Which leaves my men where? Dichu asks.
You will have to hold at the river, Crimthann says. It will be difficult. I do not think it will be impossible, and if you are able to keep from fleeing then my men will ensure our victory, but it will be an honest fight for your people. I think, though, it is our only chance against him.
The council debates over the specifics of the plan until it is late. Once the final implementation is agreed upon, the armies take up their respective positions and post sentries.
Padraig stands with the second group to take over the watch as the light breaks over the river. Birds sings. He sits awhile longer and decides he must soon rest. His hands wipe his eyes to try to keep them in focus. There is a blur of motion beyond the river that he takes to be another indication it is time for him to sleep. After blinking repeatedly, though, he can make out several forms moving quickly. The sentries spot the men too and alert the rest of the camp, which is perched obviously above the river, their discovery being part of the larger strategy.
After a time it is obvious the scouts have spotted the camp. They stop and appear to talk with each other. Of the three, two leave, while one stays at a safe distance, across the river a ways, watching the camp for activity. Padraig watches the third man for a while and then, unable to control his closing eyes, forces himself to return to his tent.
The sun keeps him from resting as soundly as he would in the night, and when he wakes it is late morning or midday. He waits a moment in his tent for a wave of nausea to pass, then returns to his vantage point.
Loegaire’s force is arriving across the river. Several groups of men are arranged cautiously to defend the banks of the river as his men trickle into the river valley in their long column. They move no closer than their bank, though, and the majority of the men focus on preparing their camp. Padraig watches as Loegaire’s own grand tent is erected in the center. His eyes dart to the forest on Loegaire’ flank and he prays that Crimthann’s men are far enough from their enemy’s camp to avoid detection.
I want sentries posted on those hills, there and there, Loegaire says. We need to be able to see if they try to move on our position.
Do you anticipate their attack, my king? Coirpre asks, directing soldiers to carry out Loegaire’s will.
I don’t. If they have half our strength, they would be lucky. And look how they have positioned themselves. They will move to attack us as we cross the river. But we will not cross the river until these men have had time to rest.
Are they Crimthann’s men?
It is difficult to tell at this distance, but I would think not. I don’t know who these are, honestly. I don’t recognize any of them or their banners. They are obviously here to oppose me, though, and if Crimthann has moved north of the river they may be working to buy him time. They can’t hope to achieve victory here.
Coirpre sets to carrying out Loegaire’s orders. Loegaire enters his tent and takes off his clothing and what armor he wears, the stench of battle and of the forced march having seeped into the fabric. His skin breathes in the air and he runs a hand through his tangled hair. It will end soon, he tells himself. He looks to the corner where his men have set up a small shrine for his worship, designed by Coirpre. He moves toward it, picks up some of the objects, considers them, then sets them down and goes back to his bed.
He dozes fitfully, his mind filled with images of rising rivers and the earth opening up to swallow him. The ground begins to shake when his eyes open suddenly and his fist connects with the man over him. He sends the soldier sprawling and sits up in his bed, looking around. The warrior rubs his mouth and spits out a stream of blood as he rises to his knees.
Who dares touch his king? Loegaire says.
We beg your forgiveness, another man at the entrance to the tent says. But Coirpre sent us to wake you.
Why does he presume to wake me?
It’s night, my king, the man begins to say.
What of it, Loegaire asks. All the more reason I should be left to sleep.
The army across the river is advancing on us.
What?
They advance on us, from across the river. We are mustering even now to meet them.
Of course, of course, Loegaire says. Tell Coirpre I am coming.
Loegaire puts the dirtied clothes back on quickly and exits the tent, his men hurrying into their formations around him. He spots Coirpre directing his captains.
Are they lunatics? Loegaire asks.
My king?
To attack us like this. They may think they have surprise on their side, but we outnumber them. And they must cross the river.
I have told our men, your men, to prepare to repel their advance.
I have different orders, Loegaire says. Tell them to prepare to meet them in the river. We will not take the defensive position here, but smash these rabble and drive through into the north.
As you say.
Loegaire sends one of his men to bring him his weapon and stands watching the hill army advance as he grasps the massive club. His men, having received their orders, begin to advance on the enemy, the first waves approaching the fordable section of river while the waiting formations gather behind them.
As he watches the blocks of men, indicated in the dark by their torches, he puts a hand to his head. His forehead throbs. Loegaire moves his jaw up and down, his molars suddenly aching in rhythm with his headache. Coirpre watches him clench and unclench his jaw.
Are you feeling well, my king?
I’m fine, he says with a grunt. I did not sleep well.
You are sweating.
These clothes are thick, he says, taking the hand from his head and putting it to his back. I must have slept worse than I thought.
He suddenly vomits on the ground, clutching his arm and falling. His eyes stare out as the first of his men enter the river.
