"Neither your horse nor your hound nor any soulless thing may enter that place."
"Well, then, take my answer, Patrick of the wheedling tongue: If in heaven you can never hear the song of the blackbird nor the linnet on the bough, nor the cry of the hounds on a frosty morning, nor the bellow of the stag as he comes leaping down the mountain, it's not the kind of a place I'd like to be spending the rest of my days in. No, no, Patrick of the Bells, don't be throwing up your hands that way, for, whatever happens to me, where I'd be is with my father and his people."
And after that it's how Patrick marveled that while he and Oisin might be talking pleasantly forever about battles and adventures and wonders, still and all, if the two of them began speaking about religious things, then before one could walk five spear-lengths the saint would be losing his temper and the hot anger would drive all convincing arguments and all good discourse to the four winds. So Patrick made up his mind that 'twas an evil spirit that was coming between the two of them, and that for the future the old warrior might say what he liked and Patrick would keep his temper.
Often, toward the end of the day, Oisin used to be climbing with his staff up the green slope of Slieve Carman, and it's there he would stay, his chin sunk in his two hands and he gazing sadly out to where the red sun was sinking into the western sea.
On a day, the son of Calphrun followed him to where he was sitting that way on the hillside, and the two of them remained there awhile without talking together, until Patrick spoke up and said:
"I'm a-wondering, O Oisin of the brooding mind, what is the secret worry and long fretting that's on you. By virtue of our friendship, tell me what trouble it is that you are keeping hidden and covered."
At that the old warrior shifted uneasily and turned away his face. "This is the trouble that's on me," he said at last. "Here I am among strangers, without bread and without any pleasant food. Look you, my breast is beginning to slant inward like a nesting curlew's breast, and soon enough, I am thinking, the two legs of me will be sunk to the size of a robin's legs. My grief and my woe! I, that was used to living in such great plenty, to be spending my days now among a houseful of fasting clerics!"
"It isn't true at all, what you are saying," the son of Calphrun replied. "Twoscore round wheaten cakes, with their share of wine and flesh, are what is given you every day except the fast-days. No, no; it isn't starvation at all that is on you, ungrateful old man."
But Oisin wagged his gray head and spoke stubbornly: "It's little liking I have for these same fast-days, O priest of the contending tongue, and it's few other kinds of days are coming into your house, and it for my sorrow filled at the same time with praying and singing. It's well I know that if generous Finn and my brave son Oscar were here to-day we would not be without plenty of meat this night at the command of the bell of the seven tolls."
And it's what Patrick, smiling, answered: "Have done, fond old man! Well I know that it's neither the fasting nor the prayers nor the chanting of the clerics that is on you, but only a long, deep yearning for the unblessed woman of magic in that far country, and for your children. And don't I know, too, why you come here day after day, staring across the white-ridged water?"
When Oisin heard that, he was silent for a while, but his two eyes dimmed with, the tears, and when he answered it's what he said:
"Well I know what a shame it is for a great warrior to be mourning for the sight of a woman, or to be ochoning and sorrowing after little children. But over there beyond that measureless sea, on the white shore of the Country of the Young, Niahm, my beautiful queen without blemish, is every day standing waiting for me, and that is why I sit here from the red of the evening till the black of the night. O Patrick, the heart inside of me is dry and empty as a withered nut with the lonesomeness and the age and the longing."
And Patrick spoke, comforting him: "Surely it is, as you say, a shame for a great warrior like yourself to be mourning and fretting after a woman, and she unblessed—a woman of magic, and not human at all. And you'll quit thinking of her now."
And it's what Oisin said then: "O Patrick, who has traveled the world over, it is yourself has not seen, East or West, nor yet have any of your clerics seen the equal of that woman for beauty or goodness. Her voice was softer than the black birds of Derrycarn when she spoke my name; a gold ring was always hanging from each curl of her shining hair; and the kisses of her lips were sweeter than honey mingled through red wine."
And Patrick said then: "Isn't it a pitiful thing to hear a withered old man with such silly words in his mouth? Isn't it fitter that you should be crying those hot tears for fear of the anger of God? "
And Oisin spoke from behind wet hands: "I will cry my fill of scalding tears, O Patrick of the white staves, though not for God, but for her and for Finn and for my lost people."
