“Yes, I can cure him, although it will take time. I’ll need some items, if you can arrange them.”
“So long as they don’t include chicken entrails I think we can probably get all you need. They seem to have a well-stocked apothecarium here.” I called the monk into the room. To Ieuan I said, “Tell him what you need,” and to the other I said, “get everything brother Ieuan asks you for. I have an errand to run.”
“Anselm,” Ieuan called to me, and I asked what he wanted. “I don’t speak English.” I smacked my head for a fool and translated the list of the Druid’s requirements to the monk, who did as was bidden.
As I left, I woke Chad and sent him in to assist Ieuan in any way he could. Then I went off to beg the King’s indulgence once again. As I left the shadow of the infirmary I noticed it was getting rapidly warmer and, by the time I reached Oswy’s office, I was actually breaking into a sweat. I was admitted into the royal presence and followed him to the private chamber, as before. Without preliminaries, He asked when the Synod could resume.
“My Lord, I would ask your indulgence until this afternoon.” He asked why. “Help has arrived and he is dealing with Abbott Cedd now. It is for myself and Prior Chad that I ask your leave to delay a few more hours: he and I are exhausted, he by concern and giving what help he could, and I by my intervention. Last night was very difficult, we almost lost him. A few hours more is all we ask.”
“Do we need you? Can’t we proceed without you?”
“I’m the only translator who speaks all four languages here.” I swayed slightly as my exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me. Oswy regarded me carefully, appraisingly, then he nodded.
“Very well Magister, you shall have your rest. I see you’ve earned it. Till half an hour after luncheon then. Go and sleep.” I bowed my thanks and made straight for the our sleeping quarters.
I was ready to throw myself onto my pallet when I became aware of someone else in the building, sitting quietly in the darkness and, I thought, trying to conceal himself. I knew who it was.
“Come on and show yourself,” I called, a little impatiently. I was very tired. A darker shape moved in the darkness and stepped into the dim light. “Mungo. Good morning. I’m ready to go to sleep. I apologise if I was short with you, I’m very tired.” Mungo nodded and made to leave - but I stopped him with a light touch. I looked into the younger man’s face and I knew. “Maybe there’s something you want to tell me.” The zealot shook his head vigorously.
“No, nothing,” he said and made to leave. I tightened my grip.
“Mungo, I am Anselm. You have met me before, and you may have heard of my reputation. Don’t make me drag it out of you. It will be much, much easier to confess, I can assure you.” I could feel him trembling through his robe.
“I have nothing to confess.” He tried to press on again but the doorway darkened as a third person entered the room. The newcomer looked from me to him.
“What’s going on here?” Colman asked quietly.
“Brother Mungo is having difficulty in accepting responsibility and facing up to his sin,” I replied, “and he seems to think that he can retreat into silence.” Colman turned inquiringly to the young zealot, whose jaw muscles were bulging with tension.
“I have not sinned.”
“Well,” I said, “if you’re so proud of what you’ve done, why not share your achievement with us? Look at me, Mungo.” He would not.
“I have not sinned.”
“If that is so, then tell us where Scripture justifies your action,” I pressed him.
“ ‘Woe to the shepherd that deserts his sheep!’” His eyes burned with his zeal, though he would not meet mine.
“It goes on: ‘His right eye shall be put out, and his arm shall wither.’ Have you taken to yourself the Mantle of Judgement in your arrogance?” Mungo tried to wrench his arm away but I had tight hold of it. “I can force a confession out of you and it would terrify you: do you remember the Roman novice, how frightened he was of me? All I did was look at him.”
“You have the evil eye.”
“No I do not. And I have done no wicked deed here.”
“I have done no wrong.” Colman was looking from Mungo to me in some confusion, but beginning to be afraid of what might emerge.
“Someone had better tell me what is going on. Mungo?” No response except an even greater tightening of his jaw. “Anselm?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m tired and I can no longer be bothered to try to encourage you do the right thing, Mungo. Abbot Colman, this is the one who tried to kill Cedd, by poisoning his drink. He came as a friend and betrayed his brother: the treachery of Judas and of Cain. One of the oldest sins.” This accusation seemed to fill Mungo with rage. He heaved his arm from my grip and this time his strength was enough, but he didn’t run away.
“He is no brother of mine! He would have betrayed us to the Whore of Babylon! Coming dressed in purple and gold and riding on a scarlet beast! You saw the Anti-Christ arrive and you talk to him courteously, when he should be put to death!” Spittle formed on his lips and trickled down his chin. He stood, balanced, poised and ready for a fight. “The fine Abbott of Lastingham, unworthy to tie the laces of a beggar’s shoes, took the part of the Beast and would betray us! Now I see that you will do the same! And you -” he indicated me “- you talk to them as friends, and consort with pagans! You have betrayed us all! Judas? I see Judas before me now!” and he leaped at me, arms extended and hands like claws, making straight for the throat, his lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl.
There was no time for dancing or seeking an opportunity to subdue with minimal damage. I met the leap head on, ducked under the arms and butted upwards with my head, catching the younger man on the jaw. It hurt like fury, as it was the crown rather than my forehead that made the connection. Bone crunched on bone and Mungo lost a tooth immediately. I threw him backwards and, without waiting to see if he was subdued or not, went straight for his neck and pinched the arteries. I held my grip against the couple of moments’ struggle my adversary put up and then eased his passage to the floor as he lost consciousness. I pulled off his cord girdle and tied his hands and feet with it, swiftly and efficiently. Colman had his hand over his mouth in shock and tears were beginning to well in his eyes. Before he could speak, another voice came from the doorway.
“I though you were coming to sleep, not engage in a wrestling match.” It was King Oswy. My heart sank and the pain in my head was forgotten. How could I explain this? “I have a man with a broken collarbone who says he fell off his horse while drunk. He had to stay at an Inn for a few days until he was well enough to take the day’s ride here. I’ve fined him a week’s pay for carelessness. Is that a fair judgement, Magister Anselm?”
There was a moment’s silence as I got my breath back.