerful. Even a couple of laughs escaped from pious mouths. The Romans entered in procession, as previously, but the servers and all their clerics wore simple black soutanes. The choir didn’t sing this time and the servers made themselves scarce as soon as their Bishop was seated. He alone wore ceremonial robes, and they were not the rich vestments of the previous day. He wore purple as it was Lent and therefore fitting, with white chasuble and surplice under. He was dignified on Tuesday, where he had been gaudy on Monday.
Oswy was just the same: imperious, impatient, and coiled like a spring.
The day’s discussions proceeded on more technical lines than before and, while they were important, they bored the King. Talk of transmigration of the soul, predestination against free will, all of them left him cold and he was inclined neither one way nor the other. The only thing that got to him at all was the Romans’ claim of the origin of Original Sin, in sexual congress. He rather liked Colman’s rebuttal that, if God so disapproved of sexual relations, why did He invent it and order Abraham to be fruitful and multiply? So the King remained favourable towards Lindisfarne but by mid-afternoon he’d had enough. He called an end to the debate and went off to attend to matters that he regarded as more pressing, such as restocking of armouries and tribute from vassals.
Agilbert had had a better day - he’d lost no more ground, but neither had he gained any. Not, at least, in the sight of the King. Unbeknown to him, he had shaken the certainty of more than one of the Irish.
“But what if he is right? How can we know for sure? If he is right, then we’ve been doing our people a great disservice. Can we afford to be wrong?” This was Cedd who was speaking, and some of the monks were stunned into silence. Not his brother Abbott Colman, however, who took him to task with a stout defence of a core of their belief, strongly but courteously delivered. Reincarnation was something that many in the Irish Church, with its Druidic legacy, held fast to. The traditional defence was to ask how a merciful god could give humanity only one chance of salvation.
“But is not every day a new chance, as the Frank said? A new dawn, a new hope, a new opportunity to change our lives, once and for all? To hear God’s Word and heed it from then on? Wiping away our past life?”
The debate moved to considering those who had died before Christ came to Earth. What of them? Were they doomed to everlasting death because of an accident of timing?
“According to our opponents and taking their argument to its logical conclusion, chance and accident is the true determinant of our fate,” the opposing side said. “We can have no power over it. That leads us to a chaotic universe and an unfeeling, heartless god who allows millions to be condemned without opportunity for the redemption that He gave His only Son to offer!”
Cedd was unconvinced, and he wasn’t alone: the point had got to others, and the argument swung to and fro. I made an early contribution, at Colman’s request.
“I can confirm,” I said, “that I have smelt the Apples of Avalon. On a close friend or colleague’s passing. The most recent was less than a fortnight ago: I haven’t had confirmation of his death, but I know that Padhraig, my friend and counsellor, has departed this life. I believe he will be back, after he has rested from his labours awhile in the Orchard.”
This evidence, from a known and respected Seer, heartened some and quieted others. It was as good as proof to those who believed it, food for thought for those who wavered. But there were other disagreements.
“They make a valid case, however, that our way is slow.” Cedd again. “We have had less urgency in our missionary work. Look at what they have achieved, in such a short time! We held the torch of the faith in these islands for half a millennium and have barely penetrated the Frankish lands, across the Narrow Sea. They’ve been evangelising for less than half that time and have reached to the extent of the old Empire and beyond!”
And more, about predestination, for which I was called as a witness – on the wrong side, to my mind.
“It is written in Scripture that the names of the Elect have been recorded in the Book of Life since the foundation of the world and only they whose names have been registered in it shall be saved. If the names were written before time began, then all is mapped out, every detail? Doesn’t Anselm’s Sight show that the future is already settled? Do we have free will at all?”
I rose to protest that this was the counsel of despair, not of hope: if all was predetermined then nothing I, or Colman, or Agilbert, or anyone did made any difference. I explained that my Sight actually helped me make a difference: not everything I Saw came to pass. Not least, because I had been warned and could do something about it; the worst revealed to me could be prevented. Chad supported me.
“You’re confused, Cedd,” said his brother. “If all things are preordained, then why didn’t God stop Adam from disobeying Him? Isn’t the freedom to disobey evidence of free will? Christ could have disobeyed Him, but he chose obedience, for the sake of us all! Knowing that he was in for torture and agonising death! Why bother, if all was preordained anyway? Why give your life for what is, in effect, nothing more than a mummers’ play, speaking lines that have been written for you by someone else?”