“Is there no other way? What about the Romans? Should we not consider them in this situation? At least they are Christians.”
“I doubt if the Romans have or know of anyone like this Druid. They regard these Gifts of ours with the deepest suspicion, you knowghat. They try to deny they even exist.” Colman nodded reluctant agreement. “Just by the by, I have detected in Agilbert something of the Sight, which is unusual for someone who isn’t from Britain, but I think he’s unaware. And he wouldn’t thank me for telling him. No,” I continued, “I’m virtually certain we won’t get any help from that quarter, not the degree of help we need. It has to be the Druid, I’m afraid.” Colman sighed in his turn.
“Is there no other way? Can you not do it with our help and prayers?” I shook my head and repeated my earlier statement. “Very well. Send for Dyfrig.”
“Oh, it isn’t Dyfrig. He’s gone, remember, I told you. I don’t know where. This is an old friend of mine from Erin, although he’s originally from Gwynedd. His name is Ieuan.” Colman raised his eyebrows.
“Do you trust him?”
“I trust him to help Cedd recover.”
“Very well. If it is the only way. Who shall we send that can be trusted to speak to him alone? You decide, and ask for a horse from Hilda. And hurry, by the time a messenger gets to Dumbarton and your friend gets here, two weeks will have passed. Has Cedd got that long?”
“Oswy has already offered me a horse and messenger, but we don’t have time. And anyway, I’m not sure if Ieuan would respond to someone else, even if they came in my name. I will call him myself.”
“How?” Colman regarded me with something approaching suspicion.
“We’re old friends. I can establish a mental link.” I hope, I said to myself. Colman took a long time before answering and even then it came from him with reluctance.
“Very well. I’m not happy about it, not happy at all, but very well. Tell him to come dressed as one of us. We don’t want anyone to know we’ve summoned a Druid to help us, and by mind alone. That would be all we need. The Romans would go berserk and the people would go back to blood sacrifice by sunrise.” He paused, and looked quizzically at me. “He may be able to help you with the other matter, may he not?”
“He might, now you mention it,” I suddenly felt cold and I shivered. “He may at that. Maybe God had this in mind all along?” I smiled up at the Abbott.
“Now don’t you start,” Colman replied and rolled his eyes, “if you voice belief in predestination then we’re lost for certain!” But he smiled, too. “Be discreet, Anselm. And get him to make his stay as short as possible. Deception makes me uncomfortable. And say nothing to anyone of this.”
Colman went off to confirm that the talk of a Sign from God had been effectively strangled. I headed to the hilltop for peace to make my contact. I looked around and there was no-one to be seen, but to be on the safe side I went to the shelter of some small trees that had grown up around the brook at the bottom of the valley.
I sat down and composed myself, emptying my mind of everything. Before I started I offered a prayer for success.
I entered a realm of darkness: complete, utter, total darkness. For a moment there was a wave of panic. I reminded myself that I was in control and started again.
There was darkness, warm, comforting, soft as velvet. I hung in the darkness between stars, between worlds and between minds. I could hang there forever but I felt a prick of urgency: I had a task to perform. I looked around for my body and was aware of myself, but I held back from it: I was not going back yet. I looked for another mind, a particular presence.
My orb was filled with sparks of life. Most were random, flashing by, unaware of me, or that they were not the one I sought. One or two turned towards me with query - I examined them briefly and sent refusal. I looked deeper.
There was the fire. Beyond it lay my heart’s desire, I knew - but not now, not yet, not yet - and there was stone, a face of impenetrable rock which spread in all directions and to the ends of the Universe and beyond. There was no way past, no way through. I searched for an eternity until I found the door. I knew this was the place and didn’t consider why. I examined the door. It was massive, bolted and bossed and sealed with iron. There was fear in me: beyond the door lay madness, or I thought there was. I remembered a door beyond which there was madness. Was this it? I hesitated. My fear was in my memory. This was not, could not be the door behind which madness lay.
I called: Ieuan.
Nothing, no response.
I knocked on the door.
Ieuan.
No response.
I boomed on the door with hands like hammers.
Ieuan, it is I.
The door opened! A crack.
Who is it?
It is I. Anselm.
I know you not. And the door started to close, sealing me out.
I was Ciaran.
The door opened slightly. Ciaran?
Ieuan, it is Ciaran. I need your help.
Again? The door opened more. I could see part of a face, the rest may be Ieuan’s. What is it.
There is the threat of death here. Great sickness.
You can deal with it.
It is too much. It overwhelms me. (I remembered the sea overwhelming me…somewhere.) I cannot do it.
A hand reached out of the darkness and touched my face. Ciaran. The door opened wider. It was Ieuan. He looked wary still.
Ciaran. I will come to help you.
Come urgently. To the Christian monastery at Whitby. Dress as a Christian. Time is short. I need your help.
Ciaran. I will come to help you. Then the door closed but I knew it would open to me for Eternity. We were connected.
