I entered a realm of darkness: complete, utter, total darkness. For a moment there was a wave of panic. I reminded myself that I was in control and started again.
There was darkness, warm, comforting, soft as velvet. I hung in the darkness between stars, between worlds and between minds. I could hang there forever but I felt a prick of urgency: I had a task to perform. I looked around for my body and was aware of myself, but I held back from it: I was not going back yet. I looked for another mind, a particular presence.
My orb was filled with sparks of life. Most were random, flashing by, unaware of me, or that they were not the one I sought. One or two turned towards me with query - I examined them briefly and sent refusal. I looked deeper.
There was the fire. Beyond it lay my heart’s desire, I knew - but not now, not yet, not yet - and there was stone, a face of impenetrable rock which spread in all directions and to the ends of the Universe and beyond. There was no way past, no way through. I searched for an eternity until I found the door. I knew this was the place and didn’t consider why. I examined the door. It was massive, bolted and bossed and sealed with iron. There was fear in me: beyond the door lay madness, or I thought there was. I remembered a door beyond which there was madness. Was this it? I hesitated. My fear was in my memory. This was not, could not be the door behind which madness lay.
I called: Ieuan.
Nothing, no response.
I knocked on the door.
Ieuan.
No response.
I boomed on the door with hands like hammers.
Ieuan, it is I.
The door opened! A crack.
Who is it?
It is I. Anselm.
I know you not. And the door started to close, sealing me out.
I was Ciaran.
The door opened slightly. Ciaran?
Ieuan, it is Ciaran. I need your help.
Again? The door opened more. I could see part of a face, the rest may be Ieuan’s. What is it.
There is the threat of death here. Great sickness.
You can deal with it.
It is too much. It overwhelms me. (I remembered the sea overwhelming me...somewhere.) I cannot do it.
A hand reached out of the darkness and touched my face. Ciaran. The door opened wider. It was Ieuan. He looked wary still.
Ciaran. I will come to help you.
Come urgently. To the Christian monastery at Whitby. Dress as a Christian. Time is short. I need your help.
Ciaran. I will come to help you. Then the door closed but I knew it would open to me for Eternity. We were connected.
I withdrew, and returned through the sparks of life and a warm, velvet darkness, to a small wood
at the foot of a hill in Northumbria. I was sweating, cold and exhausted. And I had a headache, a screaming headache. I reached into my bag for my medicine and took a draft. I stayed where I was for the few moments to allow the little magic to take effect, then I returned to the infirmary to check on Cedd.
He was sleeping peacefully but his body temperature was rising. I looked into him and saw that the heat was being generated by the battle between the poison and his body’s defences. I prepared another draft of medicine, taking the time on this occasion to infuse the additional herbs in hot water, that the goodness may be absorbed more quickly by my patient. I strained it and mixed the liquor with some of my own medicine and left it by the bedside, with instructions to Chad to administer it when his brother next awoke. I then went to report to Colman. Over the wall I saw Wilfrid speaking to Cuthbert in the yard but they had disappeared by the time I got to the spot. I wasn’t happy about Cuthbert speaking to anyone outside our community in his present state, and particularly not Wilfrid. I would’ve liked to know what they were saying to each other.
I found Colman in the chapel again and told him I’d contacted Ieuan.
“When do you expect him?”
“Within a week, all being well.”
“Did you tell him to come dressed as one of us? What did he say?”
“I told him. I think all will be well.”
“It must be strange...” I queried to encourage the Abbott. “Talking to someone that way.”
“It’s not really talking. Just ideas and images, mind to mind. Like when you dream, I suppose. It isn’t the same as us talking here now.” Colman nodded, but couldn’t really grasp something so far outside his own experience.
“When will the Synod resume?”
“I’ll have to go back and stay by Cedd. He needs my help to fight the poison. With any luck, we can resume tomorrow morning.”
“What about the Romans, now that Wilfrid will be their spokesman?”
“Hilda thinks he will make or break us.”
“But he’s so young! He’s only - what - twenty-odd? He can’t know enough, or have enough knowledge, or experience, or...” Colman’s voice faded. I looked embarrassed.
“Remember I helped him to learn fast, to read and understand. He has enough knowledge. And even if I hadn’t, you may be wrong - he was always talented, very talented. And he’s thirty, no longer the young novice who left with your blessing on his journey, and never came back. Cuthbert’s not much older and you let him go off evangelising on his own, you have done for years. Hilda knows Wilfrid better than we do. She believes he can sway the Synod.
“She may well be right. And you’re right, as well. I forget it’s been so long. He knows us better than Agilbert and he’s very bright, as you say,” Colman replied. Cuthbert came into the chapel at that moment. “Ah, Cuthbert. It’s good to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t been with you. How are you feeling? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“We were talking about the Synod. Wilfrid will be speaking when we resume. We may need you to participate.” I was surprised at this: Cuthbert, when well, had the oratorical power to at least match Wilfrid, and a command of teaching that could possibly outmatch him but he was still not right. He had taken no real part even in our private discussions and he was still very distracted. It would be a risky strategy to involve him. “Will you be able?”
“I know what to do.”
“Good, good.” Cuthbert threw himself prostrate before the altar. Colman was nonplussed. He started to say something but the figure on the floor was oblivious to him. I drew him outside.
“Are you sure about involving Cuthbert? He isn’t well, and his sickness is in his mind. He’s tormented and confused.”
“I’ll avoid it if I can,” the Abbott replied, “but we may need him. Wilfrid may sway the crowd and the King. Cuthbert has a better touch with the people than I: he can relate complex ideas into simple language.”
This was true but I was uneasy. It was a relief that Cuthbert now seemed to be more in control of himself - no longer asking to be told what to do - but whether he was ready for a public forum yet was very much open to debate. However, Colman was right; we may have no choice.