The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession

by James Corkern

​What of your woman?

  ​Dead.

  ​What else?

  ​I murdered a man.

  ​Who did you murder?

  ​One of the other slaves. He was more loyal, I think. A native of the land. He pursued me during my escape and was overcome with illness and in the pasture I. . .in the pasture. It was not my first, though. Or it might have been. I’m not sure.

  ​What do you mean?

  ​When I was in captivity there were occasional battles. I say battles, but the soldiers here would probably think of them as barely skirmishes. But the tribes of Hibernia are numerous and fight often. We would fight for cattle or for honor.

  ​And you fought? And killed?

  ​I did. I think. In those fights I am not sure if I ever killed a man. I never saw a man killed instantly by my hand, but I know I had injured some grievously. If they died later, then I had killed them and if not, I had tried to kill them and so it is the same.

  ​Any other sins?

  ​I despaired. I turned my back on God. I don’t mean in cursing my situation, in speaking curses, when I was at my lowest, but in wanting to give up entirely.

  ​What do you mean? Germanus asks.

  ​The child, Father. The child. She and the child. Gone. Gone, and nothing I could do. And I killed the man and then there was nothing. I wanted to drop, right there, he says. There was nothing for me left in the world. I wondered how, after everything that I had endured in that place, every injustice I had suffered, that God would allow something like that to happen.

  ​And what delivered you from your despairing?

  ​I wasn’t delivered from my despair on my own so much as remembering the despair of others. I remembered Job and his trials, how he bore afflictions after affliction on himself and those who he loved, and how he lost everything. How he lost everything and then even he despaired though he was righteous. In the end he finally asked God why. And God answered him. Who are you, Job? he asked. Where were you when the world was created? Where were you when all manner of incomprehensible things were put in this place, and how can you compare to me? And I thought that if Job, more righteous than I, can despair and then be given God’s wisdom, made to see that God’s ways are not our own, then I also could find the strength within me. And so I kept going.

  ​And you came here.

  ​Yes, it brought me here. I didn’t want to come to Gaul. I didn’t not want it, either. I just wanted to go. And Gaul was there.

  ​Germanus absolves Padraig but tells him that he will consider a suitable penance. He says he will pray about it and tell Padraig the next day. Though it is strange to delay so, he needs time to consider Padraig’s deeds and how to atone for his sins. He suggests Padraig spend the rest of the day in meditation and prayer.

  ​Padraig returns to his quarters and tries to follow Germanus’ advice. He hears the occasional soldier pass by his door but decides if they were going to kill him they would have done so already. They must believe him. He makes himself comfortable on the floor and closes his eyes, his mind half praying and half wandering. He pictures her in his mind and he sees her smile. It had been so long between her smiles in those latter years. He remembers her scent. For Caomh there is almost no memory. Padraig strains but there is no image of his son’s smile. Nor of his son’s speech nor his smell nor laughter. There are glimpses. Hair flying as he runs. Eyes. Growing limbs. Speech, but too distant to be intelligible. Indecipherable. As he may be.

  ​There is a tree in a meadow and the breeze is blowing and the three of them are together, he and Clara and his son. A son who he doesn’t know, but who he knows like a stranger in a dream, is at once familiar. They talk and they laugh and they run. The sunlight warms them, but the short showers of the summer, the ones Clara always welcomed, keep the day from being too hot. They are in the middle of something and he can almost remember what they are doing when he sees the darkness in Caomh’s eyes and behind them there are storm clouds, big and ugly, breaking up the sky. The meadow withers and dies and the tree is on fire and around them there are men fighting with all the dark panoply of war.

  ​His family is gone and the sights around him turn to shades.

  ​Six

  ​He awakes in the dead of night covered in sweat. The day has escaped him. Germanus and two soldiers stand in the doorway.

  ​You can leave us, Germanus tells the soldiers before turning to Padraig. We heard you even in the yard.

