Those of the people who had looked with hesitation between Padraig and his challenger now seem to be drifting after Padraig and his men, who are already forming a line to head back to their home.
Who are you? one of them asks.
My name is Padraig, he says.
His grace, Bishop Padraig, Dichu says. Christ Jesus has brought with His kingdom a new order.
The freed men offer each other confused glances but continue falling in behind Padraig’s men. They march toward what the men seem always to refer to as Padraig’s Barn, even though the building is now the church in which they have their services. As they march, Padraig and a few others walk up and down the line administering to the needs of the freed captives and checking the injuries of those who had been in the fighting.
Padraig comes across one captive and stops. She is younger than him, though mostly out of her girlhood. Long hair which had once been blonde falls past her upper back. As she walks past him, she smiles and he looks into her eyes until she glances away. He walks quickly and falls in beside her.
What is your name? he asks.
Brigid, she says.
You were born here?
We are all from a different tribe. They were bringing us back as spoils.
I see.
And you are Padraig.
I am.
You claim you bring a new god to us.
That’s untrue.
It is?
My God is older than the earth itself. He laughs at Fintan mac Bochra, who lived for almost six thousand years. He is new to this land only in that you and your people have not recognized Him as your God.
But you will teach us about him?
I will. These people around us, the ones who freed you, are already believers. They will find eternal peace with him upon their deaths.
Is that what your god offers?
It is.
And your wife? Does she also believe?
I have no wife.
At your age?
I am not permitted, Padraig says, looking ahead. Christ is married to his church and I follow him in this as in all things.
You are not permitted to have a woman?
Padraig stumbles.
I’m sorry, I must attend to some of the others. Make sure you stay with us once we reach our destination.
Padraig falls back into the line and pretends not to see her smile. He turns his back toward her.
Though their attack was outside of the bounds of Dichu’s own tribal domain, it is not far beyond and soon they are in sight of his home atop its hill. Padraig looks across them, at the worn and filthy men, women, and children who until that morning had been bound and were going to market. They are surrounded by men crusted over with their camouflage; it is a procession of the weary. From the distance, it must seem like sickly trees torn from the ground and animated.
At the top of the hill, women have gathered, the women of Dichu’s men, Padraig’s men, and they have prepared food for the returning warriors and for those they seek to protect. The trees of the hill have been changed, many of them cut down and arranged into a crude wall, turning Dichu’s home and Padraig’s barn into an ad hoc fortress.
The people file through the entrance, past the mess of earthwork and soon all are gathered, awaiting to receive their food. The warriors eat with the hunger of those who are tired and have exerted themselves and who are alive, while the freed slaves eat so that many of them are sick and the rest must be encouraged to slow down so more of the food is not lost.
Padraig joins them in their feast knowing there will be few feasts remaining for them, and though there is a place of honor set for him, he doesn’t stay in one place but instead takes his food and his drink with many around the area.
When all have finished with their meal, Padraig invites them into the converted church. It is the first time for many of them and they walk reluctantly, sluggish with the food they have eaten and unsure of what ceremony is expected of them in the barn.
They are greeted by the first of Padraig’s renovations to the space, an altar specially prepared for his use by Dichu and his men and according to Padraig’s specifications. It dominates the holy place, solid and immovable, its rough-hewn stone covered from top to bottom with simple cloths, but the finest the people can provide.
The warriors, mostly cleansed of their camouflage and presentable except for the occasional leaf or smudge across their skin, stand in the front of the church and take their positions, as this is not their first liturgy and they have learned some of the routine of worship for their new deity.
The newcomers uncertainly tend toward the back, some not leaving the simple vestibule and eventually fill in the spaces as they are half-herded, half-pressured by example into their proper position in the nave. The number of participants and the more appropriate atmosphere and decoration of the space has provided it with a different service than the first one Padraig performed for Dichu and his family alone.
Soon a scuffle breaks out, Padraig’s men fighting against clawing, scratching ex-slaves, the warriors wearing looks of confusion on their faces at the viciousness of the fighting from those they have rescued. Padraig’s warriors take care not to harm the people and fight to restrain them, but their opponents show no such concern and soon Dichu’s men are bleeding from a number of violent, albeit shallow, wounds. The surrounding crowd, having moved away from the sudden fighting, waits apprehensively, many looking more and more uncomfortable with the strange situation offered by their liberators.
Soon the fight reaches an equilibrium, with the desperate newcomers gathered into a tight cluster and encircled by still-confused warriors.
What’s the meaning of this? Dichu shouts at the combatants.
We won’t be saved from the slavers just to die like sheep, one of them replies.
