So many things keep happening in these troubled times that I feel I cannot relate them all. I will return to my History but I must now tell you about a great council that I attended in the Kingdom of the Angles, Saxons, Britons, Picts and Scots. I received my summons to this council with great sorrow for I am most unworthy to attend. One of my little learning dreads having to listen to the wise debating complex issues or philosophising over small theological problems. Normally I manage to avoid synods via some ruse or other but on this occasion the Church was insistent so, with much weeping, my deacon Agiulf and I set out on the journey.

At first we planned to take ship at Nantes. Agiulf said, or so I thought, that we could get a passage with a ship’s captain called Ezekiel and I rejoiced at the chance to sail with a man named for so great a prophet as surely this would guarantee a safe passage across the stormy sea. Unfortunately it turned out that he had really said that we could sail with EasyKeel, a budget company run by a Greek, and we agreed that we should avoid this route, partly for fear of travelling with unscrupulous oarsmen but mainly from dread of running into bishop Felix of Nantes, a dull-witted and tiresome fellow, as I have told you. Therefore we travelled to the coast of Neustria and took ship with Britannia Galleys. After an arduous journey we arrived at the city of Loidis, or Leeds as it is now also called, where great excitement reigned about the impending synod or the International Merovingian Council (of Bishops). Agiulf arranged lodgings in something called the Holy Day Inn, which I thought must surely be a guest house for those attending religious festivals. This did not turn out quite as I had expected. The first night we were kept awake by much moaning from the neighbouring lodgings, surely a nun weeping for the sins of the world. Alas, when I told him, Agiulf only rolled his eyes, for he is a rash deacon too focused on worldly vanities.

I had never before attended this strange and wondrous council about which I must now tell you. It is attended by thousands of clergy, men and women, from across the Western Empire and beyond. Many came from North Aremorica, yet of such a great number almost none was to be found with a good word to say about Donald dux. Others hailed from the Antipodes which, as we know, is populated only by blemmyes, sciapodes and cynoscephalae. It is truly miraculous that the Lord’s word has reached so far. Nonetheless at the council these creatures for the most part managed to disguise their wondrous nature.

How matters are discussed is most noteworthy, for the council is divided into myriad small synodal gatherings called ‘sessions’, each with three sermons presided over by a deacon. The number of sermons accords with the sacred number of the Holy Trinity. Some sessions have only two sermons; these must be run by Arians so I avoided them all. Others still have four sermons. I do not know of which heresy the people at these are guilty but it must be very grave. Such times are these! What follows the sermons is shocking. The deacon – mirabile dictu! – asks for questions! Then, which is worse, rather than praying for an end to their vainglory with a contrite heart or giving thanks for their bishops’ wisdom, even the lowliest of clergy may ask great prelates to explain their wise views! Such indiscipline! Let all heed the words of the episcopate without demur! Sometimes when the deacon has asked for questions a great silence falls as people wait for the Holy Spirit to descend and guide their enquiry. If after some time no mind has received the illumination of a blessed clarification, the deacon invokes the sacred Ius et Privilegium diaconis rogandi primiter (the right to ask the first question). On other occasions, when the deacon asks for questions, someone may respond with the antiphon “habeo sententionem plus quam quaestionem”[1] and all present raise their eyes to the heavens. Another response in the liturgy of this council is “ego, ignorans, voco quaestionem”[2], which is also called the false modesty topos in the rhetorical handbooks. Sometimes, however, unknown to the questioner, it is simply a statement of truth. Occasionally I witnessed people praying and weeping appropriately during a sermon but it turned out that they were simply praying for the sermon to end. Once I heard a great groaning coming from an audience chamber and thought that at last a congregation was responding with true compunction. Alas, the preacher was a young priest from Cambridge discussing Hincmar of Rheims with many a pun. Any mention of Hincmar is enough to make me groan, however. Once again, I was cruelly disappointed by the unruly clergy at this council. At the questions at one gathering a bearded man was seized by the Holy Spirit and babbled in tongues for some time, to the confusion of all, and at others a man was possessed by an unclean spirit and confronted the speaker with great aggression. An attempt to exorcise this man was made, using much ‘tutting’ and posting of tweets but I am sorry to say that the demon remained unvanquished.

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[1] “I have more of a comment than a question.” – ed.

[2] Loosely “I am asking a question out of ignorance.” -ed.