The Well of Shades
Page 63
“Are you afraid,” Colm asked, and his tone was a battle cry, a ringing challenge, “that you must hedge yourselves about with restrictions thus? How can a man’s faith be true faith if it has not been fully tested? To shut your ears entirely to our doctrines, to prohibit all Christian prayer on your home soil, is to admit that your own gods cannot stand up to the comparison. If your faith in them is stalwart and sure, where is the harm in learning the message of Our Lord Jesus Christ? Weigh the two against each other, as in a scale, and if your old convictions remain unshaken, perhaps you are justified in clinging to them with some degree of certainty. I know you will not do this, Druid. It is plain to me that your ears are forever closed to the word of God; that your eyes are blind to the light. You dare not test your faith in the way I suggest. But I challenge you to do so, King Bridei. Experience the opening of your heart and soul to the light of the one true God. His is a path made not by fear but by love. I see in you a man born to tread that path.”
“I have been tested,” Broichan said. His voice was like winter, spare and cold. The dark eyes blazed with feeling. It came to Bridei that he and Colm were a pair; not so much the two sides of one man, as the same man cast in two different molds. “And King Bridei has been tested more rigorously than your kind can ever understand,” the druid went on. “There will be no spreading of the Christian faith within Fortriu.” For a moment, the air around him seemed to crackle with energy, as if the anger of the gods inhabited him, lending him an Otherworldly power. “The king is the gods’ representative on earth; he is obedient to their will.”
“You are refusing to honor King Gabhran’s undertaking?” There was no mistaking the tone of Colm’s voice; the anger was undisguised. Suibne translated, looking at the floor.
“Are the matters of your petition set out in full?” asked Carnach. “As the king told you, we will hear all of them before any answers are given.”
Colm gave a stiff nod. “For now, this is all,” he said. “King Bridei, your druid asks that we remain on Ioua. There are practical considerations; questions of supplies and the fact that we might offer certain services to folk living on the nearby islands. I don’t speak of prayers; we have a healer among us, and men with other useful skills.”
Carnach glanced at Bridei. They had discussed this at length before the meeting began; their answers had been determined before the questions were formally presented. “Such activities as those would be deemed acceptable,” the red-haired chieftain said. “As long as they are not accompanied by the telling of Christian tales and the conduct of Christian ritual. Those practices are banned throughout Dalriada. That extends to the western isles. Should the king decide to allow you shelter on Ioua, what you did within your own walls would be your own business. You are priests, after all. Should the practice of your ritual creep beyond the shores of the island, you would find yourselves bundled onto a fast boat back to Erin.”
Colm waited.
Bridei rose to his feet. He knew, as did Broichan and Keother and Carnach, what the decision was to be. All the same, his heart was pounding and his head beginning to throb in a familiar way. Stating this aloud before the Christians made intention fact. He had made difficult choices before, taken paths that had surprised his people and stretched the goodwill of the gods almost to breaking point. So he believed; and he knew that as soon as he had spoken, he had once again set his dear ones at risk. The shadow of the Nameless God hung over all of them. He could hardly have said why he was doing this; only that, after this season of fear and hurt and loss, it felt right.
“On the matter of your brethren in the Light Isles, King Keother offers you his assurance that they will remain safe,” he said. “He and I are in agreement on that issue. I understand these hermits are quiet folk who are well accepted among the people there.” He did not add another fact that he had been told, which was that the number of conversions to the Christian faith had been extremely small. The island people had a tendency to resist change. “We do not wish to see their number greatly expanded.”
“They are few,” Colm said, “and likely to remain so. They go for the sea and the silence.”
Bridei glanced at Keother, who sat quiet and pale on his left side.
“You mentioned hostages,” the King of the Light Isles said to the priest. “That situation is for King Bridei and myself to handle; we are kinsmen, and understand each other.”
There was a little silence, during which Bridei looked across the chamber and met Brother Suibne’s eye. The translator gave a little, crooked smile; it seemed to Bridei the Gael knew exactly the mixture of conviction and trepidation he felt in his heart.
“On the matter of the island,” Bridei said, “we will allow you tenancy there for two years. Build your house of prayer; open your ears to the silence. Go no farther than the neighboring isles, and then only if your men’s skills may serve the community. No prayers beyond Ioua; no ritual, no teaching. We have a powerful chieftain in control of the west; his name is Umbrig. He will be instructed to deal with any breach of those rules promptly and decisively.”
“And after two years?” It was Suibne who asked the question; it seemed to Bridei that Colmcille had not heard anything after the first words, for the granting of his dream had rendered him temporarily wordless.
“After two years,” Bridei said, “we’ll look at this again. No promises. I’m not a fool. I don’t for a moment believe Brother Colm capable of restricting his activities to a single island. If I decide to pack the lot of you back home, believe me, I’ll do it. You’ll be watched. Don’t forget that.”
Suibne nodded; neither he nor Faolan rendered this speech into Gaelic.
There; the words were out, and there was no going back, at least until the two-year trial was over.
Colm had regained his equanimity. “Thank you, my lord king,” he said gravely. “I sense that your druid is not in full agreement with you on this matter, and I congratulate you on standing firm.”
