We will travel East, Germanus announces once everything is ashore. There we will find welcome among Patricius’ Volcae and we can get a sense of the mood of the island.
They would be honored to have you, your grace, Padraig says.
The land itself had not seen such a group in sometime, the soldiers and the servants and the clergy walking through vast tracts of land watched by the unseen.
For days they walk and soon enter into the frontier of the familiar. Padraig begins to know the landscape as his own.
West is my father, he says, turning to Germanus. East is the largest settlement you will find. If I’ve your permission I’d like to set out to my home. You’ll find the people of the settlement hospitable. Do I have your leave?
Of course, Patricius, Germanus says. Go and do what you must. Come meet us in the settlement when you have concluded your business. We will remain there a fortnight before leaving.
Padraig separates from the company. It is not another day before he recognizes every leaf, every stone. For the land itself there has been no change. Whether ten years, or twenty, or thirty his home remains the same. Whether the shifting settlements remain is irrelevant. He marks his home by the firm and the real. The hills tell him he is home. The scents tell him he is home. A few minutes later and he sees the hill. It is the hill.
He crosses over and there sits the house. It is untouched by memory. Walking the hill with his robes nearly sweeping across the ground, he realizes he has not made this walk in over a decade. A middle-aged man is outside of the home. When he sees Padraig approach, he stops what he is doing and looks at the cleric.
Hello, Father, Calpurnius says. You are far away from home.
I am home, Padraig says.
I don’t understand.
You don’t recognize your son?
Calpurnius looks at him. He lifts his arm and his mouth opens. His mouth closes and his arm drops. He leans his head closer.
Patricius, he says.
I’m home, Padraig says.
Calpurnius hugs Padraig tightly and Padraig feels his shirt become damp at the shoulder as his father whispers his love.
I’d thought you were dead, Calpurnius says.
I’d hoped you weren’t, Padraig says.
His home is much as he left it. In truth there is a decade of wear in the walls and in the items that have remained during that time, but Padraig knows only that it is familiar. His father prepares a modest dinner and serves it.
You wandered off that day and I never knew what happened, Calpurnius says. I thought you were drowned or taken by animals or murdered or any number of things.
None of them, Padraig says. I was taken by raiders and for some time I was a slave across the sea in Hibernia.
So close.
I was there for many years. Eventually I was able to escape and it was then that I landed in Gaul. I knew no better way to get back to you. I just needed to leave. So I landed in Gaul and there I was found by a Roman garrison and the bishop there. And now I am a priest. I am home.
A priest. And home.
Yes, a priest.
I hadn’t recognized you. With the beard. My God, you must be near thirty now.
Closer than I was when you last saw me. The beard is from the Scotta. From my captivity. It is their fashion and I have never rid myself of it.
It suits you. So you are back for good then?
I wish that were so. I am here with my bishop, Germanus. From Gaul. He trained me to be a priest. We are here on official business. I have to meet him in close to a fortnight to aid in the mission, helping to fix the heresies that plague the clergy here.
You will leave again.
Yes. But I hope not for long. After we have fulfilled our mission then perhaps Germanus will permit me to stay here with my people. It has been so long. I don’t think he would deny me as long as the mission has been completed.
Well. Well, I have you now, if nothing else. Your mother would have been proud. Proud as she was with my diaconate. More.
I know. But she didn’t have to have her heartbroken, either. She always had me here.
True, Calpurnius says.
And you never...?
No, just her. I’ve been too busy. Helping with the church, helping with the farmers, helping the shepherds. Protecting against--against pirates.
But I am here. For close to a fortnight. And then after if the bishop permits.
Yes, you are here now. And perhaps after. And it is so good to have you here, son.
Padraig sleeps where he is always slept. It is unchanged, in the same part of the house it has always been in. Padraig looks at the ceiling and even the same shapes and forms which had occupied his thoughts in his early years still reside there, and it isn’t long before his eyes close.
The morning arrives soon enough and for a moment he is fifteen again, but then his age hits him at once. He is not fifteen. His father is already awake. Padraig is surprised at himself. He usually wakes with the light, if not before, and had woken early for so long, but his father still is awake before him. He walks outside. Calpurnius stands watching the rising sun.
What are you doing? Padraig asks.
Watching the sun, Calpurnius says.
I see, he says.
I’ve done it for some time now. I watch it rise and then I watch it set. I like watching it set. I’ll sit out here with the rocks and the grass and stare out at the water and the sun setting. The same with the sunrise.
What will we do today?
There is a fence which needs repair. The stones have come loose and much of it is in ruins.
Let’s see it then, Padraig says.
