If you kill me, you will starve. If you don’t then you will eat.
You have words, but nothing with which to make them count. Words come easily to a man facing death.
And stupidity comes easily to desperate men.
So you say, Galchobhar says.
How long have we been wandering now? Padraig asks.
Enough of his words, one of the men shouts.
Quiet, Galchobhar says. We’ve been wandering for a while. Four weeks maybe.
I know how long.
Exactly?
Exactly.
How long then?
Twenty-eight days.
What of it?
I’ve seen it. We will have wandered for twenty-eight days without any respite. But on the twenty-ninth day we will be rewarded.
By whom?
By my God. The God.
So you say.
If you don’t believe me then kill me tomorrow. What’s another day?
Another day could be the difference between living and starving.
You’ll live one more day, at least. We all will. Kill me and that’s the last day you’ll live. Don’t and you will survive past tomorrow.
Galchobhar stares at Padraig so long that his men begin to fidget and wonder if their leader has lost all sense. At last he tells them to stand down and they are to leave Padraig in peace. Padraig returns to his prayers, but the others’ eyes never leave him. Eventually they fall into their fitful sleeps, still nothing to warm themselves with apart from huddling together. Padraig doesn’t sleep, doesn’t join their pile.
When the sun rises, the men awake and Galchobhar walks to Padraig and interrupts his prayer.
It’s time, Galchobhar says.
Patience, Padraig says.
Enough of your patience.
It is only the morning of the appointed day. If I told you I would bring you cattle tomorrow you would not be on my doorstep at first light.
The new day starts at sunset. We will wait until sunset. When the sun is no longer in the sky do not say anything to me of patience.
Fatigued, the men sit sullenly while Padraig continues with his prayers. Some talk loudly about the violence they will inflict on his body, while others mock him. They sit this way for hours until at around noon when they hear a rustling in the brush of the forest.
Curious, they crawl in the direction of the noise, having seen no animal larger than a squirrel in all their time in that wilderness, apart from the corpse of the fox. Out of the brush explodes a tangle of grizzled fur and tusks, forty-eight ears and ninety-six hooves. A herd of boar squeal past them shrilly. In their desperation, the men expend the last of their energy on pursuing the animals. They hurl themselves at the beasts, tackling them to the ground and picking up stones, bashing the boars again and again while avoiding the tusks that rip at their own skin. The whole mess of man and beast and violence mixes into a bloody amalgamation of fur and skin and hair and hooves and feet. The ground is slick and nine boars lay dead and the others flee back into the forest.
Of the men, only one is injured seriously by the boar. Galchobhar checks his tuskwound and says he will live and he believes him. They skin the beasts and gut them with the sharpest rocks they can find. It is not well-done but it will suffice. There is no fire and so they eat like wildthings with the blood and fat on their lips. One of them finds honey nearby and they eat this with the steaming meat and suck the juices from their fingers.
When they are finished they notice that Padraig has not eaten any of the feast. They offer him food, the meat of the boar still dripping with the blood-- what remains even after some of the men have become sick and gorged themselves a second time--and the honey. They claim that their gods have taken pity on them and that the boars and the honey are a sacrifice to those who saved the men from starvation. Padraig refuses their food even after they talk to him like he is a madman. At last Galchobhar tells them that if Padraig wants to starve to death when there is food to be had that is his own business and to leave him to his insanity.
They continue to eat throughout the day and then at night they huddle together as usual, but this time with the half-scraped furs of the boars draped over them, grisly blankets on desperate men. All of them sleep and even Padraig joins them though the scent of the dead beasts makes his mouth water and he can smell the honey on the men next to him.
In the morning there is no rejoicing. The boars left out overnight have spoiled and they are without food again. Their starvation is only delayed, not averted, and they are only a fraction warmer with the boarskins than on their own. It is decided that they must use what food is left in their bellies to continue on and hope for a sign of civilization.
They walk now, though; there is no more crawling. There is less concern about the immediacy of food. They are able to move and there is almost the faintest noise of a hum in the air. Padraig struggles along toward the end of their train and he only feels the unsatisfied hunger.
They reach a clearing and stop to rest. There is the faintest smell of smoke in the air and they begin talking excitedly about the possibility of others in the area, for there have been no storms. They talk so loudly that they don’t hear the crunching of leaves and twigs around them.
They notice the bright colors first. Reds and golds and shining iron. The colors contrast sharply with the dullness of the ruined clothes which hang from Galchobhar and the others. The next thing they notice is that the colors are attached to men. They snap into place, reds becoming tunics and golds and iron becoming plating, and before they can react they are surrounded by soldiers with weapons drawn. Their leader shouts at the dumb sailors, though none of them respond.
None of these barbarians speak Latin, the soldier says to his men.
I speak Latin, Padraig says. The sailors look at him suspiciously.
You? How did you come to speak it? You have none of the accent of the barbarian.
I am a Roman citizen. From Britannia.
