“We will win. You can’t stand against the power of Rome. We will win because you are too weak and decadent yourselves. Go to Coldingham, and see your Church in all its drunken, debauched purity! We will win, and you will submit to the authority of Rome. And to me!”
I knew I’d said enough. I could have gone on but what Wilfrid had said was also true. There was scandal, and not just among the prancing princesses and layabouts in the monastery at Coldingham, either. I’d lost my temper and said too much. Wilfrid was very intelligent and our argument would make him even more determined on our defeat. I cursed myself for behaving like a zealous fool.
I made my way quickly back to the sleeping quarters. The sun was touching the horizon and we would soon be ready for bed. I sought out Colman and confessed to my argument with the Prior. The Abbott sighed but said it would probably have no bearing. Oswy, at least, would be no more bothered by our disagreement than he was by transmigration of the soul. He was convinced he would be presented to God as a warrior-king anyway. But he told me to confine myself to the sleeping quarters and the chapel until the morning, and to avoid Wilfrid for the remainder of the Synod.
The arguments about the day’s debate still rumbled on and exploded into raised voices from time to time, but it all gradually petered out and I went to bed early. A good night’s sleep would cool most tempers.
23
A Poisoned Chalice
Despite his doubts, Cedd was in a good mood the following day, much happier and chatting cheerfully to all and sundry. He was good company at breakfast and smiled his thanks for the cup of sweetened water he was brought. He had complained of a dry mouth the day before and was further gratified that a cup of cordial had been put on his chair in the chapel. He asked who had done it but it was none of the main party. He smiled again and offered general thanks for the thought.
Oswy entered a few minutes later than previously but no-one enquired why. He slumped into his chair and prepared himself for another heavy day of hair-splitting. He was getting decidedly bored by the whole thing and wondered if taking another concubine would have been a better course. She would have to come from the Kentish royal house, naturally, for the sake of the alliance, and the Southerners could be awkward about such things. Whatever, it was too late to stop the Synod now and so he waved the clerics to continue. Agilbert stood to speak and so did Cedd. The translator stumbled slightly as he walked to the front but seemed to recover. He rubbed his leg vigorously for a moment and prepared himself to concentrate on Agilbert’s words.
“My lord King Oswy,” Agilbert began, and Cedd translated. “I have decided - with your permission - that our case would be better served if it was made by someone who was not inconvenienced by translation. Therefore, Prior Wilfrid will speak on our behalf for the remainder of this Synod.” Oswy waited for Cedd to finish his translation - the Abbott seemed to be distracted - and then nodded his agreement.
“As the Bishop wishes,” he said, and Cedd translated. The King looked down the line to Wilfrid, who stood up. Agilbert sat down and Cedd, with a puzzled yelp, crumpled to the floor.
There was a confused buzzing around the chapel. Those at the back hadn’t seen what had happened, while those at the front weren’t sure what they had actually seen. In the melee, Colman ordered his fellow monks to hold the crowd away from the prostrate form of Cedd while I knelt to find out what was the matter. Oswy looked on and Wilfrid stood, ignored by all, wondering what sort of plot the Irish had hatched this time.
“Tell me what you feel, tell me everything,” I asked Cedd. “Are you in any pain?”
“No, no pain,” came the bewildered reply. “My legs. My legs just gave way. I can’t feel them below the knee.” I felt the Abbott’s feet: they were cold, as were his calves.
“Do you feel light-headed?”
“Not really, well, yes I do, actually, now you mention it.”
I looked at Cedd’s legs and feet with urgency, using the little power I had to divine illness.
There were threads of an evil green colour, following the course of his veins up his legs. I knew what had happened. Colman came and knelt on one knee beside me and asked the question. I glanced about to see how closely we were observed.
“Make no reaction, it’s important,” I whispered, Colman nodded. “He’s been poisoned.”
“Poi-” he started to exclaim, and turned it into “Poi-poor brother Cedd! What must we do?”
“He must be taken immediately - and very gently - over to our sleeping quarters. Or the infirmary, if there is space. It would be better, and he can be guarded,” I whispered. “Speak to Abbess Hilda and make the arrangements as soon as it can be done.” Colman nodded and drew away. “Chad,” I called, and Cedd’s brother came from holding back the crowd, deeply concerned. “Stay here a moment with your brother. I have some arrangements to make.” Chad nodded and knelt on the floor, taking his brother’s hand to comfort him.
I walked over and stood before the King, who was waiting patiently for an explanation. I went as close as I dared and spoke as quietly as I could.
“My Lord,” I bowed briefly, “Abbott Cedd has been taken seriously ill and cannot continue his duties. I am the reserve translator, which Bishop Agilbert will require in order to understand proceedings.” Oswy’s eyebrows rose in query. So? “I’m also the healer of our group. May I ask you in your goodness to suspend proceedings until I have had the chance to examine my brother closely and prescribe treatment for him?” Oswy regarded me closely.
“What is the abbot’s incapacity?” he asked firmly, and loudly enough for those nearby to hear. All, including Wilfrid and Agilbert, leaned forward to hear the reply. “Excessive fasting?” I didn’t smile.
“No, sir,” I said seriously. “It’s more complicated, and I need time to find out exactly what ails him.” My level gaze met the King’s penetrating stare. Oswy could tell that he would get no more out of me in a public forum. He stood and addressed the crowd.