  ​It was only a nightmare.

  ​Perhaps. There’s much to burden your mind. I have thought of your penance.

  ​And it is?

  ​As for your woman, many are guilty of such sins and though it does not excuse it is at least an understandable temptation, especially in consideration of your inability to wed. Though you should have been temperate in your desires. Your crimes in war were not of your own volition and that tempers the sins. Your despairing against God, while certainly a lapse, also led to your acceptance of your situation and God’s guidance, and so if nothing else there is remorse and a desire for forgiveness in your actions. As for the murder. One could see it as an act of mercy depending on the severity of his illness.

  ​One could.

  ​But I see anger in your motives. I think this was vengeance by your hand which is the Lord’s alone. That, coupled with your other sins, particularly your despair and rejection of our God, means that for absolution you must dedicate your life to him.

  ​Padraig stares blankly at Germanus. He seems about to speak but then closes his mouth. His body slumps as though the muscle has gone from it.

  ​You have no children. You have no wife, Germanus says. You could serve the Lord in the footsteps of the apostles. By giving hope to those who lack hope, you atone for your own hopelessness. By showing the path of eternal life to those living in darkness you make amends for the life you took.

  ​I’m not a holy man. I’ve kept God in my heart during my tribulations as best as I could, but there’s nothing to mark me as different from other men. I have rejected Him when he was inconvenient. I am nothing more than a hypocrite.

  ​Saint James writes that faith without works is dead. Even those who knew our Lord were shameful sinners, for we are human and our inheritance is sin. I believe that the Lord has called you into his service. You are, of course, free to make your own decisions, but I don’t think that you will find peace in any other life.

  ​I deserve His Wrath.

  ​But also His Mercy. There are those who would reduce Him to Mercy and ignore His Divine Justice. But equally there are those who make the mistake of assuming that our God is the executioner tallying our transgressions in delight, ready to swing the sword. They ignore that His Justice is complemented by His Mercy. He is infinitely just and infinitely merciful and to deny this is to deny the nature of our Lord. Remember that Christ surrounded himself with sinners as our Divine Physician, for the well are in no need of a physician, but the sick are in great need. There are many sick in the world, Patricius, spiritually sick and dying. You have seen it with your own eyes. You have seen it here. You have seen it in your captivity. Stay here with me and I will help you to heal those who are sick. You can serve the Lord and in his service even your own crimes will be redeemed through His Mercy.

  ​May I consider what you have said? Padraig asks.

  ​Of course. You are free to stay here for the time being. If nothing else, I would feel terrible sending you on your way in your present condition. Stay here and recuperate and when you can travel I will help make arrangements for your return home, if that is what you desire.

  ​Home, Padraig says.

  ​Yes, your home. Whether you stay with me and enter into God’s service or you choose to return to your home, you have that choice. No one here will make it for you. I’ll inform the garrison they are to treat you as my guest until you make your decision.

  ​After Germanus has left, Padraig sits on his bed a moment. He tries to lay down again but there is something within
him that will not be still. He stares at a tapestry on the wall, trying to decide what scene it depicts, but the images continue to fade from his eyes and he realizes he is staring blankly, not seeing. He feels the need to get out of the walls and asks one of the guards for a good place to walk. The soldier tells him that nearby there is a village, the village that Germanus has been helping for the last few years. He gives Padraig instructions on how to travel there.

  ​As soon as he is outside the walls, Padraig repeats the directions in his memory. He looks back at the walls, then the surrounding forest, once more at the walls, then begins to travel toward the village. The forest is much as he had left it during his month-long trek. The trees stand bare. They creak and shift and the branches break in the distance. It is only here that he releases what he misses in this land, even stranger than the last. The scent of the ocean is gone. Here in the woods they are far from the sea, farther than he had been even in his captivity.

  ​The directions are true and he reaches the village with little difficulty. It stands as though the forest’s secret, carved into an otherwise homogenous stretch of woodland. Sickly fire rises up from some of the habitations as he approaches.

