“These are the words of God, of Jesus Christ himself. St Peter was the first apostle to recognise Christ as the Son of God and He set His apostle, Peter, to be the first leader of His Church on Earth and to be the gatekeeper in Heaven ever after: and whatsoever he bound on Earth should be bound in Heaven, and whatsoever he loosed on Earth should be loosed in Heaven. The words of Our Lord Jesus Christ, taken from the Gospel of St Matthew, chapter sixteen. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” Wilfrid crossed himself, and so did the whole congregation, Oswy included.
“The Church of Rome was established by St Peter, the first Bishop of Rome and Vicar of Christ. The proof of Our Lord’s confidence in St Peter, and His Plan, is shown in the growth and strength of His Church. As the Irish Church fades Rome grows and extends, bringing more and more souls to God’s harvest. The Irish Church, by contrast, turns its back on the World, preferring self-absorbed hermitry and study to evangelism and conversion. Christ instructed His followers to be fishers of men, and with His help the catch would be great. Compare the Roman Church with the Irish Church: there is no comparison. The Roman Church spreads its wings across the whole world, the Irish Church is restricted to these islands and some small communities in the lands of the Franks. Nothing can stand in the way of Rome, God’s Church, for as Christ said, ‘The Gates of Hell shall not prevail against it’. St Peter holds the keys of Heaven. It is a braver man than I who will, after this life, present himself to Peter at the Gates and say that he had defied the Church that he had established in God’s name.”
With that, he sat down. In silence. It was a stunned silence: the effect of his speech was immense. Everyone in the chapel was impressed, Oswy as much as any. The King now looked to Colman for his rebuttal of Wilfrid’s attack, but he was shaken. Close observation would find a slight tremble in the King’s hands, one of which he moved up to rub his beard.
“Abbot Colman?”
“One moment, sir,” Colman replied, and he turned to whisper to Cuthbert. “Now, Cuthbert, now is the moment that you must stand and defend our Church against the calumnies that have been spoken against it. Now, Cuthbert, speak for us!” Cuthbert remained seated, staring straight ahead. “Now, Cuthbert!”
“I know what to do,” he replied dully, “he told me what to do,” and remained seated.
“Abbot Colman?” Oswy said again, “Does the Irish Church have answer against these charges?” Colman looked reluctantly again at Cuthbert, who sat without expression, staring straight ahead. Then the Abbot rose to his feet.
“My lord King,” he began slowly, “Prior Wilfrid has made many points, some of which can be rejected out of hand. Our Patron is St Michael, who stood against the Evil One and was not overawed. He it is, the warrior Angel, who guides the souls of the dead to the presence of God.”
“Yes, yes,” Oswy interrupted, “we know this, you mentioned it days ago. But before my soul gets to St Michael, I have to present myself to St Peter, do I not? Did Prior Wilfrid quote the Gospel accurately?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“Address that point specifically.”
“I would not seek to speak against the Gospels that the whole Christian world accepts, but -”
“St Peter holds the Keys to the Kingdom of Heaven?”
“Yes, but -”
“And he determines which souls will be admitted to Heaven?”
“My lord, it is God alone who judges!”
“But St Peter is the gatekeeper?”
“Christ gave him the Keys of the Kingdom, we are agreed, but -” Oswy raised his hand to cut him short. He rose to his feet, shaken inside, I could see. The man’s Faith had been rocked to its core, for goodness’ sake. Byzantium had been the chief seat of the Roman church for more than a century: the bishops and cardinals had moved to protect it from barbarian devastation, and now it was Rome that was deviating from agreed custom and practice. Why didn’t Colman say so? Had Cuthbert’s silence shaken him so much? Had he forgotten that the man was ill?
Oswy spoke.
“Prior Wilfrid has raised points which must be considered carefully. This Synod is suspended, and will wait upon my decision.” He marched swiftly out of the chapel, followed in a flutter of rustling fabric by his wife, her chaplain, her ladies and his son. He left behind a seething hubbub like a beehive after a bear’s attack.
Accusations and justifications started to fly among the Irish in the congregation. The Romans hardly dared to believe what they had seen and filed out of the chapel, slightly confused but with an elation starting to rise. There was confusion everywhere, except for one place: I looked at Wilfrid and saw a pool of self-assured calm in the middle of the currents that raged and whirled around him. There was a small smile on his face. He looked straight ahead, at nothing at all, and considering everything. Just along from him sat Bishop Agilbert, regarding his junior with a maelstrom of loathing and admiration visible on his ageing face.
The Irish delegation collected itself and left, Chad leading a compliant Cuthbert from the scene, still answering any query with either ‘I know what to do’ or ‘he told me what to do’. Now I knew something, if not the detail, of what had passed between the two Priors: poor, vulnerable Cuthbert, his spirit broken by contradiction, turmoil and - I had to admit - my exposure of his folly of excessive fasting at Lindisfarne, which had broken his confidence. The burden of thinking for others had been too much. Wilfrid had offered him the discipline of being told what to do, what to say and what to believe, when to stand, when to sit, when to kneel, when to bow your head, and - so devastating on this day - when to stay silent. The Romans showed him how to slip off the burden of thinking for himself and the broken man had taken the offer.
We are to blame, we didn’t see, I thought. We knew he was sick and we didn’t tend him. We were distracted and we left him without the support he needed. Wilfrid gave him the support we should have provided. Wilfrid listened to him and acted. We just pulled him along, and were quietly relieved if he wasn’t at our shoulder the whole time. It is our failing, and we have justly been punished. We should have left him at Lindisfarne, where he could have been cared for, but we still wanted to squeeze more out of him, to drag more from him, when he had already given everything he had and more, to the point of collapse and beyond. We sucked him dry and now we’re punished for it.
We gathered in our sleeping quarters, stepping over the dazed form of Mungo and huddling together in a stunned, miserable group. It was barely mid-afternoon. How long would we have to wait? Would Oswy give us another chance to argue our case? What would we say? Who would say it? Surely, Cuthbert...?
But the emaciated figure, who had borne too much of our hopes and fears for too long, sat silent and distracted, a reed that had been broken to shards, and hope faded.
I went over to the infirmary to see Cedd and Ieuan. Again I noticed the cold in the building, which seemed to be at its coldest where Cedd was. I found my two friends together much as I’d left them. The Abbot was asleep, a sheen of sweat on his face. The Druid looked older, strained and sweating in his turn as he extended his Gift for the benefit of one for whom he held no brief. This is as it should be, I thought, we should use our Gifts to help each other regardless of any personal relationship or animosity.
Ieuan looked up and acknowledged me as I entered.