Oswy arrived, all stood and the whispering stopped. He had witnessed none of Wilfrid’s little transfiguration so he wouldn’t be influenced, and he was the one who counted. If he was tense (as usual) then Eanfleda, who followed him, was twisted and warped to an extent beyond words. The moment she had sought to avoid for years was almost upon her. Beside her was Romanus, her chaplain. His presence gave her moral support although he could not be seen to touch her in public. He was still an oily creep but underneath the ambitious and self-serving slime there was beginning to form something humane: he was feeling sympathy for his patroness, not just calculating opportunism. Given time, I thought, God can bring good out of even the most unpromising material.
Oswy sat down in the throne. Eanfleda took a seat at the front of the congregation, Romanus beside her. The rest resumed their seats and Oswy stood again. I stood with him in order to translate.
“Following the unfortunate indisposition of Abbott Cedd, we’ve had an unscheduled delay in the Synod. I am happy to tell you all that the Abbot lives and is expected to make a full recovery. Our prayers are with him. He will not take any further part in the Synod and Magister Anselm will undertake translation duties. Now the delay is over I trust that matters will be concluded swiftly,” He shot an almost involuntary glance at Eanfleda, “and we can resume our normal lives. We will continue where we left off, with Prior Wilfrid of Ripon. He was about to make some points. Prior Wilfrid.” He resumed his seat and Wilfrid stood and walked purposefully to the centre of the speakers’ area, then went slightly further so that he could address both Oswy and the congregation on his own side. He would speak in English and the Gaelic speakers he left to me, so I was obliged to move further off to one side, into the shadows. Very theatrical, I thought. Just as Wilfrid was composing himself to speak I realised how hot it was in the chapel. Without thinking, I removed my hooded cowl, lifting it straight over my head and shaking my hair out to settle it. I threw the cowl to my chair and smoothed my hair back down. Wilfrid regarded me with venom in his eyes.
“Sorry,” I said, “I’m ready now.” I received a sarcastic half-bow and Wilfrid composed himself to begin. My action hadn’t been in any way premeditated but I suppressed a smile at the realisation that the Roman Prior had been put off his stride, however momentarily.
“My lord King,” Wilfrid began, “I thank you for your favour in allowing me to speak. For many years I have been eager to put the Roman case to you in person, and now that moment has arrived.” The speech was flowery and ornate but rhythmic and impressive with it. Oswy, used to the words of flatterers and orators, usually pleading with him to recognise some imaginary noble lineage and spare miserable lives, was not particularly impressed. But he did lean forward - maybe this one would at last say something meaningful. “You have heard many arguments - from both sides - concerning obscure ideas and convoluted dogmas, most of which interest me only slightly more than you. I will be brief and to the point.
“There is no doubting the piety and honesty of holy Columba, who first converted the Picts in Alba; holy Aidan, founder of Lindisfarne itself; Finan, recently dead, and all their followers. I do not suggest for one moment that they were anything other than true servants of God, and that they loved Him and served him to the utmost limit of their ability in their primitive simplicity.” There was a murmur at this choice of words. “I choose these words carefully, for primitive and simple was their faith, and no less honourable for that. The Irish Church has been separated from the mainstream of the world for hundreds of years, through the events of history. Wars and invasions have taken their toll yet, through it all, these holy fathers kept the candle of Faith burning in these windswept islands, far from the nurturing bosom of the See of Peter. For Rome itself was attacked and laid waste by hordes of Goths, Visigoths and Huns, to which troubles must be added internal strife. Had the Church in Rome been destroyed, God would have been able to rebuild His Church from its base in Erin and save it from the errors into which it has fallen.
“But Rome was not destroyed. Rome rose from the ashes of Empire and gathered to itself the finest minds in all the world. It is to Rome, not to Lindisfarne, or Iona, or Kells, or Whithorn that those who would serve God with their minds as well as their hearts are attracted. For I would ask the monks of the Irish Church this: although your Fathers were holy men, do you imagine that they, a few men in a forgotten corner of a remote island, are to be preferred before the Catholic, Universal Church of Christ throughout the world?” The murmur grew to a growl of anger. Oswy raised his hand and stood.
“Let there be no dissent! I will hear this man speak, in respectful silence, as I will hear counter-arguments from Abbot Colman. Guards! Eject any who threaten the peace of this assembly, or its speakers!” The angry noise subsided.
“I thank you, my lord.” Wilfrid continued. “I stand witness to this: I have been to Rome and have seen at first hand the grace and majesty of our Holy Mother Church there. Clerics and nuns without number, from all over the world, from Europe and Africa, from Asia and Persia, come and go every day. Pilgrims flock to the throne of Peter and right it is that it should be so, that the faithful look to the heart of our Church for guidance rather than to small, scattered and indisciplined wandering monks, whose greatest desire is to take themselves onto remote islands and cut themselves off from the world, leaving the ordinary people to stumble along in darkness. For the See of Peter engages with the world, and counts many kings and princes among its disciples.
“I was brought to Christ by my brothers of the monastery at Lindisfarne. Some of those seated here now were my teachers,” he bowed to Colman and me, “and they pointed the way in my early life of Faith. But I went to Rome. I saw the Pope and I saw the greatness of the Church in its capital. And I remembered this,” he paused and opened his Bible. There was utter silence as the congregation both obeyed Oswy’s command and hung from Wilfrid’s words. The effect was rather dramatic.
“He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.