Why would you die? Dichu asks.
Look around you, the same one says to his people. They have brought us here to be offered to their new god. They need someone to give them the power they seek and we’ll do for we are only slaves. They are just poorer than the other masters we’ve known before and would rather steal us and kill us than buy us.
A moment passes, the crowd staring in silence, before Dichu begins to chuckle. Soon the rest of his men and those already part of the settlement join him, and even Padraig smiles.
See, they mock us even now, the insurrection’s leader says.
We do not mock you, Dichu says. We are laughing because you have mistaken your purpose here. None of us will ever be sacrificed to our God. He has sacrificed Himself for us. You are confused; that’s fine. It will be made clear to you in time. Until then, calm yourselves and be seated. Harm will not find you here.
The ceremony begins and the people experience for the first time their new god. Padraig is before them and carries on with his incomprehensible rite as they look on. Dichu assists him, providing him with water and cloths as needed throughout. Watching all of them, and Padraig too, from its place above the altar is a large wooden crucifix, recently carved and still smelling of the freshcut wood. The simple wooden Christ looks out straight ahead across the crowd of them, his features done in the style of their own people. His arms, inseparable from the arms of the cross, stretch open to the room, and behind his body built into the cross itself is the ring of the sun upon which the cross and the body are superimposed.
Padraig turns to face the crowd, the dirt and sweat and widened eyes taking in his majesty in that place. The sun streams through the slitted windows and the cup and bread call to those assembled before him.
He looks over them as he says what he must say, the words centuries old before he was born, and there is Dichu and Etain and Oisin and some of Dichu’s men who he is getting to know and the children from the morning and the fathers and the women and there is the girl, the blonde, Brigid, and she is staring at
him with a halfsmile and he stares back at her. Dichu coughs. Padraig also coughs and continues his prayer. He uses his time to address the people and he tells them of his God and makes a case for their worship of this stranger to their land, though he goes through great pains to show them how the Lord has always been in their home without their knowledge.
Soon it is ended and they depart in peace and among them there is much discussion as they absorb what they have seen. Padraig promises many he will talk with them more when there is more time, and the discussions continue onward as groups of people split off.
You are needed in the house, Etain says, approaching Padraig. Since his association with the family and the consecrating of their barn, the house itself becomes a headquarters for him.
Who needs me? he asks.
Some women. In their finery, she says, raising an eyebrow.
I’ll see what they want, he says.
Inside the house there are four women, dressed well and with long brushed hair and much finer fabric than he has seen on any of the refugees, and still their youth upon them though they have entered solidly into womanhood.
You are Padraig, one of them says, a tall woman with a proud nose and mouth and dark hair.
I am. And you are?
I am Dairine, and these are Ite, Laoise, and Mella, the tall woman says, each woman greeting him as she is introduced.
What’s brought you to me? Padraig asks. He keeps a cautious amount of distance between the women and him.
We had heard of what you are doing here and wanted to see for ourselves, Dairine says casually, moving slightly closer.
You attended our liturgy?
We did, they say.
You say that you heard of what I was doing. Where did you hear it?
Oh Padraig, Laoise says. You don’t know much about our people, do you? I thought you had stayed among us.
Where would you have heard that? Padraig asks. He notices that Ite and Mella separate him from the door, while Dairine and Laoise are closer on this other side. He remembers that Dichu will be seeing to those they have rescued and he has sent Etain away.
I thought you would have realized by now that word travels fast here, Laoise says. If you create a stir, the sort of stir that you are causing, then word will be spread.
We have traveled far to visit you, Ite says. And even from our homes in the west we have heard of you. How else do you think we would know to find you?
I don’t know how you have found me, Padraig says. He slowly moves himself away from the closer pair of the women and finds behind his back one of Dichu’s axes, propped against the wall. He thanks God for loose-fitting robes and places a hand upon the handle of the axe.
Others will come too, you know. It won’t just be us, Laoise says.
Like who?
Oh, I expect you’ll find out soon enough, Dairine says. We ourselves have come from families that would think of your Dichu as another peasant. I suspect a great many important eyes will soon turn your way, if they haven’t already.
You’ve come to warn me, he says.
Warn you? Of what, that you will have difficulty here with all your efforts? That you have offended the oakseers and their ways? If we had traveled so far to tell you so little we would be nothing but silly little girls. What of that information do you not already know? You are a learned man if the rumors are true, why not have one of those among us who is literate write you if we wanted you to know what you know already long after the information would have proved useful?
Then why have you come? Padraig asks.
For the same reason you have come, Laoise says.