  ​As he walks through the village, a man and a child carry firewood. A woman draws water from a well. People go about their daily business. In the midst of the crowd, a beggar sits against a crude wall. Bandaged, grey, dirty. Leprous, Padraig thinks. Those who pass him by are not in much better condition. These are the people who are tied to the land, he tells himself. Whichever people has moved through the land, whether now the Romans or before that the shifting tribes of the barbarians, these people remain in this forest in their bit of civilization. For them the day is rising and working and sleeping. Their children become the elders and their grandchildren continue on. He watches them going about their business. A sparrow flies by.

  ​The sun eclipsed by some obstruction catches his eye as he continues his walk. At the center of the village is the church. New stone sits atop new stone, and the whole structure rises above the rest of the buildings. Though the stonework is not as grand as that of some great artisan, it is larger and greater than anything Padraig has seen before, certainly more so than the chapel in which his father had served as a deacon.

  ​Sitting in the nexus of the village streets, he feels drawn to it, as though the open doors are irresistible. There is only the shadow of the interior through the oak doors. He enters. Sometime later he emerges and the sun hurts his eyes after being accustomed to the candlelight.

  ​He looks again over the village, down the streets, at the inhabitants. He remembers Clara. Caomh. He remembers the shack in the shadow of Milchu’s hill. The sheep. The other slaves over the years. The battles fought between a few dozen men. He remembers the night with Clara and the fire. There were others. The villagers buy and sell. They talk to one another. The children run through the streets in their play and those with parents nearby are sometimes scolded and those without parents seem to take their scolding as their own. Different streets hold different trades, from butchers to blacksmiths to potters.

  ​From outside the church he can see down every street. He watches the peasants in their days and knows that they will congregate there soon for the Mass and for some of them it will be the only day without work. For many of them. He walks home past the leper and back into the woods.

  ​The memory of his time with Galchobhar is even stronger as he returns to the fortress. It blends together with Suibhne. Murchadh burning. Peripheral glimpses of hair, limbs, laughter, the rocking of the sea, the emptiness of the plains, the dotted groves of trees.

  ​When he reaches the walls of the Roman fortress, he is relieved. The guard lets him through and he goes straight to where he knows he can find Germanus.

  ​Patricius, Germanus says at the door. Have you made a decision?

  ​Yes, I’ve made my decision.

  ​And?

  ​Yes. I will serve God, as you see fit.

  ​Good, Germanus says. It will not be quick or easy. Can you read?

  ​No, Padraig says.

  ​That will come first. It won’t be as easy with you as it will be with some of our younger students, but we will make the lesson stick.

  ​I will do my best.

  ​That is all I ask. Now, let us pray.

  ​Seven

  ​Six more years pass in Gaul. Reading and writing are not far from Germanus’ warning. They come difficultly to Padraig but he continues trying even when, as predicted, the younger students surpass him, but eventually he is adequate. Once he is able to read he can supplement the theological discussions with his mentor with his own reading and study. He learns the prayers of the Liturgy and serves Germanus as a deacon, like his own father. In addition to the theological pursuits, he aids Germanus in helping the community itself. The village continues to grow and the relative stability of the nearby garrison encourages its growth. Eventually Padraig is no longer a deacon but a priest, one of several new priests Germanus ordains to assist with his duties. He even travels beyond Gaul and spends a summer in Rome studying before returning to his new home.

  ​He stands in front of the congregation and blesses them in the church of the village. It is six years older, but it is six years in stone and so it is almost timeless. The crowd mimes his motion and they are given permission to leave. Afterward, some come up to him and ask for blessings or prayers. He tells them he will give them what they request, speaking to them in their thick Gaulish Latin.

  ​He looks down the street opposite the door and a familiar face approaches. Germanus and a retinue are coming to his church. He walks down to greet them.

