All will die if we don’t ignore the raiders, Dichu says.
Padraig sighs.
You know better than I do, Dichu. I must trust in your advice.
We will deal with Ceretic if we survive the battle with Loegaire, my friend. I promise you. I will send out scouts when we leave to try to find his position.
Scouts are sent and picquets are placed. It isn’t long before more of those fleeing from the ravaged villages are found. The survivors are directed toward Dichu’s camp and soon a winding river of them approaches.
Padraig sits outside of his tent and watches wave after wave of them arrive. Women and children come with a few men scattered among them. Most of them are barefoot and their mouths hang, showing broken teeth and cracked lips. Their eyes, where not blackened, stare out at nothing as their feet shuffle forward, some of them running into one another when they fail to notice the line has stopped. Where the men are able, they carry a few belongings, mostly clothing and any food they have left, though mostly women carry these things. More than a few of them are crippled by recent wounds, and some even crawl along the ground, unaided by the too-weak who surround them, until Dichu’s men notice and move to help.
Padraig rises and moves to meet the newest arrivals. He sees a woman with a ruined nose, her face all around blackened, holding a baby in one arm and dragging a tired toddler behind her with the other.
There is food waiting for you in the camp, he says.
She does not reply, but keeps walking.
Where are you from? he asks.
She doesn’t expend any energy acknowledging the question but grunts while keeping her bleary eyes pointed ahead.
Béal Feirsde, she says.
Béal Feirsde? That’s not far north of here. Maybe three days.
He receives no reply and looks over the crowd for Dichu’s tent, positioned on another hill nearby. It is larger than his own, needing to accommodate several people at time. Padraig manages to push through the thickening stream of refugees, finding openings in the ever-more-cluttered camp.
Two guards stand between him and Dichu’s tent, but they recognize their spiritual leader and allow him through. He enters the tent and finds Dichu sitting with his military advisors, important men from the clans that have joined with them. They are gathered around a large map.
Your grace, Dichu says as Padraig enters. Welcome. We were just discussing our strategy.
They’re in Béal Feirsde, Padraig says. Or they were, not long ago.
How do you know this? one of the men asks.
From one of the women in the camp. She is just arriving from there. If they are that close we can turn around and face them.
Padraig, you know as well as I do that Béal Feirsde is days from here, at a march. That’s just warriors moving, too, not counting all the people we have to feed now. I’m sorry, we still aren’t able to confront Ceretic, not while Loegaire threatens us from the south.
Dichu is right, Padraig, another of the men says. We all want to find this marauder as much as you do, but Loegaire is the greater threat right now. We will be blessed if we are able to defeat him alone without devoting any of our strength to another adversary.
And what of those who are made into slaves in the time we wait? Padraig asks. Will we fight Loegaire to find everything we have worked for undone?
Our force has tripled in the last few days, Dichu says. And yet we have barely more men than we had before they started arriving. We cannot leave them here, so they will have to come with us, taking away from our effectiveness but adding nothing in return. We know that it must be done, that these people need us. But understand our situation. There are no other choices.
What is your plan, then? Padraig asks.
We won’t be able to wait for all who come to us, especially if this Ceretic continues to create more for us to take in. We will have to move out soon if we are going to be able to face Loegaire on our own terms.
So what will be done about the others?
That’s one of the things we were discussing when you came in. I think we will leave a small force, as much as we cannot spare it, but a few men to direct any newcomers toward us or to take care of those who cannot continue traveling. It is not ideal but I think it is the best we can offer, for we cannot linger here.
Where will we go?
I’ve thought about how Loegaire will attempt to invade, and if I were him I would sweep across here through the south, Dichu says, pointing to the map. He’ll want to deal with these inhabited areas before heading north along the coast, or near to the coast, looking for any towns or villages he feels are large enough to be a threat.
Padraig looks at the map and runs his hand through his beard. The area Dichu indicates is far to the south of their main force, and Padraig wrinkles his forehead.
What will we do, then? Allow him to conquer half the territory he desires before we meet him in battle? he asks.
We will move south to intercept him before he comes into the midst of our people, and based on how long he estimates he will take to travel and the sort of resistance he will meet, we think we can wait for him when he arrives here, Dichu says, indicating a river running through a plain. This is Liphe, and if we wait for him as he attempts to ford I think it will present us with our best opportunity to defeat him. This, he adds, tapping the spot on the map, is where we will make our stand. Because his side of the battle field will be slowed by the river, it also offers us the best chance of an unimpeded retreat if he were to prevail.
And then we will march back to defend our homes against these raiders? How much will that exhaust our men? Will we even have enough left to defeat these slavers after we fight Loegaire?
We will have to trust in God, Dichu says, looking sidelong at his men. May I speak with you outside?
You may.
