The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession
Page 17
The camp is busy and as they walk through Padraig is reminded of the smell of war. Some men stand by idly while others see to their weapons. A group of soldiers gather together and gamble on a game Padraig cannot see; they laugh and shout at each other so aggressively, Padraig cannot understand how a man manages to sleep a few feet away on a roll of fabric. Slaves or prisoners, he cannot be sure which, work to dig latrines away from the center of camp, while another group works to bury a pile of refuse.
Why is this army here? Padraig asks.
The king is campaigning, the man says. He is expanding his territory and settling grudges with old enemies.
I see.
This is the king’s tent, the man says. I will introduce you. Remember that the man you are speaking to will one day be the king of all that you see. Behave wisely.
Inside the tent there are two guards standing on either side of a makeshift throne. The throne itself is on top of several boards placed on the ground in lieu of a floor. Other than the guards, there are only two men in the tent. One sits in the throne and is an enormous man, tall and sturdy, with a long red beard and hair to match. Next to him, evidently in the middle of conversation when his attention was drawn to the visitors, is an old man in a long grey tunic. His eyes flash toward Padraig and the men accompanying him and an aborted syllable trails out of his mouth before he shuts it.
King Loegaire, Padraig’s escort says. We have completed our mission. This is the Christian Padraig that you wished to meet.
Thank you, Laoi. You take your men and get something to eat, we may have to leave before I thought.
We will, sire, Laoi says, turning and exiting the tent.
So you are the great Padraig of whom I’ve heard so much, Loegaire says.
I am Padraig, he says.
I’ve heard of you from all around. All over our island your name is spoken, and I said to myself how can I be king of all the land and not meet one so famous?
Our great king means blasphemous, I think, the man in the grey says.
I think I know what I mean, Loegaire says. Padraig, this is Coirpre. He is my advisor.
If I may, Padraig says, why have you asked me to visit you here?
You speak bluntly. Perhaps from your time spent as a slave—though one would think that you would learn how to speak tactfully from such an experience. Don’t look surprised, do you think there is anything anyone knows about you that I would not know? The longer we have looked for you, the more we have heard. Even accounting for the exaggerations of the peasants there are a great many stories I’d believe.
I’ve no idea what people say of me.
Some say that you turned a hostile chieftain into a fox. Others say that you planted your staff into the ground and it turned into a great tree before their eyes. Myself, I have no need for your staff or tree, and I have no intention of turning into a fox, Loegaire says, shrugging. I’ve asked you here because I wanted a look at you. And because Coirpre here is displeased with you and I am to decide what to do with you.
What have I done to earn Coirpre’s displeasure? Padraig asks.
Look at him, sire, acting like he is innocent of his crimes, Coirpre says. You are a blasphemer and mislead our people. Everywhere we go there are those who reject their ancestors’ gods for your invisible god of the desert. You bring your Roman insanity to this island after our neighbors finally expel their armies.
I only speak the truth. These people are shackled by charlatans and demons.
He is an agent of the Romans, O King. His only purpose here is to sow discord for their inevitable attempts at reconquest.
Rome will never come here, Padraig says. I have been to Rome. I have seen the state of the empire. It will never reach as far as it did once, much less farther. At least not in the way that it once did. I serve only Christ Jesus, king of kings.
You see Padraig, that’s the troublesome part for me, Loegaire says. I understand Coirpre’s objections but I have some of the people starting to sound treasonous, not to mention the defiant folk I haven’t yet brought under my control.
He doesn’t need your earthly power, O king, Padraig says. Though the pagan stink must be cleansed from this land.
What do you mean? Loegaire asks.
I’ve come here to bring the light of Christ. His kingdom is not of this earth, but the barbarism of these people must be driven out. This means the slavery must cease. The sacrifices must cease.
He would have us turn our backs on those of the Otherworld, Coirpre says. Do you know what trouble will come of his blasphemies? What will happen if we cease seeking favor with those that came before?
You don’t need his images, Loegaire, Padraig says. At their least powerful, they are merely the creations of man, like sending your children to die before a piece of furniture or a rock in a field. At their worst they are foul demons seeking only to corrupt you. But even at their worst they are totally eclipsed by the might of the one true God. His light in this land has already ousted a great many of their kind and soon all will be banished as we build a godly place here.
So the stories of his sacrilege are true, King Loegaire, Coirpre says. He has destroyed temples just as we were told. He should be punished before we incur the anger of the gods. Our men will be afflicted like women and our lands will lack rain, our lifestock will wither. He would reduce you to a cattleless slave, sire.
I am not here to cause your reign any harm, Loegaire, Padraig says. I have only my message to bring to the people, including yourself. If God wills you to be king, whether of part or of all of this land, then that’s his will.
If he is your loyal servant, sire, then let him show his loyalty, let him swear one of our oaths, Coirpre says.
Another pagan ritual which will be purged from this land, Padraig says. Its tradition honors your gods and there is only one true God. All who serve as king must do so according to God’s will and not through the blessing of some hellbeast and its cult.
