A shadow crossed the sun and I was very cold. I shivered with the cold. It crept through all my clothes and I was wearing so many, my robe, my hood, Roman vestments, a Bishop’s mitre over my hood, a crown on top of that and the King’s tunic and cloak. Why was I wearing so much? They were getting in the way, I couldn’t see straight.
Why was I so cold? There was something familiar about the cold. It was physical. It could scent me out and seek a way in. I remembered grass that was alive and writhed about my feet, seeking a way in. I wore my robe and carried my cross to keep this cold out.
“You can be attacked but you can resist. It will only get in if you invite it,” said Padhraig. “It can overcome you only if you allow it.”
The Glade. I was in the Glade again and the child was holding the ball of wool. It had come unravelled and it was wrapped about the statues all around. I could see Cedd, and Colman (smiling, of course. He was so cheerful, so good, Colman was so good) and Wilfrid and Agilbert and Mungo, Mungo wrapped up in wool as a spider wraps up her prey, and Oswy and Eanfleda and everyone, even the dead merchant and his family and the bandit and little Bedwyr, they were all there. The child held the small ball of wool up to me and looked with his sightless eyes, those gaping, bleeding wounds he had where his eyes should be!
“It’s nearly finished now,” the child said, “will you save us?”
There were hundreds of children, all with wounds where their eyes should be.
I woke in response to a gentle shaking. Colman told me it was nearly time for lunch. I nodded and reached automatically for my bag and took a draught of medicine as the headache started. Colman waited patiently while I sat for a few moments to let the medicine wear in, and then we went over to check on Mungo. He was sitting where I’d left him, slack jawed and vacant of expression. We took the young man over to the privies and, when we brought him back, I told him to sleep until evening, when we would return.
“Any word from Ieuan?” I asked
“I saw him this morning. He’s been by Cedd’s bedside for several hours. He says that the battle is turning but he needs more time. He looks very tired. And old - but you say he was a contemporary of yours? He looks older than you. Older than me, come to that.”
“He’s older than I am, by a few years.” I shivered again. I felt cold, just briefly.
“He must’ve had a hard life. This clean living is obviously good for you.”
“Ah yes, a blameless life, three square meals a day and plenty of exercise,” I smiled.
“That must be it. And the fasting, of course, to keep the body in good shape. Don’t ever let me hear of you complaining about fasting again.” The two of us chuckled and went in to eat.
I took a plate of food over to Ieuan and found him much as Colman had reported: looking older and strained. He appreciated the food I brought.
“It’s serious, but not insurmountable.”
“Colman told me you’d said the battle had been turned.” I held my hands to my mouth and blew on my fingers. The infirmary was very cold indeed.
“Turned, aye, but not won yet. He’ll need my help for a while.” Ieuan turned and frowned for a moment at Cedd. “You must get your people to tone down the fasting. This man has done himself damage by overdoing it. His body started to eat itself a while ago.”
“I noticed that as well. I heard he’d done a marathon - forty days and forty nights, you know - when he was granted the land at Lastingham and before he established his Abbey. To prepare himself.”
“Very commendable in intent. But stupid,” Ieuan replied between mouthfuls of apple, “he’ll kill himself if he tries that again within the next few months.”
“He shouldn’t have any particular reason before Lent next year, but I’ll tell him. Now, I must get back to the Synod. I’m the translator in his absence. Oh, and Ieuan?”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t it a bit cold in here?” The Druid shrugged.
“I hadn’t noticed. Probably because of the energy I’m using up. Anyway, it won’t do our invalid any harm - the battle inside him is generating enough heat to run a furnace. Coolness will help keep his temperature down. But can you arrange for me to have a drink?”
“Of course. I’ll do it now.” I gave orders to the monk at the door who went to attend to it. As he passed a colleague from Whitby he greeted him cheerfully.
“Cerdic, good afternoon. When will you be along to relieve me? I could do with some air. It’s very warm for April, don’t you think?” Cerdic agreed and said he’d be along in an hour.
Hot? I thought, they must be wearing bearskins under their robes. I was still freezing, although it got warmer as I left the infirmary. I would have to speak to Hilda: Cedd and Ieuan may be helped by the place being kept as cold as a meat-store but surely most invalids need to be kept warm.
The chapel was almost full when I arrived but the numbers were fewer than previously. The long break had cooled the ardour of some although there was a silent air of anticipation among those who had taken the trouble to attend. There was a feeling around that the shadow-boxing was over and the real meat was about to be chewed. As usual, the monks of the Irish Church were gathering informally, in ones, twos and threes and, as usual, the Romans entered in procession only after all of our party had arrived. Agilbert was wearing subdued vestments but at last looked dignified. Handing over to Wilfrid had clearly lifted a burden from his shoulders. Wilfrid himself was upright and confident, verging on proud. No - more than that. There was pride in his bearing, and supreme assurance. The break had given him time to prepare himself even more thoroughly and he obviously felt that his hour had come. Those around him were separate, apart, and the tallest of them seemed to be a foot shorter than the young Prior of Ripon.
As luck would have it, the sun chose that moment to emerge from behind the cloud that had obscured it. A shaft of light flowed through a small, high window and provided an aura of luminosity to bathe and surround the tall Saxon. Did he hesitate a moment? No - but maybe he slowed his already stately progress so as to stretch the moment out. He couldn’t have arranged it better if he’d directed the clouds himself because, as he moved on, another cloud passed before the sun and the remainder of the procession made its way in more subdued light, which left it looking shabby, dull and uninteresting.
A whisper hissed around the congregation: ‘sign!’ ‘sign!’ ‘sign!’ I could hear the word ripple from one mouth to another, from one ear to another.