Byzantium

chatter. I was just drying my new-shaven head with a cloth when Cellach summoned me.

'They are calling for you,' he said, and I heard the weary resignation in his voice.

'Forgive me, master, I thought we were finished.'

'So did I,' he sighed. 'But there will be no peace until they are happy. Go to them, son. See what you can do.'

Well, our part of the book was completed. Nevertheless, Libir and Brocmal, still labouring over their long- finished leaves, insisted on reviewing all the work one last time. They beseeched Master Cellach with such zeal that he gave in just to silence them, and I was obliged to help.

I arrived to find that the two scribes had carefully laid out all the leaves, placing two or three on each empty table in the scriptorium. Then, beginning at the top, they moved from table to table, inspecting the leaves, heads down, noses almost touching the vellum, sharp eyes scanning the texts and pictures for invisible flaws. I followed, hands behind back, gazing at the wonderful work and stifling little cries of delight. Truly, it is a blessed book!

Not far into their inspection, however, the two demanding scribes found a blemish. 'Aidan!' Brocmal cried, turning on me so fiercely that my first thought was that the mistake, whatever it was, had been mine. 'Ink is needed!'

'This can be saved,' Libir intoned solemnly, his face nearly pressed to the table. 'A line or two…See? Here… and here.'

'Christ be thanked,' Brocmal agreed with exaggerated relief, bending over the suspect leaf. 'I will prepare a pen.' He turned and, seeing me looking on, shouted, 'What is this, Aidan? The bishop arrives at any moment. We need ink! Why are you standing there like a post?'

'You did not say what colour is required.'

'Red, of course!' he snapped.

'And blue,' added Libir.

'Blue and red,' Brocmal commanded. 'Away with you, sluggard!'

We worked through most of the day this way, for having repaired one fault, they soon found others requiring instant attention-though I saw none of the supposed errors they so cheerfully discerned. We removed ourselves from the daily round, and from the midday table as well, in order to mend the damage.

It was just after none, and I was standing at the mixing table, pounding red lead and ochre in a mortar, when the bell sounded. Laying aside my tools, I quickly pulled on my mantle, gathered my cloak, and hurried into the scriptorium. 'The bishop has arrived!' Brocmal announced, although Libir and I were already racing to the door. Out into the yard we joined the throng making for the gate.

Ranging ourselves in ranks to the right and left of the gate, we began singing a hymn to welcome our guests. Bishop Cadoc led the party, striding forth boldly for all he was a very old man. Yet, his step was strong and his eye keen as the eagle on the cambutta in his hand. This sacred symbol, fashioned in yellow gold atop his bishop's staff, gleamed with a holy light in the midday sun, scattering the shadows as he passed.

There were many monks with him-thirty altogether. I watched each one as he passed through the gate, and wondered which among them were The Chosen. I wondered also who carried the book. For, though I saw more than one bulga dangling from shoulder straps, I did not see any which I thought grand enough for the Book of Colum Cille.

Abbot Fraoch met our visitors inside the gate and welcomed the bishop with a kiss. He hailed the company warmly, saying, 'Greetings, brothers! In the name of our Blessed Lord and Saviour, Jesu, we welcome you to Cenannus na Rig. May God grant you peace and joy while you are with us. Rest now and take your ease while we extend to you every comfort we possess.'

To this the bishop replied, 'You are kind, Brother Fraoch, but we are fellow labourers in fields of the Lord. Thus, we expect to receive nothing which you would deny yourselves.' Casting his gaze around him, he spread wide his arms. 'The peace of our Lord be with you, my dear children,' he called in a fine strong voice.

We answered: 'And with your spirit also!'

'As many as have come to you, that many more would have gladly accompanied me,' the bishop continued. 'I bring greetings from your brothers at Hy and Lindisfarne.' He paused, smiling with pleasure. 'I also bring a treasure.'