But Patrick put down his anger, and he said: "It is a sin for you to be crying that way after the like of any woman, and I will tell you now of how a woman first brought all the sin and trouble into the world."
And with that the saint began telling Oisin the true story of Adam and Eve. But when Patrick got to that part of the story where Adam was telling God that it was all Eve's fault, and that she had tempted him to eat, Oisin impatiently waved the saint to silence and wouldn't be listening any further, and it's what he said:
"Don't be telling me any more about your saints or of their doings! If I had Adam before me now, it's little breath I'd leave in his body to be carrying tales again that way on any poor woman! "
It was hard for Patrick to control himself then, but he put down his wrath and said: "Will you ever leave off with your empty words, O hoary old man? Shameful it is for me to be listening and you always talking in sinful mockery of the great saints."
And Oisin answered: "It isn't mockery. Were my own Oscar and your three greatest saints hand to hand on Cnocna-bh-Fiann, and if I saw my son down, I would say that your saints were strong men. Patrick, ask of God if he remembers when Finn fought with the king of the speckled ships, and if He has seen, East or West or in His own country, a man who was equal to my Finn."
And Patrick strove in vain to answer with a soft tongue, but he cried: "O wicked old man, it's little you know of God, to be speaking such wild words. It was He who made the sun and the moon and the stars; it is He that gives blossoms to the trees and makes the grass and the flowers to grow in the fields."
And Oisin spoke slowly and with scorn then: "It wasn't in making grass and birds and little flowers that my king took delight, but in spreading his banner in front of the fight, and in hacking at bones, and in leading his warriors where the danger was greatest, and in courting and swimming and hunting, and in beholding all in the house drinking. It was in such things as these, O son of Calphrun, that my king took delight. Now, Patrick, by virtue of the white book and the crozier that is lying there at its side, relate to me any great feat of strength or any great deed of fighting that was ever done by your King of saints; I haven't heard that He ever reddened His hands."
At that Patrick rose hastily from the rock, and took his crozier and his white book from the ground, and he was very wroth. Twice he tried to speak, and twice he held his words. Then it's what he said:
"Cease your blasphemies, O withered old man! It is your ignorance and want of knowledge that saves you from the present anger of God. Your time of grace is dwindling into hours; before they have slipped away entirely, submit to Him who does all things well. Stoop your head and strike your breast and shed your tears."
And it's what the warrior answered: "I will strike my breast, indeed, and shed my fill of tears, but not for God or for His saints, but for my Finn and the heroes." And then Oisin was alone on the side of the bleak hill.
But that night Patrick brought his own share of wheaten cakes and gave them to Oisin.
And on another day Patrick was speaking of the day of judgment, when all the dead would rise, when all who fell in battles and all who were drowned in
the waves, as well as those who died in their beds, would be coming together in one place for judgment. And the son of Finn asked of Patrick:
"Oh, tell me, priest of the pleasant speech, is it sure that Finn and my son Oscar will be there, and Luanan of the heavy spears, and Cruagan the mighty, and Mualan of the exploits?"
And Patrick answered: "Finn and all his host will stand before the judgment-seat on that day to take sentence for their sins."
And Oisin asked again: "Do you think will Cairbre, the high king, with the hosts of the Clanna Moirne, be let within sight of the Fianna?"
And Patrick answered, as before, that all men that were ever born of woman must stand before the judgment-seat that day. And it's what Oisin said:
"Well, then, I'm thinking, Patrick, that if all Finn's champions come together again that morning with the hosts of King Cairbre, who fought against us at Gabhra, you may tell your God that since the world began He never saw, East or West nor between heaven and the grass, such grand fighting as He will see that day."
And Patrick answered him sharply: "It's little fighting the Fianna will be doing there, and it's little they'll be thinking of battles; but it's mourning and weeping they'll be, and gnashing their teeth as they are being driven away into the burning pit."
And it's what Oisin answered: "O stranger in the country, isn't it the great spite you have against the champions of Ireland, who never did you any harm, to be putting the heavy lies on them that way! But let me tell you that it isn't mourning or weeping at all we will go from that place, but free and unhindered, marching proudly together, one breast even with another breast, our slanted spears shining, our silken banners spread, our bards chanting the noble war-songs, and the soldiers of heaven running frightened and scattered before us."