I’ve been patient, Loegaire says, frowning. This sounds much like an unwillingness to recognize me as king, though.
Only an unwillingness to acknowledge your power through your pagan gods.
Which is the way respect is displayed here, which amounts to the same thing, Loegaire says.
Padraig is about to speak again when there is a nervous cough at the entrance to the tent. A soldier stands there dressed in light clothes and minimally armed.
What is it? Coirpre asks. The king is busy.
I’m sorry to intrude, sire, the man says. The Leinstermen are much closer than we thought, though. We could be on them by the end of morning.
Thank you, Loegaire says, dismissing the soldier with a wave. This matter with you will have to wait, Padraig. There is a battle to be had and I would sooner see to it.
As you wish, king. Shall I return to my own business?
You mistake me, Padraig. I said that the matter was at an end for now, not that it was concluded. You’ll have to accompany us to the battle.
Padraig protests but Loegaire is already making preparations for their departure, shouting orders to the men in the camp and watching his army scramble to form itself into something more mobile. Coirpre hovers around the king, pausing in his support role only to offer Padraig a self-satisfied look.
Padraig is amazed with the discipline of the army and the rapidity with which it converts from a camp to a mobile force. Men in the camp douse their fires and either re-store their food, stuff what’s left in their faces, or discard the remains in the soil according to their progress through meals. Some are already prepared for battle as though they weren’t at rest at all while others wear nothing but a smile and must ready themselves entirely. Makeshift dwellings are torn down and dozens of carts and more beasts of burden begin forming into a column. Music plays as the warriors begin their march, runners bringing orders down the line and the stomping
of feet filling the air as the last of Loegaire’s camp breaks. It is all so different from his own experience in battle and traveling with his modest forces, whether as a slave or a leader. Even Dichu’s growing numbers do not compare to the forces deployed before him.
The armies stare at one another from across the plain chosen for their encounter, the end result of the maneuvering of each side’s scouts and outriders until the field of battle can only be there. Padraig and Loegaire’s retinue stand slightly elevated from the armies in order to properly see the battlefield. Padraig realizes it will be his first battle from the rear of the army. It is also his first battle that is truly a battle. The assembled armies are far beyond Milchu’s raids.
The men are waiting for your orders, Coirpre says to Loegaire.
Soon. I will give the word soon, Loegaire says, waving Coirpre’s words away. He stares intently along his line, his expression hardened in thought.
You will not win here today, Padraig says. Your men are doomed.
Does your impertinence know any limits? Coirpre says, striking Padraig across the face. Padraig takes the blow and stares at Coirpre. The man takes a step back.
What do you mean? Loegaire asks, his attention to his line suddenly broken.
You are doomed. You will not carry the day here. Not on your own.
I am not alone. Or have you not noticed the thousands gathered here under my banners?
I’ve noticed them, king. But they will fail here. They will break on your enemy’s line and will be routed. They’ll blame you and you will lose their support and you will be king of nothing.
How dare he, Coirpre says.
Silence, Coirpre, Loegaire says. How do you know this?
I know, Padraig says. There is only one solution.
Which is?
You must put your trust in the one true God. Only through him is victory possible. If you ask for his assistance then you will win here today. The Lord protects his own.
How do I know that your god will give me a victory here today?
He has done so many times before for his people. It is written.
Sire, Coirpre says. Don’t listen to this lunatic. You have so far put your trust in our own gods and they have honored your richly. Don’t turn your back on them because of some new madman. He spreads only lies and blasphemy and his words will lead to your ruin.
You’ll have to do better than that, Coirpre. There is a different god in every village here. Surely they’ve learned to check their jealousy by now.
As you say, sire, Coirpre says, his look toward Padraig poisonous.
Fine, Christian. Ask your god to assist me here today and we can discuss your future here on my island. Be warned, though, that a loss here will cost your life.
Padraig nods his head in assent and begins praying. The style of prayer is unlike that of the local religion and Loegaire watches with interest for a time before turning his attention back to his army, which remains waiting for his orders. Once he has finished making adjustments and giving instructions to his chieftains, Loegaire again looks to Padraig, expecting him to finish with his prayer. Padraig continues.
Why doesn’t he stop? Loegaire asks Coirpre. And with no sacrifices. It cannot work.
Who knows, sire, Coirpre says. Perhaps he means to continue with his ritual all throughout the battle. I think you should begin if you are ready.
I agree, Loegaire says.
He gives the order to his soldiers and the battle is set in motion. The opposing side, seeing the sudden motion of Loegaire’s army, begins their own preparations to receive his force. As the two armies close on one another, the javelins fly through the air and the lines turn into groups of soldiers fighting their own private battles. Chariots drive in all directions across the battlefield breaking through ranks and throwing missiles into the fray. Men jump off the chariots into the midst of their enemy to further disrupt the lines. Throughout the action, noticing the weakening of his own line in spots or an opportunity to break through his enemies, Loegaire sends orders and keeps an eye with the help of Coirpre on his banners spread through the whirling melee.