To spread God’s word?
To spread God’s word. You are not the first Christian who has come to this place, though so far you seem to have made more progress than the others. We want to be part of what you are doing here. We have come here because it is said you are the bishop, you are called Your Grace throughout the land and we can do nothing without your consent.
What is it that you would do? Padraig asks, his hand releasing the axe behind his back.
Not difficult, that. We have heard of hermits who devote their entire lives to the Lord, living away from the world and focusing their lives on him.
What place would that have with these people here?
Your movement here is effective, but it’s also martial. You might say too martial. Eventually you will have too many people to live here behind these fortifications. How would you appear to your converts? A besieged lord in an overcrowded stronghold riddled with starvation and disease. If you’re to become successful you must take your message to the people, not the people to you. They will have to live in their towns again, in their villages, on their farms, with their clans.
An interesting thought, Padraig says.
Interesting or not, it is the truth. With just a bit of land we could serve the spiritual needs of the people. You’d be free to travel and your new way of life for the people would be able to replace the old in earnest.
What of the men? Surely some of them would want to follow your same calling. There would be men who would want to also dedicate themselves to the Lord. There would need to be priests as well- I have not yet created any priests to assist me. Nor deacons, nor any of the minor orders.
For the religious men, what of them? If they’re truly holy men then there would be nothing preventing them from staying with or near us. If they are not holy men or if we have unholy women among us, then nothing prevents them from being cast aside, Dairine says. As for your priests, and all the rest, create them. The more you rely on yourself to spread your message to this people, the more strain you put on yourself and the more you leave yourself open to danger. If you’re at the center of all things, how long do you think it will take your enemies to find this weakness? If you don’t think you have enemies then you are mistaken.
Will you permit me some time to consider your proposal? Padraig asks.
Of course, your excellency, Dairine says. We’ve traveled a long way to seek your permission and would not so soon leave you, especially without having first received our answer.
Thank you for your understanding. I’ll give it serious consideration and prayer and will inform you of my decision.
Thank you, they all say as one and exit the home.
Padraig sits, still stunned, and stares at the stone wall. Outside there are voices. They pass by and grow faint and more come to replace them and they too are lost. After a moment Etain comes in.
That didn’t take so long, she says.
You’re too clever, Padraig says.
What did they want?
What does everyone want? They gave me something to think about, that’s all. They made some good points, though.
What’s that?
Nothing. Have I told you anything about my time as a slave here?
A bit. Not much, she says.
There was a time when I was here before when we were having trouble with a fox, which is to say that the man who owned us was having trouble with a fox. Two chickens had been killed.
Two chickens?
I know, a great loss. For one he would have traded I don’t know how many cattle. So because of this we had to deal with the fox, which as you know is easier said than done.
I know it.
More time goes by and another chicken is killed and by now our master is furious and we have no more time to find the fox. It must be done immediately. We have been trying to find it, you understand, but it has eluded us and he decides that the time for elusion is over.
Were you able to find it?
Fortunately for us, we were. We tracked it to its hiding place and we knew it was inside. There was no getting inside, but we knew that it was there.
How did you get it out?
We never did. We had dogs with us, great hounds,
shaggy things that were more like bears than dogs. We posted them outside of the fox’s earth and there they barked and barked and there was no escaping for the fox. Then we started a fire. Between that and the dogs it didn’t matter what decision it made, the fox was done for. What I remember, though, is that later we found its kits and the whole lot of them died there.
But they were taking your chickens from you. This was a fox that bothered you, it wasn’t as though it was just a family of foxes living in the wilderness. You had direct grievances with the beast.
We did. It wasn’t a random fox. It bothered my master, continued to bother him, and when at last he had enough of it he found the thing it its earth and he killed it as easily as-- as easily as the fox herself killed the chickens.
Padraig looks away from Etain. She stares at him and opens her mouth to say something. When no words come out she moves as to comfort him, but stops short of her approach. He sits as though he is another piece of furniture and there is something in his demeanor that keeps her away.
Good night, father, she says, and leaves.
Padraig looks at the stones and his eyes look as though they are staring through them. He mutters Good Night some time later and sits unmoving after that.
In the night, long after he realizes he should have slept, he stirs again and he is staring no longer into the stones but into darkness. He curses himself for not lighting a fire, then pauses. He stands, hearing a noise outside the door.
He walks toward it and curses again as his leg slams into some unseen obstacle. He hears the noise again and it sounds like someone is trying to get inside.
Who’s there? he asks.
Padraig, he hears.
Who’s there? he asks again.
It’s me.
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 11