I withdrew, and returned through the sparks of life and a warm, velvet darkness, to a small wood
at the foot of a hill in Northumbria. I was sweating, cold and exhausted. And I had a headache, a screaming headache. I reached into my bag for my medicine and took a draft. I stayed where I was for the few moments to allow the little magic to take effect, then I returned to the infirmary to check on Cedd.
He was sleeping peacefully but his body temperature was rising. I looked into him and saw that the heat was being generated by the battle between the poison and his body’s defences. I prepared another draft of medicine, taking the time on this occasion to infuse the additional herbs in hot water, that the goodness may be absorbed more quickly by my patient. I strained it and mixed the liquor with some of my own medicine and left it by the bedside, with instructions to Chad to administer it when his brother next awoke. I then went to report to Colman. Over the wall I saw Wilfrid speaking to Cuthbert in the yard but they had disappeared by the time I got to the spot. I wasn’t happy about Cuthbert speaking to anyone outside our community in his present state, and particularly not Wilfrid. I would’ve liked to know what they were saying to each other.
I found Colman in the chapel again and told him I’d contacted Ieuan.
“When do you expect him?”
“Within a week, all being well.”
“Did you tell him to come dressed as one of us? What did he say?”
“I told him. I think all will be well.”
“It must be strange…” I queried to encourage the Abbott. “Talking to someone that way.”
“It’s not really talking. Just ideas and images, mind to mind. Like when you dream, I suppose. It isn’t the same as us talking here now.” Colman nodded, but couldn’t really grasp something so far outside his own experience.
“When will the Synod resume?”
“I’ll have to go back and stay by Cedd. He needs my help to fight the poison. With any luck, we can resume tomorrow morning.”
“What about the Romans, now that Wilfrid will be their spokesman?”
“Hilda thinks he will make or break us.”
“But he’s so young! He’s only - what - twenty-odd? He can’t know enough, or have enough knowledge, or experience, or…” Colman’s voice faded. I looked
embarrassed.
“Remember I helped him to learn fast, to read and understand. He has enough knowledge. And even if I hadn’t, you may be wrong - he was always talented, very talented. And he’s thirty, no longer the young novice who left with your blessing on his journey, and never came back. Cuthbert’s not much older and you let him go off evangelising on his own, you have done for years. Hilda knows Wilfrid better than we do. She believes he can sway the Synod.
“She may well be right. And you’re right, as well. I forget it’s been so long. He knows us better than Agilbert and he’s very bright, as you say,” Colman replied. Cuthbert came into the chapel at that moment. “Ah, Cuthbert. It’s good to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t been with you. How are you feeling? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“We were talking about the Synod. Wilfrid will be speaking when we resume. We may need you to participate.” I was surprised at this: Cuthbert, when well, had the oratorical power to at least match Wilfrid, and a command of teaching that could possibly outmatch him but he was still not right. He had taken no real part even in our private discussions and he was still very distracted. It would be a risky strategy to involve him. “Will you be able?”
“I know what to do.”
“Good, good.” Cuthbert threw himself prostrate before the altar. Colman was nonplussed. He started to say something but the figure on the floor was oblivious to him. I drew him outside.
“Are you sure about involving Cuthbert? He isn’t well, and his sickness is in his mind. He’s tormented and confused.”
“I’ll avoid it if I can,” the Abbott replied, “but we may need him. Wilfrid may sway the crowd and the King. Cuthbert has a better touch with the people than I: he can relate complex ideas into simple language.”
This was true but I was uneasy. It was a relief that Cuthbert now seemed to be more in control of himself - no longer asking to be told what to do - but whether he was ready for a public forum yet was very much open to debate. However, Colman was right; we may have no choice.
Whatever the outcome, I had a more immediate demand on my time: Cedd. I returned to the infirmary and found him stirring. Chad went off to refresh himself and fetch some food for the three of us - strained chicken and vegetable soup for Cedd. I dosed the invalid up again and looked into his body.
The poison was still spreading but its progress had been slowed dramatically. I called Hilda’s monks to change the leeches which, full of poisoned blood themselves, were losing vigour and dying, then repeated the hypnotic ritual I’d gone through a few hours before. I settled to watch over the Abbott and kept a light mental touch that would warn me if there was a sudden relapse or crisis. It would be demanding time until Ieuan arrived, and I had translation duties to attend to as well. I closed my eyes and snatched a short sleep.
I shivered awake in a cold early morning light. I felt as if a shadow had passed over my soul. I sat up and rubbed my eyes wearily and looked to Cedd, who was sleeping peacefully now, thank God. Through the last twelve hours he had tossed and turned, burning up with fever as his body had threatened to succumb to the effects of the poison within it. I had been obliged to intervene to a greater extent than I’d felt capable or competent of, deep into territory where I feared I would do more harm than good. I had truly been a wanderer in a strange country, without maps or signposts to guide me. The mental strain had been intense and exhausting. The battle had been won in the short term but it would be hard work keeping Cedd alive until help, in the shape of Ieuan, arrived.
