It was still there. He hoped it was gone, gone for good after the last time. Or the time before. But it was still there. Still there to torture him and give him pain.
It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair that Ciaran - Anselm, whoever he was - had found out. Where was his shield? Where was the spell that hid him and his actions? Where was his protection when he was in greatest need? Why had it failed, just when he needed it most? It was not right, not fair, it wasn’t fair! Nothing was fair! It wasn’t right that the invaders were here, that the scum had taken their Land!
He would take it back. He would get the Power and build Strathclyde. Owain and Gawain would raise their armies and drive the English back into the sea. We need the Power. The Power was what it took. And the Power was what he controlled.
There would be other villages. There would be one soon. He would get one soon.
*
The Chapel was filled with a restless silence. The air of a prisoner awaiting execution hung over the Lindisfarne party – but there was something else, as well; a hint of desperate hope that things might still turn. From the Romans there was something like disbelief: until just the day before they’d believed they were going to lose but Wilfrid - wonderful Prior Wilfrid! Bishop Wilfrid, surely, before long! He would succeed Agilbert; no he would have his own See in Northumbria! Bishop Wilfrid! Saint Wilfrid? whisper it! - had turned it all around. Last minute prayers were being offered from all sides. Queen Eanfleda and her chaplain knelt silently: what outcome she was praying for was impossible to tell; the poor woman could see no good coming, either way. I took my place and waited with my comrades for Oswy’s judgement.
The crowd leaped to its feet as he swept in, with all the swagger expected of a warrior-king. Even the sexual tension had receded, I noted. There would be only one outcome.
He marched straight to his throne, escorted by Godwin, the crippled bear. He didn’t sit himself, but indicated that the congregation should do so. I remained standing so as to translate.
“My brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began, “from wherever you have come. This Synod was summoned in order to decide on the question that has vexed this kingdom and court of Northumbria and, I know, other faithful lands and peoples in the island of Britain and beyond. The question being, whose Rule and Practice most closely follows the desires and orders of Our Lord Jesus Christ.
“Before I deliver my judgement, I thank you all for attending the debate, especially those of you who have travelled from far distant parts, from Iona, from the Frankish kingdom across the Narrow Sea, from Erin, and from other places besides. You are welcome. Thanks also to Abbess Hilda, mistress of this monastery, whose organisation and accommodation have made this meeting possible.” He didn’t wait for applause but pressed on.
“I have been brought up in the Rule of Iona and it was the Irish Church which sheltered me and my brothers when our enemies were about us. I owe the priests and monks of St Columba’s Church my very life.
“My Queen has been faithful to the Roman Rule. This has led us to celebrate feasts on different days and times of the year, most particularly Easter, the feast of the Resurrection and our Salvation. I will celebrate Easter in three weeks, my Queen will celebrate it in nine days. It is time now for the confusion to end.” He stood erect and confident, his shoulder-length hair neatly braided, his beard trimmed and his gold-edged red woollen robe clean and regal. He was wearing a gold circlet on his head; nothing extravagant. He didn’t need show. He made an impressive figure without any need for embellishment.
“St Michael I have long regarded as my patron. I am a warrior, he is the Sword of God who, as Abbott Colman said, stood against the Evil One and was neither overwhelmed nor overawed. He it was who drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden after their disobedience had led them to their Fall from Grace, and we sinners to our estate. I hope he will guide my soul to the presence of God when the time comes and that he, the warrior Angel, will present me as a warrior to my Creator, the God of Victories.” The Romans were uneasy at this and we even allowed ourselves a little hope.
“However, before I get to meet St Michael, I have to present myself and my deeds to St Peter at the gates of Heaven. As Prior Wilfrid has demonstrated and none have contradicted, he was appointed by Our Lord Jesus Christ to be the founding father of His Church on Earth. He established the See of Rome, and the Bishop of Rome, known as the Pope, is St Peter’s heir and successor in all things.
“This is the doorkeeper, whom I will not contradict, but will, as far as I know and am able in all things, obey his decrees in case, when I come to the Gates of Heaven, there should be none to open them, he being my adversary who is proved to have the keys.
“As of this moment, then, the Kingdom of Northumbria will follow the Rule and Practice of the Roman Church. I ask Bishop Agilbert to arrange for teaching of the Rule to commence as soon as possible throughout the kingdom, and expect and order that all communities in Northumbria should be perfect in these Practices by Midsummer’s Day, two months from now. That is my judgement, delivered here at Whitby on the third day of April, in the ninth year of my Reign over all of Northumbria and its vassals.”
He swept out again without further ceremony, leaving ecstatic Romans hugging each other and cheering, while the Columbans were stunned, sitting silent or sobbing quietly, still unable to come to terms with the end of their way of life, a life they had led for hundreds of years. Wilfrid smiled confidently, Agilbert looked less pleased than would have been expected. Colman, Chad and the others were miserable and utterly, utterly crushed. Exactly what was going through Eanfleda’s head was impossible even for me to determine, for all I could detect without intrusion was waves of misery.
Godwin came to the sacristy steps and quietly summoned Colman, Chad and me to follow him to Oswy’s private chamber. We went, urged on by my desperate need to be after Ieuan.
We found the King seated on the windowsill as I had seen him on our first meeting. He began immediately.
“Abbott Colman, Prior Chad, Magister Anselm. You’ve heard my judgement. Northumbria goes to Rome and all communities must follow their practice by Midsummer. That includes the Roman tonsure and all aspects of the Rule as laid down by Rome and determined by Bishop Agilbert. I will speak to him later.
“Colman,” he continued in a kinder tone, “I’ve always respected you and have great affection for you. You’ve always been kind to me, right back to the days when I was in a boy in hiding and your counsel has always been wise. I know you’ll answer me honestly: will you respect my ruling?”