Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [237]
“I think not,” said O’Toole.
“What is in your mind?” Gilpatrick enquired.
“This question of hereditary churchmen,” the English priest said to O’Toole, “will be a problem. And married priests,” here he glanced at Gilpatrick, “were stopped in England a century ago. The Pope won’t stand for it.” Gilpatrick thought of his father and blushed. “But the most important thing is the care of our flock. Can we really turn our eyes away from the laxities that have been permitted in so many parts of the island? Why, even in Dublin, we are told, marriages are contracted openly that are clearly outside canon law. A man marrying his brother’s wife, for instance? Intolerable.” He shook his head while Gilpatrick went even redder. “Yet not a word of it in this report.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Gilpatrick.
“I suggest,” said the Englishman smoothly, “that a small committee of us see what we can do to strengthen those parts which need to be strengthened while leaving in place those parts which are excellent already.” He turned to Archbishop O’Toole. “I wonder whether Father Gilpatrick, as your representative, might work with us in preparing a revised draft for your consideration?”
And so the thing was done. And a few days later a new report emerged which the legate himself recommended to the council. It took some days to persuade the Irish churchmen to agree to this, which was hardly surprising. For the report was damning. Every vice, every malpractice, every Irish deviance from the accepted continental code was ruthlessly laid bare. When Gilpatrick and the English priest showed it to O’Toole, the archbishop was doubtful.
“This is harsh,” he said.
“It is. I agree,” said the English priest. “But think of the zeal it shows.” He smiled. “No one could accuse the Irish Church of any lack of conviction now.”
“Should there not be some mention of the reforming work already done in Ireland, and of what we intend to do in the future?” O’Toole queried.
“Absolutely. That is the key to the whole business. And that is what we must address in the second of our reports. The sooner we can get on to that,” he added encouragingly, “the better.”
So the damning report was approved, and the legate moved them on to consider what reforms had already been done, and how the good work could best be forwarded. This part of the council was by no means easy, but by the start of February the work was done and a second report produced. The legate thanked them, and King Henry, who had remained modestly watching, rose to congratulate them upon their great work. So ended the Council of Cashel.
Archbishop O’Toole was by no means happy with all the details; but Gilpatrick felt, on the whole, that they had done rather well.
The sailor arrived on a grey March morning. Wet clouds were sweeping over the Liffey. The Palmer and his wife had gone to the king’s camp, leaving Una and Fionnuala in charge of the hospital until they returned. There were raindrops in the sailor’s hair. He was asking for Una.
“I have a message from your mother,” he informed her. “Your father has been very sick. But if he is able to walk again, he will return to Dublin, because he wants to see Ireland before he dies.”
Una’s eyes filled with tears. She had so longed to see her family, but not like this. Practical questions also crowded into her mind. How would they live? If her father died or was too sick to work, her brothers were still too young to be successful craftsmen. She and her mother would have to support them as best they could. And where would they lodge? If only, she thought, they could get their old house back upon whatever terms. If anything might help her father recover, she thought, it would be that. She wondered if perhaps the Palmer would do something for them, and decided to ask his advice as soon as he returned.
She discussed the problem with Fionnuala meanwhile. Her friend had