Whatever the outcome, I had a more immediate demand on my time: Cedd. I returned to the infirmary and found him stirring. Chad went off to refresh himself and fetch some food for the three of us - strained chicken and vegetable soup for Cedd. I dosed the invalid up again and looked into his body.
The poison was still spreading but its progress had been slowed dramatically. I called Hilda’s monks to change the leeches which, full of poisoned blood themselves, were losing vigour and dying, then repeated the hypnotic ritual I’d gone through a few hours before. I settled to watch over the Abbott and kept a light mental touch that would warn me if there was a sudden relapse or crisis. It would be demanding time until Ieuan arrived, and I had translation duties to attend to as well. I closed my eyes and snatched a short sleep.
I shivered awake in a cold early morning light. I felt as if a shadow had passed over my soul. I sat up and rubbed my eyes wearily and looked to Cedd, who was sleeping peacefully now, thank God. Through the last twelve hours he had tossed and turned, burning up with fever as his body had threatened to succumb to the effects of the poison within it. I had been obliged to intervene to a greater extent than I’d felt capable or competent of, deep into territory where I feared I would do more harm than good. I had truly been a wanderer in a strange country, without maps or signposts to guide me. The mental strain had been intense and exhausting. The battle had been won in the short term but it would be hard work keeping Cedd alive until help, in the shape of Ieuan, arrived.
Exhausted or no, I was awake now and had to get some food. Before I left I checked the leeches on my brother monk’s legs: three had fallen off one shin, two off the other. Dead and drying out already. Ideally, I would have liked to replace them but if too much blood was taken Cedd would be just as dead as if the poison had got him. He mustn’t be weakened so much by blood loss that he was unable to fight the poison itself.
I went to the door and found one of Hilda’s monks sitting outside, with Chad stretched out on the floor asleep. The strain of the night’s vigil had been too much for him as well. I motioned the monk into the room.
“Watch over him. Any change - any at all – you are to call Chad immediately, and send for me. Any change at all. You are not to attempt treatment yourself. Do you understand?” He nodded and I crept quietly off to the refectory to find some food.
The sun was weak and watery, seeming to suck warmth from the Earth rather than giving it as I walked across the yard. I shivered in the cold and was surprised to see that others seemed to be unaffected: hoods were thrown back and some had even thrown off their cloaks, at this early hour, and the sun so weak! Some people were obviously inspired by little more than the sun’s mere presence.
A rider was approaching from the west, where there was still a trace of the dark that hadn’t yet fled from the advancing light. Whoever it was, he was in a hurry. He was elderly, dressed like a Celtic monk with thin white hair falling down his back. He came straight in to the yard and was waved through by the relaxed guards. He rode up to the main buildings, dismounted stiffly and carefully wrapped the reins over a hitching rail. He turned and looked me straight in the face.
“Ieuan! My God, how did you get here so fast?” I ran to greet my friend, clasped his hand and pulled him to me. “You must’ve ridden on the wings of the dawn!”
“I set off as soon as I received your call. I’m pleased to see you well.” He returned the one-armed hug. “I thought you were drowning.”
“That was the week before last. Did you see me?”
“The week before last? Then I am late. I only got your call last Friday.”
“Friday! But I only called you yesterday, less than a day ago! How can this be?”
“Had you remained faithful to Druidism, your nurturing faith, Ciaran,” Ieuan said in Gaelic, “these things wouldn’t surprise you. Time is not a straight line, it is just that we perceive it to be so in our normal lives.” A couple of Celtic tonsures turned at the word ‘Druidism’.
“Careful please, Ieuan,” I said in a low voice, “there are a lot of Gaelic speakers here. And remember my name.”
“Sorry,” he whispered. “So why have you called me? You seem to be in no danger.”
“Come and have a quick breakfast and I’ll tell you.” We’d reached the refectory and prepared ourselves a meal of fruit, cheese, bread and water. I continued in a low voice as we sat down. “The problem is not with me: one of my brothers has been poisoned.” Ieuan barely reacted.
“Why call me? What is one of you to me? There are bonds of friendship between us, Anselm, but I am not a Chr - one of you, and I don’t like what your Church is doing to us. Some of my brothers are being persecuted, even tortured and killed by your lot. To be quite honest, had I known you weren’t threatened I wouldn’t have come.” I shivered. I felt very cold.
“Ieuan, you have the Gift of Healing, in greater abundance than I have ever seen, anywhere. Are you not obliged - even by your own tenets - to give aid if you can to all who need it?” Ieuan didn’t quite shrug. After a moment he nodded briefly. I shivered again - I really was very, very cold, and couldn’t understand why others seemed to find it so warm. “We can argue our cases another time. And it’s not ‘our lot’ who are persecuting you, or rather, I’d be surprised if it was. We would rather convert you. It’s more likely to be the Romans, who we are here to contend with. Anyway,” I went on, “I need your help. One of my brothers has been poisoned.
With what?”
“Hemlock.”
“Deliberate?”
“I think so, but I don’t see what bearing it has on his cure.”
“Just interested to see how brotherly love and Christian charity is expressed in these difficult times. Is he still alive?”
“Yes, but weakened. I left him sleeping quietly a quarter of an hour ago. But last night was bad, very hard. We nearly lost him.”
“Is he important?”
“Yes, he is important to God, as even you are. Ieuan, you’re not very friendly today. What is it?”
“I’m tired, after a long and hard ride. I’m sorry.” He made a visible effort and composed his grizzled features into a smile. He took the last of his bread and cheese, washed it down with the last of his water and stood up. “Come on, let’s see what we can do about this humble but important Man of God, who has attracted the wrath of his brother.”
We went over to the infirmary and I sent Chad and the Whitby monk out of the room while Ieuan investigated. It took him only a few moments, then he stood and spoke to me with something of the old affection in his voice.
“You’ve done well, Anselm, very well indeed. He’s suffered a major attack of poison. He should by rights have been dead less than an hour after he was dosed.”
“Can you save him? Cure him I mean?” Ieuan smiled, with little humour.