All the while Padraig continues with his prayer, though those around him pay him no attention, their focus on the battle itself. From their vantage point, there is a moment where it appears that the soldiers of Leinster are going to break through the line and Loegaire’s men are routing when the banner in the center stops its motion and the line rallies, the battle shifting back in Loegaire’s favor.
The fight continues on for a while longer when at last Loegaire’s enemies rout and his men follow in pursuit before they stop, content with the prisoners they have taken and the amount of loot received from the enemy’s camp, too hastily abandoned to be properly cleared. It is only then, in the midst of their victory, that Padraig ceases his prayer.
Now you see, O king, the power of the Lord, Padraig says.
Loegaire turns to him as though he were a forgotten toy, eyes adjusting to his newly realized presence.
I’ve won the day, Loegaire says.
The victory will help you achieve your goals, but it is not yours, Padraig says.
Enough of this tedious fool, sire, Coirpre says. There is no proof that his lunatic pleas were the cause of your victory. At what point did his god join in the battle? When did you see anything other than your own strategy carry the day?
What he says is true, Padraig, Loegaire says after a brief consideration. There is nothing to prove that your god had any influence here today. This is not my first victory. I’ve led campaigns before and armies have fallen before me. Why should I believe that this particular battle should have been any different?
Perhaps on seeing your lack of faith the Lord will not be so willing to offer his aid during the next battle, Padraig says.
King Loegaire, when you are finished with this increasingly tiresome diversion, can he be executed so we may carry on with more important business?
Quiet, Coirpre, Loegaire says. You speak the truth. There is no proof that Padraig or his strange god has done anything to provide us with victory here today.
You are most wise, sire, Coirpre says.
However, there is also nothing to prove that his god did not aid us in our time of need. Even the best planned battles can fall apart upon contact with the enemy. Just as I have had countless victories I have also watched superior armies wither for no apparent reason, all tactics forgotten and madness allowed to reign in the midst of the fight. So I cannot entirely say that this victory is due to my own prowess. And certainly I cannot attribute it to our own gods. At best they were indifferent.
Why would you say such a thing my king?
Which gods did you beseech before the battle? Loegaire asks.
There is a pause before Coirpre answers.
None, my king. The battle was so sudden, there wasn’t time for the proper sacrifices.
Exactly my point, Coirpre. Our own gods were not sought out, so if there were any aid at all then it came from Padraig’s god and from no other.
But again my wise king, there is no proof that Padraig’s god has done anything to help us.
I know, Coirpre. We have already discussed as much. But if there was any divine aid it was from his god alone. Since I have not a way to decide whether the victory was my own or due to his god as he claims, then I cannot condemn him.
O king, Padraig says. If you trust in the Lord now you may become imbued with his divine grace and forever be a state of his favor through the rest of your mortal life and beyond.
I have rebuked Coirpre, Loegaire says. Must I do so to you as well? Again, I can’t be certain of what has happened here today, but even if I could be convinced I know one thing only. I am to be buried in the earth of Tara, the son of Niall, facing the Dunlaing in Mullaghmast. Regardless of what gods come to this land, I will follow in the steps of my ancest
ors as my father would have wished.
So it seems.
That being said, and as I have said already, I cannot discount what has happened here. Therefore, while I do not condone what you are teaching to the people of this land, I have decided in my royal wisdom to allow it.
Thank you, King Loegaire, Padraig says, ignoring Coirpre’s stare.
Who is your father? the king asks.
Calpurnius.
Do not mistake my leniency for weakness, Padraig mac Calpurnius. Your Roman words will always be in my ear from those I will send to watch you. As a courtesy to you and your god who have thus far done nothing to offend my throne, I will allow you to practice your faith in my lands, which one day will include the entire island. This is a great blessing to you. I will allow your worship and your teaching on one condition.
And what is that, king?
That it will never be an instrument of sedition. The moment your god is used to challenge my power, you will be stricken from this land with such fury there will be little doubt as to who the true power here is.
There is no problem, King Loegaire, Padraig says. Our Lord, during his time on earth, made the same point to his followers, telling them to give to Caesar what is Caesar’s.
Perhaps, Loegaire says, leaning close to Padraig, who for the first time realizes the true extent of Loegaire’s bulk. But remember that this is the land that never knew the chains of the Caesars and now even our weak brethren across the sea are free of their crumbling empire. Do not think you or your god trifles with one as impotent as a Caesar. Your lackeys are free to continue with their more aggressive tactics as long as they are not directed toward my forces or any loyal to me.
They seek only to protect the faithful and to free this land from its vile slavery.
And this is a problem. That so-called vile slavery strikes me as an occasional necessity, particularly on days of battle such as today or for punishment for some crime. If you seek to deprive my subjects of their property, then we will clash sooner than I had anticipated.
As you say, Padraig says.