The two men travel and though the estate is large they reach their destination still in the light of morning. A stone fence sits before them, once waist-high and expertly stacked to withstand the elements. It cuts a neat white line across the countryside, though a long section now lays scattered around the base of the wall and through the surrounding field.
What happened here? Padraig asks.
I don’t know, his father says. Somehow. I’m not sure when I last walked this fence.
We will fix it now, then.
Yes, we will fix it now.
The work is hard but honest and the hours progress easily. The stones can be lifted by a single man, only the largest with difficulty. Cut for the purpose, the stones lay together well and it only takes a little planning for the two men to stack them in a pattern which will hold.
You are quiet, Padraig says when the wall is as high as their knees.
I’m focused on my work.
You are quieter than I remember, I mean.
There is something you’d like me to say?
No.
Good. For over ten years you were gone.
Yes, Padraig says.
For over ten years I thought you were dead.
Yes. This is the soonest I could return.
Before you leave again.
Yes, I have to leave again.
And how long were you a captive, again?
Six years.
You were a captive for six years but you return after twelve.
I told you the only ship I found was headed to Gaul.
And after?
I couldn’t leave. There was work to do.
I’ve had no work this past decade.
Padraig works on in silence and Calpurnius rejoins him. The fence rises higher until its progress is inverse to the sun’s. Eventually the fence is at its proper height and the last of the stones from the field is in place. Padraig faces a breeze and lets it take the sweat from him.
Come with me, Calpurnius says.
Where are we going? Padraig asks.
Come and you’ll see.
They walk down the fence for a time.
In the distance a shepherd sits on a hill with his sheep. He looks at them and they him and pass in silence.
Eventually they reach a small home. The stone outside has seen many seasons. The roof stands in disrepair and Padraig suspects provides little protection from rain. An old man sits outside.
Calpurnius, the man says when they approach. How are you?
I’m well, Armel. And you?
I’ve had worse days. Who is this with you?
This is my son.
Your son?
Yes.
Armel looks at Padraig. The old man’s face is a scarred mess on one side.
I suppose you should have a seat, Armel says.
Thank you, Calpurnius says.
Padraig and Calpurnius sit on the stones that surround a firepit. Though the daylight is fading, the sun is still in the sky and the air is warm and no fires have been lit.
I haven’t seen you in a month or two, Armel says.
I have been busy, Calpurnius says.
Me too, me too, Armel says. There’s always so much to do. So, boy, you’re miraculously back from the dead?
Padraig doesn’t know how to reply.
Don’t look so shocked. I’m too old to be polite. Besides, if you hear about a friend’s dead son and one day he shows up you’d be interested, too.
I was only captured, never dead.
Ah, that’s fortunate for you. Very fortunate. Or perhaps unfortunate. I suppose it depends on the captivity.
There might have been a time I’d have agreed with you, Padraig says.
I don’t see it happening with my own.
What’s that?
I don’t see my own people returning to me.
Were they taken?
Yes. And when they took my wife and my girl and my boy they left me this lovely face to remember them by. That was before you were taken. Years before. This is when the Romans were still here, before they took their legions from this place and left us alone and surrounded by those they turned against us.
That’s how Armel and I met, Calpurnius says. Well, how we started talking. I had known him before, but I sought him out after you were gone.
I see, Padraig says.
Do you? Armel asks. They are dead to me now. Dead no matter their fate. And I pray that fate is death. The thought of what has become of them otherwise is something I can’t bear, so I wake up every morning and I thank God for their deaths and that they came so quick. But you don’t know what I mean. You have no wife. You have no daughter.
I had a woman and a son, Padraig says. Calpurnius looks at him.
Had you?
Yes.
Dead?
Yes.
And were they taken from you?
Illness.
You watched this?
Yes.
Then you don’t know what I’m talking about. Leave your grief to those of us with cause to grieve. We don’t have time for the resurrected and their sorrows.
Padraig is quiet after this and soon the conversation becomes less volatile. Armel and Calpurnius talk into the early darkness. They move from the stones when the fire is lit and they use their movement as reason to leave. Padraig and his father walk back to their own dwelling in the clean dark of the early evening. The air is fresh and they are tired from the work of the day.
When they reach Padraig’s childhood home, Calpurnius’ home, they need no time to fall asleep. They wake after a couple hours and have something to eat and there is little talking before they go back to sleep. There in the stone walls they sleep into the early morning.