Padraig and Dichu watch from the hills as their army advances.
Why are your men slowing? Padraig asks.
Crimthann and I changed the plan slightly.
How did you change it?
Our men will stop their advance on the banks of the river, which will force Loegaire to fight in the water if he means to be aggressive. You see there from what light there is that he is taking the bait.
I do see, Padraig says.
The more men we have left, the easier it will be for us when we return home.
I know.
There’s another trick.
What’s that?
Crimthann had planned for his men to flank from that hill over there, the one they call Alba. Well, we split part of our own force. At first we didn’t want to because of the disadvantage we are already at, but we decided we could use a portion of our army to hold the river, then send the others further down and cross there.
And what will they do?
They will across from the other hill, Ere. That way Loegaire will be attacked on both flanks while his men are tied up with the assault across the river.
What is happening there? Padraig says, pointing.
In the distance, the lights of Loegaire’s camp seem to be moving erratically. The men of both sides of the river have engaged, but the formations beyond the river seem to waver uncertainly.
In the river the two sides meet, their fighting slowed by the lack of visibility and the water. Some of men drown, forced under by the waves of bodies and their inability to navigate through the dark water. Behind them, the lights from Loegaire’s camp continue to move about aimlessly, some surrounding a central point while others seem incapable of deciding whether to join into the tightly packed melee in the Liphe or withdraw.
A great cry goes up and Dichu points Padraig to the flanks, where the two waiting forces descend upon the uncertain defenders. The unprotected flanks fall into chaos while the men in the center are trampled under their o
wn panic. Dichu leaves his vantage point to meet with his men and ensure their victory. Padraig watches on until the lights either become extinguished or are dispersed through the forces to render them unusable in measuring the progress of the battle.
Bodies are everywhere, but when the final count comes in the attackers take fewer casualties than expected. Padraig stands over the wounded, administering the Viaticum to those in need. When he is finished he stores what is left safely upon his person and turns to cross back over the river to the northern camp. Then men are tired and will not march again immediately, but Padraig means to prepare himself.
Padraig, Crimthann says, approaching him.
Congratulations on your victory, Padraig says.
Thank you.
I thank you for being able to keep more of our men from dying. Your plan seemed to work well.
Did no one tell you what caused them to be disorganized?
I haven’t heard anything. I’ve been with the wounded and the dead since the battle ended.
Loegaire wasn’t in the battle at all.
Padraig raises his eyebrows. Loegaire has fled?
He hasn’t fled. He is dead.
I don’t understand.
Apparently he died at the start of the battle. He just collapsed, as though stricken down.
I see, Padraig says.
Crimthann doesn’t move. Padraig looks at him and Crimthann looks away, then back to Padraig.
Was there something else? Padraig asks.
This victory. I’ve heard about you, you know. I think I mentioned it. We had a chance of winning, I always thought that. But to stop them the way we did. And with Loegaire dying.
We have our own fight now. Where our homes are. We will need to leave soon.
Of course. The enemy is broken, we won’t have any more need of your men, as appreciated as their help was.
What do you want to say, then?
I have talked to some of your followers, and I want you to baptize me for your god.
What?
I want you to baptize me. And send your priests here. I owe you my victory.
Padraig considers him for a moment.
As you wish.
Crimthann and many of his men are converted. When Padraig leaves them the next day, he and Dichu and the exhausted warriors setting out again, he promises to send priests to minister to them. Provided there are priests who remain.
Twenty
It takes several days, but at last they arrive. Scouts are sent to determine the location of the raiders and assess what damage has been done in their absence. Those who are not sent to scout sleep and see to their bruised feet.
The second night, Padraig and Dichu sit at their fire and eat. Neither speaks. As Padraig finishes his food, one of the scouts finds them.
Have you found Ceretic? Padraig asks.
I have, the scout says.
Where are they? Dichu asks.
They are sieging Dairine’s community.
Padraig stands. They haven’t broken in?
From what I saw, they haven’t. I can’t tell how long they have been there, but it looks as though there’s been a fire. The stone around the entrance is scorched. There are signs of fighting around the wall, but as far as I can tell our people are still inside.
How many are they? Dichu asks.
I’m not sure we have enough to fight them, the scout says.
Why not? Padraig asks.
They are at least equal to us in number, especially after the battle we just fought. We are battered and have marched for days. They look well-rested and more experienced. I think we will have a difficult time against them.
You may leave, Dichu says.
As the scout leaves, Padraig turns to Dichu.
You heard what he said. We must move against them.
Did you hear him at all? What good does it do Dairine if we all die?
Maybe they would be too weak after a battle to continue the siege.
You would sacrifice all of these men for the few in that place? What good would that do? Who would be left to do anything of value? With you dead, with me dead, with all the people in the countryside without homes and just waiting for the first group of bandits or pagans to find them. Getting ourselves killed won’t do anything to solve this.