Then, passing his staff of office to his secnab, Bishop Cadoc gestured for one of the monks to step forward. As the monk came near, he drew the strap of his bulga over his head and offered it to his superior. Cadoc received it, pulled the peg, lifted the flap and withdrew the book to cries of amazement and wonder all around.

Oh, it was magnificent! Even at a distance, I thought it a marvel; for the cumtach was not leather-not even the dyed calfskin used for very special books. The cover of Colum Cille's book was sheet silver worked into fantastic figures: spirals, keys, and triscs. At each corner of the cover was a knotwork panel, and in the centre of each panel a different gem had been mounted. These surrounded a knotwork cross, beset with rubies. In the play of sunlight the silver cumtach seemed a living thing, dancing, dazzling, moving with the rhythm of the King of Glory's creation.

Abbot Fraoch took the book into his hands, raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he held it above his head and turned this way and that so everyone could catch a glimpse. Two years in preparation, the Book of Colum Cille was a treasure rare and fine-a gift worthy of an emperor. My heart swelled with pride at the sight.

Replacing the book in its humble bag once more, the abbot and bishop walked together arm in arm up the hill to the oratory where they held close conversation until vespers. Many of the monks among us, having formerly lived in either Hy or Lindisfarne, enjoyed close friendships with many of our brother visitors; some were kinsmen. They fell on one another's necks and gripped each other's arms in greeting. Everyone began talking at once. After a while Brother Paulinus, our porter, shouted for the visitors to accompany him, whereupon he conducted them to the guest lodge.

Brocmal, Libir, and I returned to the scriptorium where we worked until supper when the two scribes, failing to discover any other jot to alter, pronounced the work completed at last.

'It is finished,' Libir said. 'We have done our part. Lord Jesu have mercy.'

'Pray God it meets with the bishop's approval.' Brocmal finally allowed himself a satisfied grin as his gaze played over all the finished leaves on the tables. 'Truly, it meets with my approval.'

'You are very bards of vellum,' I told them. 'Though my part was small, I am proud to have been of service to you.'

Both monks regarded me curiously, and I thought they might mention my contribution in their rejoicing at the completion of their labours, but they turned away, saying nothing. We then joined our brothers for the beginning of the Easter celebration-but not before securing the precious leaves.

Bishop Cadoc, as honoured guest, read the Beati and prayed. I listened with utmost attention, trying to determine what manner of man he might be for, though I had seen him once before, I was little more than a boy at the time and remembered almost nothing of that occasion.

Cadoc, like my old teacher Cybi, was a Briton. It was said that as a boy he had studied at Bangor-ys-Coed under the renowned Elffod, and as a young man he had travelled all throughout Gaul, teaching and preaching, before returning to Britain to lead the community at Candida Casa where he often held discourse with the most learned Eruigena. The excellent Sedulius-or Saidhuil, as he was known to us-had once written a poem in commemoration of a fine debate held between them.

Looking at the little bishop, it seemed to me appropriate that illustrious men should seek to celebrate his friendship. Small of stature and well filled with years, he nevertheless possessed the grace and dignity of a king, and exuded the health of a man still in the flush of youth. If, despite his vigour, any uncertainty still lingered, Cadoc had only to speak and doubt would vanish, for his voice was a powerful instrument, rich and full and loud, and prone to burst into song at any moment. This trait, as I have it, he shared with his kinsmen; trueborn Cymry loved nothing better than hearing their own voices soaring in song. Now, I had never heard a trumpet before, but if anyone had told me that it sounded like the Bishop of Hy singing a hymn I would have believed it.

After the meal, Brocmal, Libir and myself were presented to Cadoc. The abbot called us to his lodge where he and the bishop were sitting together with their secnabs, enjoying a cup of Easter mead. Now that the feast was begun, such luxuries were allowed.

'Welcome, brothers. Come in and sit with us.' The abbot motioned us to places on the floor between their chairs. Three additional cups had been poured in anticipation of our arrival, and when the abbot had distributed these, he said, his broken voice a thin whisper, 'I have been telling Bishop Cadoc about our contribution to the