Padraig dreams. He is on the water of the sea, though he feels no dampness and looking down he doesn’t touch the water with his feet but hovers. Though he floats above the sea, there are no waves; the water is untouched by wind or tide. He can see through to the bottom of the sea, see through to the rocks and canyons. There are no fish. The entire bottom is illuminated as though no deeper than a puddle. There is a flash of light from the sky which he looks up too slow to witness. All that remains is a trail of smoke to mark the passage of the unseen object. He hears something behind him and turns. His family waves to him from an island made of gleaming white rocks. There is something wrong with the rocks, and he sees that each has two deep recesses near the top. He blinks and his family and the island are gone and again there is nothing but sea. A figure comes to him across the water, a man wearing robes of white and gold.
Are you the Christ? Padraig asks.
I am not, the man says.
Who are you then?
I am Victorius.
I don’t know anyone named Victorius, Padraig says.
I have a letter for you, Victorius says and Padraig sees that all about him are letters of different sizes and shapes and rolling all through the air.
Which one is mine?
This one, the man says without pointing. In Padraig’s hands there is a letter and it seems to zoom before him so that it fills his vision. It is written in a language he does not know, and yet he knows that it says We beg you holy youth that you shall come and walk among us again.
What does this mean? Padraig asks the vision.
You have read it.
I don’t know what it means.
But you’ve read it.
The water slips beneath them like a piece of fabric drawn past rapidly and is replaced by land. It writhes beneath them so close Padraig is afraid it will touch his feet and he sees it is not the land itself but thousands upon thousands of slithering, grabbing, twisting things with their silky, long sides and gleaming and grasping pincers. He looks upon them as Victorius speaks.
You have read the letter. You know that the holy cry for you in the midst of the enemy. Look into the clutching pit beneath you and see the suffocated cries of its victims.
Padraig looks closer while forcibly swallowing, and there he sees the stripped bodies of men and women of all ages mired in the twisting shapes and staring at him wide-eyed, as though they had something to say and could not. The muscles in their arms stand out as they try to reach with restrained limbs. Their mouths work silently and he looks away.
Who are these people? he asks.
These are those in need of your help, Victorius says.
My help? Where?
You know.
I don’t.
At the sound of his words, Victorius erupts into a ball of light. There is a pillar of flame where the man once floated before him, a pillar crackling and shifting and dancing like a mirror of the creatures below it. Beneath its shape the hideous things are blasted away and there is only good, clean earth.
Man, the pillar says, its voice seeming to pour through all of Padraig. You are like a worm, crawling to its hole for food or from its hole for air to avoid the rain. How can a worm begin to know its purpose? And yet it is there. So, too, are you there and you are given great purpose, and though you have within you only the power of the worm- for you are from the worm and it is to the worm you shall return- you are bound also with spirit and it is from this that you receive your strength.
But I don’t know what I’m to do.
You will be given all that you need to fulfill your purpose. Only in your disobedience can any stand against you. You must submit as they will.
I will.
Padraig wakes before dawn comes across the horizon; he adjusts his eyes to the darkness and watches his sleeping father. He rises and dresses himself and gathers together his things and then says a small prayer before he walks to his father’s bed. He kisses the sleeping man on the forehead, then turns and walks out the door, making sure as he goes not to make a noise. All that follows his movement out of the home is the watery blue of a single open eye.
Once Padraig is on the road he remembers the country again and his progress is swift as he is unencumbered
by company. The sun rises in his face and before it is on his back he sees Germanus’ camp not far in the distance.
He sees the scouts as he approaches and by the time he reaches the camp Germanus is waiting for him.
We didn’t expect you for a while longer yet, Germanus says.
I finished my business faster than I expected, Padraig says. I didn’t need the whole fortnight.
And your father?
Alive. Well, I think.
I’m glad to hear it, Germanus says. Early or not, I’m glad you are here. There is something I want to talk about with you. Come with me.
What is the matter?
The heresy here is rampant. There’s work to be done, Patricius.
I know, your excellency. It is why I accompanied you. To assist.
Well. Well, yes, that is why you have come, but I think we may have to amend your mission a bit.
How’s that?
I can’t ensure that this place will remain faithful to God’s Word when its borders are a constant source of danger, actual and spiritual. There is nothing, without the legions here, to keep the dogs at bay.
I’m not sure I follow.
If there are those who would threaten the people of God living all around them, then how can we be sure ours may practice their true faith in peace and not be led into heresy or back into their vile paganism?
I understand.
Which is why I am amending your mission.
What is my mission to be, then?
I want you to evangelize the people of Hibernia. Until that particular place is brought into order with the rest of God’s kingdom how can we expect its neighbors to be safe to practice their own faith.
Me? But I’ve only been a priest such a short time.
You have the drive in you, Patricius. You are willing to serve God, and to serve Him totally.
But my willingness doesn’t qualify me any more than the next priest, Padraig says, a look of panic creeping across his face.
You will be more accepted there. What do you think will happen if I send one of our Roman priests to that island?
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 8