Bridei felt Broichan stiffen beside him, then heard the druid controlling his breathing, holding back words of anger. “You read us incorrectly,” Bridei said. “Broichan and I are of one mind where these matters are concerned. Here in Fortriu, the will of our gods is woven into the long history of our people. They are older than time, knitted fast in the rocks and waters of the Glen. They are nourished by the love we offer them; we are blessed by the great web of life they wrap us in. It may be that the voices you hear in the wind and waves of your island are not so different from those that guide us. But it is not through a desire to know more of your own doctrines, or to see them advance like a shadow across my beloved land of Fortriu, that I grant you this favor. I think you are a good man; a man of integrity. I find myself in a position to offer you safe haven from certain powerful enemies we happen to share. As a man of honor, I believe it is my duty to do so.”
“You have two years to prove yourself, Brother Colm.” Broichan’s voice was like an iron blade. “Break the restrictions we have set you and the king will banish you forever from this shore. Do not doubt his word.”
“In two years,” Colm said, “I will build my house and sow the seeds of my community. Then, God willing, I will return to White Hill and we will talk again.”
(from Brother Suibne’s account)
On the eve of our departure, seeing that Broichan looked pale and weary at supper, Brother Colm drew him aside and called me to translate for him. He offered the king’s druid a cup of water. “I wish to leave you in a spirit of good faith,” our leader told Broichan. “I see that you are not in the best of health. Whether this ailment is of the body or of the spirit, I cannot tell. But I have certain healing gifts. Drink of this cup, over which powerful prayers have been spoken, and your sickness will leave you.”
I was somewhat surprised that Broichan did not dash the thing to the floor. “I need no Christian prayers,” he said coldly. “What is this? I see a little stone in the cup. Would you feed me a charm to suck out my life?”
“In deepest respect,” I said in the Priteni tongue. “Carry it away unspilled, at least. Consider it. Good health is an essential tool for a man with missions still to accomplish. Go in peace, brother.”
Colm raised his brows at me, unable to understand, but Broichan took the cup and bore it away. His expression did not provide any assurance that he would make use of it.
I heard, later, that he had been on the point of tipping it out in the garden when his daughter, the queen, persuaded him to drink it. The argument she used related to her son, the odd little child Derelei, and the fact that Broichan must remain well and strong for a good fifteen years to see the lad become a man. So he drank. The next morning we left White Hill for our long voyage to the west and our new home on Yew Tree Isle. I cannot say whether the white pebble’s miraculous healing powers were effective on a recalcitrant druid. I hope that, at some time in the future, I have the chance to find out.
It has been an adventure; a time of miracle and magic, sorrow and joy, grievous loss and wondrous finding. I thank God for giving me the opportunity to be part of it. I sense this is not yet finished. Colm held himself quiet during that meeting, but I know his zeal; it is a thing to be reckoned with. He is a bright beacon, a powerful force for change. Once we are settled on our peaceful isle, a new tide will flow across this land, and the dark practices of the past will struggle to stand up against it. That is my belief.
Bridei is no fool. Perhaps he sees what I see and is following a longer and subtler path than any of us can guess at. Or perhaps the joys and terrors of these last days have blinded him to the true force of Colmcille’s mission. One thing I do know. There will be work for me yet at the court of Bridei, king of Fortriu.
SUIBNE, MONK OF DERRY
“WE HAVE SOMETHING to ask you, my lord king.” Faolan’s tone was diffident. He and Eile had come hand in hand up to the walkway where the king was standing alone save for Ban, with Dovran on guard at a distance. The formal manner of address alerted Bridei to some awkwardness in the matter to be raised.
“Speak openly, Faolan. Dovran’s out of earshot and Ban can’t repeat what he hears. What’s troubling you?”
It was night, and the waxing moon was veiled by clouds. A chill wind from the northern sea whipped the torches into fiery banners and set the men’s cloaks billowing.
“I’m wondering,” Faolan said, “if you remember a conversation we had on the night you were elected king. It’s a long time ago. Chances are you have forgotten it. You offered me a new position in your court and I refused it.”
“Councillor, adviser, and companion.”
“You do remember.”
“Indeed. And you, I think, told me you did not have it in you to be a friend. Even then I knew you were wrong.”
Faolan nodded. In the fitful light his expression was hard to read. “Eile and I have been discussing the future,” he said. “I wondered whether that offer might still be open.”
Bridei felt a smile creeping over his face. “It might,” he said. “You are weary of travel? You no longer wish to exercise certain special skills?”
“That life mixes poorly with the duties of husband and father, Bridei. Besides, my knee isn’t what it was. Eile hasn’t asked me to do this. I want that to be clear. It’s my decision to change the path of things. I can’t inflict my old life on her and Saraid. I need to be here for them. If I keep on with these duties I’ll be constantly worrying and so will Eile.”
“If I said no, what would you do?”
“I’d leave,” Faolan said bluntly. “Seek employment elsewhere. Provide for my family as best I could. I can turn my hand to a few trades.”
“No doubt.”