When the two are outside, Dichu puts his hand on Padraig’s shoulder.
What is troubling you?
The defense of our people, Padraig says, moving Dichu’s hand.
We are all concerned with the defense of our people. I feel like there is something else. You are so insistent on dealing with this other problem, when all of us can see that Loegaire here is the greater threat.
I can’t bear to see one more person from this land forced into servitude, Padraigs says, his voice rising.
This is about you, then. About your family.
What has it ever been about?
You say you can’t bear to see one more in servitude, but what do you think will happen if Loegaire wins? You have spoken to the man. You know that he has never seen a problem with the old ways. And it won’t be attacking scattered villages and taking the survivors—he will use the entire territory. We will be completely wiped out, thanks to you.
What do you mean?
Isn’t it obvious? Before now we didn’t have to worry about who was in charge politically. We had our territory, I grant you that, but it was territory that didn’t lay any claim outside of itself. It was all territory that I myself already possessed, or taken from those nearby who wouldn’t join us but were weak enough that none stronger would mind.
So what changed?
You changed, Dichu shouts. Loegaire called you to him and there he granted you the ability to practice your religion in this land. He wouldn’t have pushed the issue further but you had to provoke him. Knowing that he couldn’t claim himself to be a high king without the might to try to enforce it, you had to do the one thing he told you not to do. The fire isn’t even a part of our, of your, tradition, but you did it to spite him. We could have dealt with Ceretic, but you have made sure our resources will have to be devoted to Loegaire, who will probably win regardless.
You can’t blame me for that, Padraig says. My mission is to spread the true faith—
Your mission is to spread the true faith, but the only way you know how to do that is b
luntly. When I first helped you, you thanked me by berating my men. Not trying to understand them, not trying to convince them, but by browbeating them until they submitted to your will. You have been lucky here that enough of us believe you to follow you, but you have no tact. You must be patient.
I don’t have time to be patient.
Why not? How long were the Christians persecuted in Rome before they were accepted? And yet they flourished. But they didn’t walk up to Caesar and demand his acceptance. They didn’t spit on Caesar and then ask him for a favor. You have done well here, Padraig, and you have saved a great many of us, but you let what happened to you cloud your judgment. I know about your son, but you must, you must, accept that you will not change this place in time to save them all.
Padraig will not meet Dichu’s eyes and he shifts his weight. Dichu places his hand to his mouth in irritation and looks over the camp.
You are frustrated, Dichu says. I understand that. Sleep, and let us handle the strategy.
Sleep, Padraig says. Fine.
Dichu waits a moment by Padraig before sighing and walking back into the tent. Padraig hears sound of muted discussion from within. After a moment he too leaves, tracing his way back through the darkness.
Eighteen
Men and women, dressed in the robes that set them apart from their lay brethren, toil in the fields. It is still early morning, yet they have been working already for several hours. Part of the purpose of their community is self-sufficiency, to not be a burden on the local population, and in order to continue on in such a way they must work at providing their own food.
Dairine works with them, pausing only to direct those around her in their work. She wipes the sweat from her face and looks around at all she and her brothers and sisters have accomplished. She spots Brigid running across the fields and frowns; running while the others work strikes her as wrong. As Brigid approaches, however, she sees the look of panic on the young woman’s face and rushes to meet her. Shocked workers stop what they are doing to watch the pair.
Brigid, what are you doing?
Dairine, she says, panting, raiders have been spotted heading toward us.
Are they the same ones who have been attacking the coast?
We can’t be sure, but one of our shepherds spotted them and spread the message along this way.
I wouldn’t have thought they’d move this far inland, Dairine says, mostly to herself.
What will we do? Brigid asks.
What can we do? Dairine says. How far away are they?
A half day, maybe.
Tell these people to gather what food they can, quickly, and then we will move to within the walls.
Will the walls be able to protect us?
We must pray that they will. It will at least make attacking us harder than they will have anticipated. I hope they will hold.
By the time any of the rough warriors from across the sea crest the distant hills that slope toward the walled settlement, the men and women have gathered inside. Dairine watches the approach of the foreign invaders from atop one of the walls, thankful that they are still too distant to even attempt to strike her with javelin or a slung rock. She is pleased when the first wave of the enemy appear to falter, perhaps unsure as to how to proceed in the face of the unexpected wall. The following ranks and a great hulking brute she assumes to be their leader wipe the smile from her face as the large man cajoles his army to advance.
The momentary confusion ends as the majority of the men set to work making camp, dashing Dairine’s hopes of the warriors moving on. Around a third of the men leave with little equipment. Dairine turns to look at whomever is climbing the ladder to the top of the wall and sees Mella.
What will we do? Mella asks.
We will wait.
They are sure to attack.
They might not succeed.
Even if they don’t, they can starve us.
It will take time. So we will wait.