Exhausted or no, I was awake now and had to get some food. Before I left I checked the leeches on my brother monk’s legs: three had fallen off one shin, two off the other. Dead and drying out already. Ideally, I would have liked to replace them but if too much blood was taken Cedd would be just as dead as if the poison had got him. He mustn’t be weakened so much by blood loss that he was unable to fight the poison itself.
I went to the door and found one of Hilda’s monks sitting outside, with Chad stretched out on the floor asleep. The strain of the night’s vigil had been too much for him as well. I motioned the monk into the room.
“Watch over him. Any change - any at all – you are to call Chad immediately, and send for me. Any change at all. You are not to attempt treatment yourself. Do you understand?” He nodded and I crept quietly off to the refectory to find some food.
The sun was weak and watery, seeming to suck warmth from the Earth rather than giving it as I walked across the yard. I shivered in the cold and was surprised to see that others seemed to be unaffected: hoods were thrown back and some had even thrown off their cloaks, at this early hour, and the sun so weak! Some people were obviously inspired by little more than the sun’s mere presence.
A rider was approaching from the west, where there was still a trace of the dark that hadn’t yet fled from the advancing light. Whoever it was, he was in a hurry. He was elderly, dressed like a Celtic monk with thin white hair falling down his back. He came straight in to the yard and was waved through by the relaxed guards. He rode up to the main buildings, dismounted stiffly and carefully wrapped the reins over a hitching rail. He turned and looked me straight in the face.
“Ieuan! My God, how did you get here so fast?” I ran to greet my friend, clasped his hand and pulled him to me. “You must’ve ridden on the wings of the dawn!”
“I set off as soon as I received your call. I’m pleased to see you well.” He returned the one-armed hug. “I thought you were drowning.”
“That was the week before last. Did you see me?”
“The week before last? Then I am late. I only got your call last Friday.”
“Friday! But I only called you yesterday, less than a day ago! How can this be?”
“Had you remained faithful to Druidism, your nurturing faith, Ciaran,” Ieuan said in Gaelic, “these things wouldn’t surprise you. Time is not a straight line, it is just that we perceive it to be so in our normal lives.” A couple of Celtic tonsures turned at the word ‘Druidism’.
“Careful please, Ieuan,” I said in a low voice, “there are a lot of Gaelic speakers here. And remember my name.”
“Sorry,” he whispered. “So why have you called me? You seem to be in no danger.”
“Come and have a quick breakfast and I’ll tell you.” We’d reached the refectory and prepared ourselves a meal of fruit, cheese, bread and water. I continued in a low voice as we sat down. “The problem is not with me: one of my brothers has been poisoned.” Ieuan barely reacted.
“Why call me? What is one of you to me? There are bonds of friendship between us, Anselm, but I am not a Chr - one of you, and I don’t like what your Church is doing to us. Some of my brothers are being persecuted, even tortured and killed by your lot. To be quite honest, had I known you weren’t threatened I wouldn’t have come.” I shivered. I felt very cold.
“Ieuan, you have the Gift of Healing, in greater abundance than I have ever seen, anywhere. Are you not obliged - even by your own tenets - to give aid if you can to all who need it?” Ieuan didn’t quite shrug. After a moment he nodded briefly. I shivered again - I really was very, very cold, and couldn’t understand why others seemed to find it so warm. “We can argue our cases another time. And it’s not ‘our lot’ who are persecuting you, or rather, I’d be surprised if it was. We would rather convert you. It’s more likely to be the Romans, who we are here to contend with. Anyway,” I went on, “I need your help. One of my brothers has been poisoned.
With what?”
“Hemlock.”
“Deliberate?”
“I think so, but I don’t see what bearing it has on his cure.”
“Just interested to see how brotherly love and Christian charity is expressed in these difficult times. Is he still alive?”
“Yes, but weakened. I left him sleeping quietly a quarter of an hour ago. But last night was bad, very hard. We nearly lost him.”
“Is he important?”
“Yes, he i
s important to God, as even you are. Ieuan, you’re not very friendly today. What is it?”
“I’m tired, after a long and hard ride. I’m sorry.” He made a visible effort and composed his grizzled features into a smile. He took the last of his bread and cheese, washed it down with the last of his water and stood up. “Come on, let’s see what we can do about this humble but important Man of God, who has attracted the wrath of his brother.”
We went over to the infirmary and I sent Chad and the Whitby monk out of the room while Ieuan investigated. It took him only a few moments, then he stood and spoke to me with something of the old affection in his voice.
“You’ve done well, Anselm, very well indeed. He’s suffered a major attack of poison. He should by rights have been dead less than an hour after he was dosed.”
“Can you save him? Cure him I mean?” Ieuan smiled, with little humour.
“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.”
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 30