“But it would break my heart to do it, Bridei. I want to stay here; to work under your patronage. That’s if you believe I can still fulfill the role you had in mind.”
“I’ve no doubt at all that you can.” Bridei put his arms around Faolan’s shoulders and embraced him; after a moment, Faolan returned the gesture.
“Thank you, my lord,” Eile murmured. “The truth is, I know Faolan will miss the adventure and the challenge. I think it’s possible he may be available for an assignment here and there. Just as long as he’s not away too often or for too many days. It would be unfair for him to have to change so much, just because of us.”
Faolan smiled. “I already have changed,” he said. “The man I was last summer would never have put such a request into words.”
“I’m glad the two of you have come to see me,” said Bridei, considering how to frame his next speech. What he knew of Eile meant the offer he intended to make must be expressed just right, or her pride would make it imperative that she refuse. “This will indeed be a major change for you; for all three of you, I believe. Eile, Tuala and I owe you compensation for the near-fatal attack you suffered while in our service. You were doing a highly responsible job of caring for our son when Breda took it into her head to make an attempt on your life.”
“Oh, but I let Derelei go off—I didn’t keep him safe—”
Faolan put his arm around her shoulders.
“Nobody could have foreseen what would occur,” Bridei said. “Besides, as my wife tells it, Derelei was determined to get out, and he is a child of unusual abilities. I hope you will accept what I have to offer, Eile. It is customary to do so under such circumstances.”
“I don’t need any sort of reward, my lord. I have everything I want.” She glanced up at Faolan, her eyes bright with love.
Bridei smiled. “I had in mind a modest patch of land with a cottage; there’s a vacant holding situated near the settlement below the walls of White Hill, a smallish place set by itself on rising ground. Should the three of you decide to take it on, Faolan could still come up here to perform his duties as a councillor, but you could retain some independence and privacy as well. I sense the communal life of court is not entirely to your liking, and I see a difficulty in folk making undue demands on Faolan’s time if he continues to dwell here once his role changes. We’re all so used to having him on call night and day. For a married man, that’s not reasonable; I’m sure you’ve heard Elda say so many times, and she’s right.”
Eile appeared to be speechless.
“I’m told the place needs a bit of work,” Bridei said. “It’s a little rundown and the garden’s overgrown. Tuala tells me that should not be a problem for you.”
“I—” faltered Eile. “I—”
“I expect I can add mending thatch and digging drains to my existing skills,” Faolan said. “And Eile has the garden already fully planned in her head, I think. I imagine she would still come to visit court. Saraid and Derelei have formed a friendship.”
“Tuala hopes very much that both Eile and Saraid will be frequent visitors.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Eile managed, looking as if she would as soon burst into tears as anything else. “I hope this isn’t just—just charity—I mean, we couldn’t accept that—I’m sorry, that’s so discourteous—you can’t know what this means to me, a garden, my own garden, and a little house… How did you know? How did you know that was what I wanted more than anything? Almost anything.” She leaned her head against Faolan’s shoulder. Then she lifted it again, peering into his eyes. “You didn’t say something, did you?”
“Me? Not a word. I may have mentioned to the king that we would prefer to live outside the walls, but no more than that, I swear.”
“Believe me, Eile,” Bridei said, recalling a certain tale Faolan had confided about a house on a hill, “a gift from the king under such circumstances is entirely the usual practice. Think of it as part compensation, part wedding gift. I am
assuming you two plan to allow Broichan to regularize your alliance?”
“If he’s prepared to marry a pair of godless Gaels, yes.” There was a new note in Faolan’s voice.
“By the Flamekeeper’s manhood, Faolan,” Bridei said, “it does me good to see you so content at last. I welcome you gladly to the number of my councillors. To tell you the truth, both Aniel and Tharan are getting on in years, and it’s past time a younger man joined them.”
There was a silence, then Faolan said, “Thank you,” and Bridei wondered if there were tears in his friend’s eyes.
“My lord,” Eile said softly, “we’re so happy this has worked out well for you and the queen; that Derelei is safely home at last, with his grandfather. I thought, when I first came here, that kings and queens were grand people whose lives were quite unlike mine; folk who lived in a different world. But at heart we’re all the same, aren’t we? We all have the same love and the same fear. The gods set the same blows on us, and help raise us up when we are in despair. At least, that’s how it seems.”
Bridei smiled. “You’ve found a rare prize there, Faolan,” he said. “Or maybe she found you. Perhaps you understand, now, what drove me along the shore to Banmerren by moonlight all those years ago in search of the girl they’d taken away from me. Back then, you found my behavior incomprehensible.”
“Some things take a long time to learn. Good night, Bridei. Our gratitude is too strong to be put into words.”
“No need for words. Besides, I’m the one who should be offering thanks to the two of you. Good night, Faolan. Good night, Eile. May the Shining One guard your dreams.”
Then Faolan and Eile went back to their quarters, arms entwined, feet light with hope, ready to begin the next part of their lives. But Bridei walked the walls of White Hill awhile longer, his loyal dog at his heels and Dovran on watch, silent by the stone steps. The clouds parted; the Shining One revealed herself in her cool, pale perfection.