Padraig doesn’t reply.
We’re all tired, Dichu says.
Padraig rises and walks away. Dichu watches. He does not speak. Padraig finds his tent and sits there a while, and soon he is asleep.
He stands under a moonless sky. Loegaire is in front of him, pointing a rotted finger into the distance. Padraig’s eyes follow the finger and there are Clara and Caomh, fingers over their mouths, eyes wide and staring back at him.
What is this? Padraig asks.
Burned and rotten vocal cords only rattle back at him from Loegaire’s sightless sockets.
Behind Padraig comes the creak of a branch and he turns to find Milchu. Milchu stands over him at least four times the height of a man. Padraig’s former master is a twisting labyrinth of limbs and vines, and as the giant laughs down at his slave his body bursts into flame. Padraig flees from the outstretched bonfire arms that come for him.
His legs move beneath him like he is up to his waist in mud, yet somehow he escapes the gruesome figure, though its light fills the horizon behind him. Padraig crests a hill and realizes he is at Dairine’s enclosure.
Smoke billows from the buildings behind the broken walls. Bodies are strewn about the farmland outside the walls, the farmland which is now reduced to a congealing lake of blood.
A hand grabs Padraig’s. It is soft and he holds onto it, turning to face Brigid. She is not wearing any clothes and she pulls herself to him and they kiss. It is long and passionate and he puts his arms behind her to hold her close to him. He opens his eyes and Clara stands on the hill behind Brigid. Tears fall from her eyes and he drops what was only ever a corpse and tries to call after her, but his mouth is shut, devoid of lips.
The wind gusts and he is alone in a swirl of ashes as all around him decays in an instant. All that is left is a flatness and in the distance the reverberation of some deep drum. It beats harder and harder and he feels it in his chest, a resonance that shakes through his body. A scraping, scratching, slithering sound comes from the direction of the drum, sliding under the louder noise to fill in the spaces. A rock shoots out of the ground beneath him, lifting him into the air on its top, and he sees what look like a multitude of brambles scratching toward him, driven by the drum. They pass under the rock and he sees them undulate in the darkness. Behind him and ahead of them is the end, a void, nothingness. They drive screaming into it and then are silenced.
He hears crashing water. The rock stands over the bottom of the ocean, all the water having been removed. Blood-red fish flop desperately in the air. In the midst of the exposed ocean floor, the bramble-shapes writhe. Padraig watches them in loathing and fascination as the sound of water grows. He tears his eyes from the spectacle and sees that the water stands on the sides of the deep like two walls, a great wind keeping them from crashing back to their proper place.
A grating, crumbling noise sounds and a smell like burning hair fills the air. A rolling mass of rocks comes from one end of the watercanyon and moves through, grinding the twisting shapes to dust beneath them before continuing on to the other side. After they have gone, the water crashes down and only Padraig’s great height keeps him from being swept away in the torrent and drowned.
He wakes with a gasp, clutching at his chest. His eyes water and he looks around his tent, unable to shake the feeling of hidden eyes.
When Dichu rises, Padraig waits for him outside. He approaches him with his hands out apologetically.
I am sorry I was upset last night, he says.
I was too harsh with you, Dichu
says.
I know what to do, Padraig says.
He explains his plan to Dichu and the two dicsuss the details for much of the morning. When the sun is firmly in the sky they send for ten men, known to both of them, and the men are assembled in front of them.
Ceretic watches the scorched walls and eats. He takes great, squaline bites, chewing loudly and with the smaller hunks of meat falling freely into his beard. He smiles.
Dubhghall, he calls.
Dubhghall, lean and balding and bright eyed, runs to him.
What? he asks.
Are the men ready?
Give them two more days, then it will be ready, he says, his eyes avoiding the larger man’s.
One more day.
They need two, Ceretic.
They have one. See that it is done.
Dubhghall nods slowly.
Even without it, we should be able to overrun them now. They have to be weak. And we killed several during the first attack.
Do not tell me without it. One day.
Both men look as a rider comes hastily over the hill. He is dressed in the same fashion as the rest of Ceretic’s men. Several of the men were sent out on stolen horses to scout, the ships having not had room for horses of their own.
What is so important? Ceretic asks.
We’ve caught some shepherds a ways from here, he says.
Of what use are shepherds to us? Dubhghall asks.
We haven’t come here for sheep, Ceretic says. Do what you will with them.
They have some information that might prove to be useful to use, he says.
What information? Ceretic asks.
They say the man Padraig has raised an army to fight us. They say they spoke with some of Padraig’s foragers not two days ago, that they are gathering strength to come after us.
Fools. They’ll be caught between us and Loegaire.
Loegaire’s dead.
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 22