“Why’s that, sir?”
“Didn’t you know? His queen, Eanfleda, is said to be always surrounded by priests. Rumour has it that she’s so concerned for Oswy’s spiritual well-being that she won’t allow him into her bed until he converts. There’s the source of your trouble, Anselm. It’s not a problem I’ve ever encountered but it makes me even less enthusiastic about Christianity, if that’s what it does to women,” he smiled grimly. “When you go to Whitby keep an eye open for a pretty English princess for Gawain. Maybe we can seal a peace treaty with Oswy as well!” I picked up that Gawain was unsettled, if only for a fleeting moment. “I’ll talk to you again in the morning.” And with that he took his wife’s hand and led her to their bedchamber, across the room from her companions. “Gawain, arrange a chamber for our guest please.” I started to protest that my needs were easily satisfied, but Owain cut me short. “Don’t take any pious claptrap about being happy to sleep in a dungheap as it’s Lent and the dungheap is sinfully warm anyway. I’ll have him whipped if he doesn’t accept my hospitality. Tell him I mean it.”
Neither Ieuan nor Gawain could confirm Owain’s story about Eanfleda as truth but both had heard the rumour, and it was persistent. I would bear it in mind but act without preconceptions.
The celebration was still in full – or even fuller – swing and some of the revellers had collapsed where they sat. Those still upright were dancing or singing in discordant and conflicting groups around the hall. The fire was burning low but it would burn lower before the party was over and I hoped that the servants wouldn’t get too drunk to attend to the torches. Darkness and drunkenness could lead to something more than hangovers in the morning.
I ventured to press Gawain on a Strathclyde presence at the debate, repeating my belief that they, as the most powerful British Kingdom, could make a difference to the outcome.
“We’re not involved in the Christian churches’ arguments,” he replied. “We’re both concerned about the ambitions of the Romans but there is more than one way of keeping them at bay, especially as they come unarmed.”
“But you’re the King’s most trusted adviser, and surely –”
“Magister, my brother looks to me for counsel, not manipulation. He trusts my advice because he can trust me. We will discuss the matter further between ourselves and let you know our decision.”
I bowed my consent, finished my goblet of water and asked permission to retire. Gawain nodded his permission and ordered a servant to show me to my quarters. My protestations were waved aside.
“He does mean it, you know. He may have said it lightly but he’ll have you whipped if you defy him. Oswy’s not the only King with a temper.” He wished me a cordial good night and stood as I left. “But don’t be too concerned, he seems to have taken a liking to you.” As I was at the point of leaving, he called me back.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said, and rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. I asked if he was all right. “Nothing to worry about. You!” he called to a servant. “Get me some wine. The good stuff. Hurry.” He turned and looked at me, as if waiting for a question.
“You wanted to ask me something, my lord,” I prompted. He rubbed his head again and looked puzzled. The servant came up with a wooden goblet of wine. Gawain took a healthy draught from it.
“Yes. Yes I did. What was it?” he looked at me, hopefully. “What were we talking about? Oh yes – Oswy. Him and the Romans.” He paused for a moment and scanned the hall, looking for inspiration. At length, he shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me recall what it was. I’m sure I’ll remember, soon enough, if it was important.” He smiled, and bade me goodnight. Ieuan went with me as far as the door.
“Be careful, Ciaran,” I looked sharply at my old friend. “I’m sorry, Anselm. I will try to remember. Don’t push too hard. They don’t yet feel they have a real stake in the outcome of the Synod but I’m persuaded by what you said, added to what I already know. You Irish Christians and we Druids have a lot in common. The tide is flowing towards the Christians but I would salvage as much as I can of our ways. I would not see them pass away, especially not into the hands of foreign bishops,” he continued in Gaelic. “What they say about Eanfleda has truth: she is always accompanied by a Roman priest named Romanus. An insipid whisperer by all accounts, but he has great influence over her. Oswy wants an heir by her and she’s not provided him with one yet, although by-blows by the dozen are being brought up within his walls. Remember also that he comes of a devout family – his brother endowed the community at Lindisfarne. He won’t put her away.
“I am told that she favours a young priest called Wilfrid, who has her favour,” he continued. “The accounts I have say he’s clever, and very proud. He’s Abbott of Ripon Abbey. He has risen fast but perhaps not far enough for his ambition. Take care, Anselm, and warn Colman in Lindisfarne, he has more than his King to deal with.”
I thanked him and followed the servant to a small bedchamber. There was no reason why Ieuan should be aware that I already knew Wilfrid and something made me keep that information to myself.
I had learned a lot this evening. If forewarned was forearmed then I had been made a strong suit of armour.
I was pleased to see that there was a proper wooden door to my chamber as it would allow me to conduct my devotions in privacy. On entering I found a fire blazing merrily in the grate and a brushwood torch dripping fat onto the floor by it. The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed, a desk and chair, a small cabinet and a curtained-off alcove for hanging clothes and performing ablutions. There was an earthenware jug, filled with water, sitting in a bowl. It wasn’t much for a prince but it was more than my cell on Iona ever contained. There was even a shelf that held a few books in Latin, including a copy of St John’s Gospel. Gwriad, Owain’s predecessor as King of Strathclyde, was known for his philosophical inclinations almost as much as for his savagery in war. The light was insufficient for me to read anything but the largest and most brightly-illustrated script and so I was unable to make much of the small library. There were maps of the Island of Britain and, in more detail, the Kingdom of Strathclyde. There was a copy of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and persecutor of the Christians, and two translations of Greek plays. They were all clear of dust, so there was someone around who found them useful.