“Why? What’s happened? Has one of our people gone rogue?” This wasn’t unknown. Some just could not handle the discipline of the monastic life. They came with the best of intentions but their frustrations exploded, leading them away, to the life of an outlaw or worse. It caused no end of embarrassment to the Christian community throughout the British kingdoms and beyond. I cannot say that I had never been tempted, although I was largely content to have put my old life behind me and now live as Anselm, a simple monk with no responsibilities of family or high office.
“No, no problem like that. King Gwriad got himself killed on some stupid raid or other when he got bored after a few weeks’ peace. He couldn’t keep himself from trouble of some kind for five minutes.” Cunnian sighed. “Still, he was no worse than most of them. In some ways, he was a good man, for a bloodthirsty pagan. He allowed us to convert as many of the people as we could. Our friends the Scots in Dalriada finally got him when he tried to steal some cattle. A sad waste of a life and unbaptised at the end,” he shook his head sadly. Cunnian and most of our brothers would baptise anyone who asked in the hope of saving their souls. Judgement we left to God alone.
“When did this happen? And who rules in Strathclyde now?” I’d known of Gwriad and I would pray for his sinful soul. At least he would do no more headhunting.
“His nephew, Owain Dumnagual. And, as far as I can ascertain, Owain’s brother Gawain has a role as well. Do you know them?” I shook my head. The change of occupant of the throne had not brought any change in the kingdom’s religion; the two brothers followed Druidism, as far as we could ascertain. But they had some reading and writing – they had spent some time at the Christian monastery school at Whithorn, it was reported – so it was possible they could be open to change. He wanted to know if this was likely to be the case. He cautioned me to say as little as possible of my assignment to Whitby; our favoured status in Lindisfarne, which had been a gift from Oswald’s father, as well as here in Iona, under the patronage of Dalriada, was enough to raise suspicion as to whether we could be trusted.
“King Oswy is their enemy and he’s ambitious for more land – not least, he wants the kingdom of Rheged back. We saved his life and gave him shelter when he was on the run; they haven’t forgotten and we’ve even heard whispers from some quarters saying that Strathclyde wouldn’t have half so much trouble if it hadn’t been for us. Say nothing if possible, and as little as you must.”
“I’ll try and avoid it,” I said. “But something is bound to arise: if not Lindisfarne or Whitby, then our community here.”
“I leave it to your skill and princely wisdom.”
“I’m not a prince. Not any more. That life is far behind me.”
“But you were raised to be a prince. You aren’t overawed by these puffed-up petty kings.”
“No, I’m not frightened of them. Nor am I frightened to die for my faith. In some ways, I’d welcome it.” Cunnian looked at me, very directly.
“Don’t throw yourself at death, Anselm. It wouldn’t be martyrdom, it would be suicide. You have much to do before God grants you your rest.” I nodded and shrugged.
“So I must leave Iona again. I don’t like it but I suppose I can’t turn my back on the world forever.”
“You must not get too attached to our beloved Iona or I’ll have to send you to Powys for the sake of your faith.” He smiled to soften the impact: I knew he didn’t mean to send me anywhere permanently, but he also had a point. I loved Iona and it was necessary to go sometimes to avoid too much comfort. It made me appreciate the tranquillity all the more. I rose to go, but he called me back. “One moment more. Your Vision. The bleeding child? The lake?”
“It may be that there’s a resurgence of the old savageries somewhere. Blood sacrifices reappear from time to time. That old evil is very persistent; I’ve faced it several times, myself. I thought I had destroyed it, at least once. I know better now.” As to why – what would lead to resurgence of such practices; there were so many. Starvation, fear of the plague, fertility; the poor are always with us and their masters seem too often to be ignorance and fear. Too many of the converts we make lapse as soon as our food and so-called miracle cures leave with the departing teacher. It’s hard to get frightened people to bear with hardship.
“We have to acknowledge that the old ways, the sacrifices, still have power in them,” I said. They can still deliver fervently-held desires – and that is our problem, and the people’s. The sacrifices have the power of the Enemy. And of course there’s the greatest enemy: Despair.” Hunger, destitution, deprivation, an army burning the house down and raping the women – any of these things may nurture despair and drive the people into the dark again.“ Most don’t realise what they’re getting themselves into. The odd rag on a tree, sacred to a local god, where’s the harm in that, they think. Or, if you want something really big, then a big sacrifice is needed - a chicken or a goat. They have no idea until they are in so deep they think there’s no way out.
“It may be your lot to discover the source of this wickedness. It may also be your lot to destroy it once again. Anselm, be careful though. Do not throw your life away in anger, no matter how righteous, no matter how just the cause.”
“If it comes to it, I must be prepared to sacrifice myself,” I replied calmly and the Abbott, after a moment, nodded reluctantly. “But I will seek help from earthly powers if I can.” The Abbott was satisfied and I bowed my head to receive his blessing, which he gave me. I asked him to ensure that Padhraig was cared for while I was away.