Wait for whom? Mella asks, her voice quiet.
Padraig is sure to have heard by now. He will come to save us.
You believe that?
I do. He doesn’t know that these raiders are here, obviously, but he will hear soon enough. No one could move through these lands without him knowing sooner or later. Then he will bring Dichu and all his men and we will be rescued.
When?
I don’t know.
They stand in silence before Dairine sends Mella on an errand, mostly to get her away from the wall. Eventually the men, the third who had left, return from their mission. Behind them they drag heavy trees, stripped of their branches, and one by one they lay the trunks on the hill, like a tally of a forest.
Once the logs are laid out, they set to their work, and the sound of axes chipping away at the downed trees fills the air. Dairine retches and decides to leave the wall.
She walks to the well and finds Laoise drawing water.
Thank God for the water, she says.
It’s true, Laoise says, setting down her vessel.
Do you know how much food we were able to gather before they came?
Laoise shrugs.
Enough to last a few weeks, I think. Maybe more if we are careful with it and if none of it spoils. At this point it would be optimistic to think we’ll starve to death, though.
Perhaps. They will have to scale the wall.
Or break down the door. There are more of them and none of them are women.
We will do our best. We don’t have to drive them away, just keep them from getting inside. On the walls we will be helped by the drop if they lose their balance. I don’t yet know how to deal with the door.
I’ve been thinking about that myself, Laoise says.
Do you have any ideas?
One, she says. But you’ll think me foolish.
What is it?
What if we didn’t have a door.
What?
We have the pile of stone from our construction, Laoise says, gesturing in its direction. What if we blocked the doorway with stone. We could make a kind of wall behind the door and then they wouldn’t have any way in.
But we wouldn’t have any way out, either.
That’s true. At this point, though, we may never leave here again. I’d rather wait for our rescuers to dig us out than to face what they will do if they break.
That might work, Dairine says. Where is Seosamh? Have you talked to him about this?
I think he is inspecting some of the newer parts of the wall. I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone about it yet.
Dairine holds up her hand, motioning for Laoise to hold her position.
Wait here, she says. I’ll find him and tell him what you have said, and I’ll see if we will be able to do anything about. Don’t move- when I come back I’ll need people to help me gather workers.
She hurries to the most recently completed sections of the settlement walls, which, fortunately, are on the side opposite the gate. At the base of one of the walls, she spots Seosamh and two other men talking with one another and looking over the stones.
Seosamh, she says, hailing him with her arms.
Dairine, he says. What is it? Are they attacking?
Not yet. We’ve had a thought about the door to the settlement, though.
What of it?
It is the weakest. I mean, they can come over the walls, and I don’t doubt they will try, but the weakest point for them is through the gate.
It is. And it is only wood- even if they weren’t able to break through, they can burn it down and bash through the embers.
Exactly. Laoise has a plan, though, and I wanted your opinion.
Dairine tells Seosamh of the plan, worried by his furrowed brow as she finishes.
It won’t have time to set, he says.
Which means?<
br />
It won’t be a proper wall. I mean, there’s nothing to stop us from piling up the stones as best we can, but we don’t want it to be a wall like these. If it is, they will just be able to push it over, same as knocking through our door. But if we pile them so they won’t fall over, and we do it with enough space for them to break down the door but not enough to get men into the other side, it might work.
So we should, then?
Understand that it won’t stop them if they are really determined. It will only slow them.
I understand.
Also there is a danger for us.
Which is?
Well, two dangers. The first is if they get over the wall. If they get over the wall and into the settlement, we won’t be able to leave. We’ll have walled ourselves in with them. It isn’t the worst problem, considering they will no doubt have men waiting outside as it is even if we tried to flee.
And the other?
If we are able to fight them off and the siege is broken, but takes too long, we might have run out of food.
But we can get more if they leave.
I mean that we might be low enough on food that we will be too weak to move the stones ourselves. We could shut ourselves in here and never be able to leave.
But the alternative is that all of us will certainly be killed.
It is something we will have to risk, he says. But I think it can work. It certainly seems to be the best option we have at the moment.
It will have to do, Dairine says, nodding and trying to ignore the sound of the axes.
Loegaire’s mace whistles through the air before smashing through the face of his foe, making a sound like a hammer hitting a water-soaked log. The man falls without ceremony and Loegaire steps over him, looking for his next target. All around him the battle rages, his guards and standard bearer struggling to keep up with the pace of his slaughter. Battle allows him to display his strength in a way he cannot with politics, and he is happy for the first time in months.
Those outside of the melee still toss the occasional javelin, those that miss their targets sticking out of the ground like a forest of failed saplings. Scattered throughout are stalled chariots, no longer able to push through the thickness of the fight, either overturned by the violence swirling around them or still manned by desperate crews.
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 20