A Letter From the Pope

“Because it is your duty to keep safe the kingdom committed to you by the Lord — if you wish afterwards to receive the life of the eternal kingdom.”

“And what is your duty?”

“My duty is to see that the rights of the Church are not diminished or infringed in any way, no matter what Herod or Pilate—”

“Lords, lords!” It was Bishop Ceolred who broke in, his voice so frail and weak that all stared at him with alarm. “I beg you, lord Bishop. Think only what may come. You have not seen a Viking sack — I have. After that horror there are no rights for the Church, or for any of God’s poor. They killed my confessor with ox bones. That dear brave man, he changed robes with me, died in my place. And me they sent out as you see now.” He laid a thumbless, swollen hand on his lap. “They said I would write no more lying papers. I beg you, lords, come to an agreement.”

“I cannot give away my lord archbishop’s rights,” said Daniel.

For some time Alfred had been aware of growing commotion in the camp outside. It did not sound alarmed — rather more joyful and excited. The canvas screen was lifted, and the massive figure of Tobba appeared in the gap, the gold ring glinting round his neck, given by the king as his personal share of the spoil three days before.

“It’s an errand rider, lord. From Rome. From the pope.”

“A sign!” cried Edbert. “A token from God. Even as the dove returned to Noah with olive in its beak, so peace has come to our dissensions.”

The young man who entered seemed no dove. His olive skin was drawn with fatigue, his well-cut garments dusty and stained from the road. He stared around him with incomprehension, looking at the roughly dressed men, the rude quarters.

“Your pardon, gentlemen, lords? I am looking, seeking the king of English. Alfredo, king of English. One of great trust, told me here to seek…”

His befuddlement was obvious. Alfred controlled his anger and spoke quietly. “I am he.”

The young man looked about rather obviously for a clean patch of earth to kneel on, found only mud, and with a suppressed sigh knelt and handed over a document. It was a vellum roll, a heavy wax seal dangling from it.

As Alfred unscrolled it gold leaf glinted between the carefully scribed rows of purple ink. The king held it for a moment, not knowing what to think. Could this be his salvation! He remembered the marble buildings and great power. He had been to Rome himself, twice, had viewed the grandeur of the Holy See. But that had been many years ago, before his life shut down to a blur of rain and blood, days in the saddle, nights planning and conferring. Now the Holy See had come to him.

He passed the document to Edbert. “Read it to us all.”

Edbert handled the document reverently, and spoke in a hushed voice. “It is written in Latin, my lord. Illuminated by scribes — and signed by His Holiness himself. It says… it says. ‘To Alfred, king of the English. Know, lord King, that we have heard of your travels. ’ no, that is trials. and as you, being placed in the life of this world, daily sustain certain hardships, so in like measure do we, and we not only weep for our own — but also sorrow with you, condolens, having sympathy’ — no, no — ‘suffering alas, jointly with you.’”

Osbert muttered angrily. “Are there Vikings in Rome too?” He turned away from Bishop Daniel’s furious glare. Edbert read on.

“‘But for all our joint sufferings, we exhort and warn you, King, that you should not do as a foolish worldling would do, and think only of the troubles of this present time. Remember that the blessed God will not suffer you to be tempted or, or probare, to prove.’ No — ‘will not suffer you to be tempted or tried above that of which you are able, but will give you the strength to bear any of the trials which in His wisdom He has set upon you. Above all you should strive with willing heart to protect the priests, the men, and the women of the Church.’”

“That’s exactly what we are all doing,” grunted Ethelnoth.

“But know, O King, that we have heard from our most reverend and holy brother, the archbishop of the race of the English who takes his See in Canterbury, that in your folly you have oppressed upon his rights and privileges as a father of those committed to his care. Now, of all sins, the sin of avaritia, of greed is most foul and repellent among the rulers and protectors of the Christian peoples, most abominable and dangerous to the soul. We do most solemnly therefore advise, exhort, and command by this letter from our apostolic dignity that you do now cease and desist from all oppressions against the Church, and do restore to its rulers all those privileges and rights especially in the matter of peaceful and untroubled and taxless possession of the Church’s lands, which were granted to them by your ancestors, as we have heard the most godly kings of the English race, and even by your contemporaries, such as the most pious and worthy gentleman. ’ The scribe has written the name Bulcredo, my lord, but he must mean—”