A Roman from Britannia? How did you come to be with this scum?
I was for many years a slave in Hibernia. I sailed with these men from that same island and we have been lost in the wilderness for some weeks now.
Some of our people found your ship two weeks ago. Be glad they are better trackers than your own people. You’ve been traveling in circles, or near enough.
What does he say? Galchobhar asks.
Quiet, Padraig says. He turns back to the soldier and speaks. As I said, we wrecked and that is how we came to be here.
A slave in Hibernia. And yet you sail with these dogs?
These are merchants bound for Calad.
Lying will do nothing to save you.
Lying? We are merchants.
You are either lying or stupid.
I’m no liar.
Stupid, then. What goods do your merchants carry?
I don’t know. I helped load provisions.
Anything else? Anything of value?
I suppose not.
These are slavers, you poor fool, the soldier says. They came with provisions so they could go back with more like yourself. I’m surprised you didn’t realize it.
I didn’t know.
What is your name?
Pad-- Patricius.
Patricius. And your father?
Calpurnius.
I am Flavius. Well, Patricius Calpurnius Britannicus, you have chosen strange company for yourself.
If they are slavers then they are no company of mine.
Then you won’t mind if we deal with them accordingly?
Padraig looks over the men, still near starvation and looking like dogs left out in a storm.
Show them mercy, he says.
Mercy, Flavius says. Are you a Christian?
Yes, Padraig says.
Many of us are as well. But such as t
hese don’t deserve our mercy, as you yourself know.
Still, they should be shown it.
We’ll show them how we deal with their kind in the empire, Flavius says. He points to two of his men and motions for them to escort Padraig away.
Patricius, Flavius says. These men will escort you to our camp. We’ll have some more questions for you. As for your companions, they’ll also have to come with us. I need you to tell them.
Galchobhar, Padraig says.
What do they want? he answers.
We need to go with them.
To where?
They have a camp nearby. They will take us to the camp.
Maybe we’ll get a meal, one of the men says.
Shut up, Galchobhar says. Why are they taking us to their camp like this, with weapons drawn?
They know we are slavers, Padraig says. He watches Galchobhar.
Don’t tell them anything, Galchobhar says. Deny it. Tell him we are lost merchants.
I told him.
That’s good, Galchobhar says.
The soldiers escort the captured sailors and Padraig through the forest. Flavius leads the way expertly, and now that Padraig is led by someone who knows the terrain, he sees that Flavius tells the truth about them walking in circles. He recognizes several areas during their journey which are familiar to him. As he suspects from the smoke in the air, they are quite close to the camp and they arrive there soon enough.
The camp stands in a clearing in the forest and is built in the form of a strong wooden Roman fort. Soldiers not part of the expedition call to the others saying that the men in the forest have returned, and returned with what looks like prisoners. The prisoners themselves, Padraig aside, speak no Latin, and so they only hear without understanding. Instead of being afraid they are ecstatic at the prospect of eating food they don’t have to bludgeon or forage, steady food that will sustain them.
Their excitement soon wanes. The soldiers herd them toward an open space in the camp, essentially a ring of mud in the ground. There they are again surrounded. Padraig translates and tells the sailors all of them are to stay within the ring and wait.
Eventually an older man approaches the ring. He has the regal face of a true Roman, not like the Hibernian sailors, nor even Padraig himself. A dark gown hangs from his shoulders down to his feet. He walks deliberately and the soldiers around their captives seem to stiffen at his approach. He says something to one of the guards.
You, the guard says pointing at Padraig.
Padraig steps forward and the guard motions for him to follow the older man.
You are Roman, the man says. What is your name?
Patricius, he says.
I am Germanus, the man says. I have some questions to ask you.
The two of them walk toward a simple home near one of the walls of the fort.
What questions? Padraig asks.
Where have you come from?
You already know. I’m sure you have been told.
I’d like to hear the truth.
It was the truth.
You speak Latin well, Germanus says.
I should. It is my native language.
Germanus turns to look at Padraig, his eyes searching. Padraig looks back at him and sighs, his shoulders sinking.
My name is Patricius. I was captured and brought to Hibernia when I was younger. I worked there as a slave for many years. The man who owned me was stricken by some plague and I escaped. Now I’m here in Gaul.
I see. Flavius tells me that you are a Christian. What of the others?
Yes, I am. They are not. During my time in captivity I heard of Christians in the area but never met another.
We have many Christians here in Gaul. I myself am the bishop of this area, Germanus says. But you must be hungry. We must find you some food.
What of the men outside?
I’ve talked to Flavius. We seem to have a difference in opinion regarding the treatment of the prisoners.
Which is?
I believe they are to be executed. Flavius is of the opinion this will be a great boon to most of them. The only real question was whether or not to include you with them, Germanus says. He shrugs. I believe you are telling the truth, and will tell him so. Regrettably his decisions are the ones that matter insofar as the governance of this area is concerned. This particular issue is not an ecclesiastical one. But let’s get some food for you. We can talk more later.