  ​Your grace, it’s been too long, Padraig says.

  ​Yes, Germanus says. Unfortunately I’ve been kept from visiting. As soon as I find a chance to rest, always there is more. How have you been my friend?

  ​Well. The parish continues to grow and this year has been good to the people.

  ​I’m glad to hear it. Would you mind if we talked inside?

  ​Of course not, Padraig says. Germanus leaves his retinue at the door and the two men go into the privacy of the now-empty nave.

  ​What is wrong, Germanus? Padraig asks.

  ​Nothing is wrong. I just needed to talk to you in private.

  ​Of course, Padraig says, but his eyebrows reflect his concern.

  ​The clergy of Britannia are riddled with the horrid heresies of Pelagius, as I think you might know.

  ​I have heard of Pelagius, yes. And his heresy. He denies we are all born of sin and teaches we may redeem ourselves without the aid of Christ, does he not?

  ​Yes, he does. For too long he has been able to spread his lies, and on that island it is particularly problematic. As a result I will need to make arrangements to travel there to put their house in order.

  ​I see.

  ​I’d like to take you with me, Patricius, Germanus says. Not only could I use your help in turning around our wayward brothers, I think it might be good for you to return home. You’ve been gone many years now, haven’t you?

  ​Over a decade.

  ​If you travel with me you could have a chance to see your family again, to return to your home. I do need your assistance, as I say, but there’s no reason we couldn’t visit your settlement.

  ​Home, Padraig says.

  ​Yes.

  ​I don’t even know if I remember home anymore. It’s been so long.

  ​I understand, Germanus says. Consider, though, where you are needed most by God, Patricius. This village has flourished and certainly you are a part of its secret. But the people here are Christians almost to the man. You are a good priest and you do right by your people, but there are those yet who are ignorant of God’s word. Those who would respect you because you are one of them.

  ​I hadn’t considered it.

  ​Don’t you want to see your family?

  ​Padraig stands and looks at one of the tapestries adorning the wall
s of the church. He knows now that it depicts a scene from the gospels, as he has seen it often through the years. Germanus waits.

  ​What will I say to them? Who knows if they even still live, Padraig says.

  ​You won’t know unless you try to find out. You’ve been gone many years, but not enough that there’s no chance of your family still being alive. Besides, Germanus says, you look more like something wild from that place than another of our missionaries. The beard suits you, though.

  ​When would we depart? Padraig asks.

  ​I would have to make preparations to cross the water. We would also need to find someone to replace you here so that your work could continue on in your absence. I’d think it would be two months before we could depart. Plenty of time to ready yourself.

  ​Padraig knows there is much to be done before the

  day they are to depart. He helps the villagers with their harvest and aids in the repair of the church which looks unchanged but must be maintained nevertheless. He travels to the homes of the feeble and gives them the Eucharist, and in the homes of the sick he gives holy unction. Babies are born and babies are christened and couples are married both before and after. Between these regular but memorable events stand hundreds, thousands of the mundane daily tasks of living and of civil living.

  ​The day they leave, the boats are gathered at the shore and wait to depart. He is sore from having traveled from the village to Calad. The salt air reminds him of his previous voyages and he stares out at the landless horizon. This time, however, there are servants and large amounts of baggage and they take several ships. He will not be on the boards and there will not be, he hopes, a storm. Looking around him he feels more like a returning king than Patricius, son of Calpurnius. He readies himself in the ship as it launches and Germanus talks pleasantly with the captain for hours as Padraig looks into the swirling slate water.

  ​The trip itself is uneventful and over by the time Germanus’ conversation with the captain begins to wane. Though they have servants the arrival of the ships lacks the fanfare of their departure. Some castle rises like petrified cloud out of the distance, and as they approach they see it is the great white cliffs that herald their arrival. They travel onward until there is a place where they can land more easily and then the process of unpacking and forming their traveling procession begins.