At that Patrick was in great trouble; and he went out of the house then, and shut himself up in the chapel, and it's there praying he was until evening; and he never stirred while the vespers were being read, and even long after the cloisters were still with the sleep Patrick was kneeling, with bowed head, like a statue of stone. But at the turn of midnight he arose and went to the cell where Oisin was sleeping, and it's what he said:
"Awake, Oisin of the stubborn heart! Arise, for my God has taken pity on your unbelief."
Then Oisin, without a word, rose wondering, and the two went into the darkness and the silence of the night. It's by every short way they went over the hills and through the valleys until, by dusk of the evening of the morrow, they came to the ford of the river that flowed through the wide plain of Gabhra. And when Oisin saw that place a great weakness came on him, and he leaned his full weight on the shoulder of the saint, and it's what he said:
"My grief and my woe, O Patrick of the helping arm! it's well I know this sorrowful spot. It is the battle-field of Gabhra, where the bravest and the comeliest lie buried. I saw that stream before us run crimson red with the best blood of Ireland. Och, ochone, my grief! There at the hill's foot fell my son Oscar of the strokes, and just here sank down together the seven brave sons of Caolite, and there died Lugaidh's son; and never in this world before was there such loss of fighting-men. Why have you brought us to this sad place, O Patrick?"
And it's how the saint answered him: "It's because the dust of the Fianna lies buried all about us here that we came. Tell me, Oisin of the long years, if Finn and the Fianna were at peace with God, would you also be baptized, and so be prepared for the city of saints?"
"It's little use to be striving to hide it from you, Patrick; it's hard it is to be at odds with you, and gladly I'd be friends with God just for your sake. Besides, if there be need of fightingmen in heaven, the King of saints cannot do a wiser thing than to send for Goll and the mighty Oscar of the strokes and the soldiers of the Fianna."
And Oisin could not understand at all the tears in Patrick's eyes nor the tremble in his voice as the saint answered him:
"The mercy of God is more wonderful than all His works; He has answered the prayers of the humblest of his servants. So, Oisin, this night you will be christened with Finn, your father, and with your loved comrades of the Fianna; your high loyalty to them has conquered heaven. Come with me now to the ford."
At that he led the old pagan's faltering steps into the shallow stream and baptized him there. When that was done, he bade Oisin return to the water's edge and wait for him there. But Patrick remained in the water praying, and it's what it seemed, that his figure grew taller and his face glowed with a white light. Three times he raised his arms toward heaven, then bowed his head again and waited.
When he did that, a heavy, luminous mist settled on either bank of the stream. Presently the figure of a giant warrior with shield and sword, and two spears of' ancient make, stood at the river's edge, outlined against the mist; and Patrick knew by the king's crown that was upon the warrior's forehead that it was no other than the great Finn, son of Cumhull himself, that was in it. And the warrior came into the stream and stately bent his knees before Patrick, and Patrick baptized him there. When that was done, the mighty son of Cumhull arose and passed on into the mist on the opposite shore whence he had come. Then followed Oscar of the strokes, and Cairrioll of the white skin, and Faolan the liberal, and Conan of the sharp tongue, and Caolite of the flaming hair, and his seven sons. And as each passed he bent his knee in the flood, and Patrick sprinkled the water on his forehead and spoke the words that changed him into a child of God. Thus captain followed captain, and host followed host, until the warriors came no more.
When the last figure melted away into the haze Patrick knew that his task was ended. But as he turned to regain the bank, a resplendent figure stepped forth to meet him. Of all the men Patrick had ever seen in the world, this one was the stateliest and comeliest. It's more than seven feet tall he was, and the hair of his proud head fell like burnished gold to his shoulders. Upon his brow was a golden fillet, and a collar of red gold encircled his neck. In spite of the youthful beauty of the man's face, Patrick knew that it was Oisin and no other that stood before him. As the saint gazed, the apparition raised its right hand high above its head, with the open palm toward Patrick. And it's how it stood there smiling a little minute, and then disappeared through the cloud, the way the others had gone.
As it did that the mists lifted, and Patrick went out to where the figure of the old man was lying, and it's how he lay with his lips to the ground, and he cold and dead.
Then Patrick made a wide grave of stones over against the hill's foot where Oscar fell, and he buried Oisin there.
Now, that was the greatest miracle of St. Patrick—bringing the Fianna of Ireland from the grave the way they would be baptized and saved for heaven.
THE END
The Ashes of Old Wishes Page 20