Cheese, bread, venison, mulsum, turnips, and carrots are laid before him. He eats like something possessed. It is so fast that the food is just a lump of different flavors in his mouth, cheese and bread and venison mushed together into a paste barely broken up by the mulsum. He eats and eats, and though he feels sick after a time, he manages to keep his food down. Sleep is next. The mulsum and the food conspire against him alongside the month of fitful nights and Germanus finds him a place to rest. When he finally awakes the sun is rising and he realizes he has slept all through the previous day and night.
A servant appears and tells Padraig his presence is requested in the courtyard. When Padraig arrives, Germanus, Flavius, and some soldiers are waiting for him, standing in front of a group of soldiers controlling the prisoners.
Good morning, Patricius, Flavius says.
What is going on?
Executions, Germanus says.
I see.
Proceed, Flavius says to the soldiers with the prisoners.
The first prisoner is taken and tied to a post in the middle of the mud. One of the Roman soldiers has a whip in his hands and he uses it. The prisoner, already gaunt and broken from their month in the wilderness, screams in pain. This goes on for several minutes. At last, the prisoner- now almost limp- is taken a few feet to the side and forced to his knees. A heavy swipe at the back of his neck with a thick sword from one of the other soldiers decapitates him. His body and is dragged away and his head lies in the mud.
These men are not citizens, Flavius says. In the old days we would have crucified them. Like your Lord. This sort of honor would have been reserved for citizens like you, Patricius.
Many were crucified like our Lord, Germanus says. Saint Peter even inverted, such was his respect for the death of our Lord.
As you say, Flavius says.
The killings continue. When three men remain, it is Galchobhar’s turn. He walks to the post straight and proud. If Padraig had not been with him, he would have never suspected the man would have been desperately hunting animals with rocks a few days before. Similarly, as the lash finds its place on Galchobhar’s skin, he makes no sound. The soldier whipping him seems to be perturbed by the lack of noise and Galchobhar stands nevertheless. Blood comes out of his mouth and Padraig is sure Galchobhar has broken his teeth.
At last the scourging ends and Galchobhar is untied from the pole, and walks over to where so many of his sailors lay dead. He stares at the heads on the ground, many of their eyes still open, mouths and tongues lolling out. He kneels and stares with his head inclined, as much as he is able, at Flavius and Germanus and Padraig. Because of the tilt of his head, he takes two blows to decapitate. The first makes a noise like an axe hitting cabbage and he stumbles on his knees but doesn’t fall, though there is blood, and then the second is a clean blow. Galchobhar’s head is added to the rest. Padraig manages to make it away from those who watch and is sick on the ground.
After the onlookers disperse and Padraig returns to his quarters. He rests in the room. It has been so long since he could sleep in a bed. So long since he had a room, at least according to the style of his youth. He hears someone approach and Germanus enters.
Patricius, he says.
Father, Padraig says.
I’m sorry about all that.
I’ve seen worse, Padraig says.
I’m sure. According to your story, you’ve been th
rough much.
Yes.
I didn’t mean to bother you. We’ll talk later. After Liturgy in the morning.
The rest of the day is Padraig’s and he celebrates it by doing nothing. No work. No hunting. No travel. He sits and he rests and he eats. He thinks about Caomh and about Clara. He pictures the way she would look at him, the conversations they had together. He tries to picture Caomh’s face but it is like a mirage, and the closer he gets to his son the less there is of him. When the night comes he thinks he will sleep fitfully, but then he opens his eyes and it is morning.
Liturgy in the morning is much as he remembered. Six years. He doesn’t approach for the Eucharist. Curiosity enters Germanus’ face almost imperceptibly before it is as though he hasn’t noticed. After Liturgy has ended and the Christians have left the small church, Germanus approaches Padraig.
You are a Christian? Germanus asks.
Yes, Padraig says.
You did not receive our Lord.
No.
Didn’t desire to or felt you couldn’t?
I’m not sure, Padraig says. It has been so long since I had the opportunity. And the life I’ve lived.
I’d guess if you haven’t been to a Liturgy in all this time you certainly haven’t been to confession. Would you care to?
To what?
Confess.
They go to a quiet area where no one will overhear them.
I can face away if you like, Germanus says. Many people prefer not to have to look at me.
I don’t mind, Padraig says. You know who I am whether you see me or I see you.
As you wish. What are your sins?
I’ve lusted. In my captivity I had a woman.
I see. Was she also a Christian?
No, and we never wed. We had a... We had a relationship. We knew each other.
How many times?
Many.
I see. What other sins?
I’ve cursed God. As I’ve praised him. I’ve prayed and my prayers have turned to bitterness. I had one more year and I would have been free.
I don’t understand.
I was told I could earn my freedom. I had one year left before I was free.
But you escaped?
Yes.
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 6
