“This,” he continued after a moment, “is the soul of our teaching: Truth against the world. So it has always been, so shall it ever be.”
I was about to ask what this odd saying meant, but Datho held up his hand. “Only listen,” he said. Closing his eyes, he began nodding his head, and in a moment he started to sing. He sang:
In every person there is a soul,
In every soul there is intelligence,
In every intelligence there is thought,
In every thought there is either good or evil,
In every evil there is death,
In every good there is life,
In every life there is God.
He repeated the little verse once more. “Now you sing it with me,” he instructed, and I sang it with him several more times until I had it. “This the filidh believe,” he told me, “and it is the beginning of wisdom. So tell me: Do you think your grandfather would have agreed?”
“Without a doubt,” I replied.
“Even so,” he said. “This we have believed from the beginning. But many people—especially the Roman priests of Britain—have forgotten this. They look upon the Ceile De and see enemies where they should see brothers. Everywhere they go, they strive to uproot our traditions and plant their foreign observances instead. Yet we have been in the land far longer than they. Our traditions were not passed on to us by men but were given to us by the All-Wise himself.”
I suppose I could not disguise my skepticism any longer. Datho read the disbelief on my face and said, “I see you are the child of your grandfather.”
“How should I be otherwise?” I asked.
Datho did not reply at once. He laced his fingers beneath his chin and looked down his nose at me for a long moment. “You have never heard ‘The Tale of the Strong Upholder’?”
“No, Ollamh, you have not told me.”
“Then this,” he said, his eyes lighting with pleasure, “is a most auspicious day. Listen, and I shall tell you how it is that True Belief came to DeDanaan’s children.”
Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and, drawing a deep breath, made a sound halfway between a moan and a sigh. Rather than trailing off into silence, however, the utterance grew until it seemed to fill the wood with a low, droning, sonorous tone. When it finished, silence reigned in the wood—as the calm and serenity that follows a storm.
“In the days before the present age,” the wise ollamh began, “when Aedh Slane was high king and Fintan mac Dara was chief bard of Éire, word went out that the high king had determined to build a great hall at Tara. This he decreed, and this he did. Gathering the best builders and finest crasftmen in all the island, he assembled them on the plain below the hill and set forth his plan, which he had drawn in gall upon a deerskin.
“One glimpse of the king’s plan and the workers fell back in amazement. ‘To be sure,’ said Oscar, the Master Builder of Éire, ‘this hall is the most prodigious ever seen in all this land. A whole forest will be required for the timber, and a lake of gold for its fittings. Though we labor fifty years, it will require fifty years more before it is finished.’
“Hearing this, the king puffed up his chest with pride and said, ‘Then why do you yet stand gaping? There is the plan and yonder the forest. Go to work!’
“So the king commanded, and so they did. The workmen had not felled many trees, however, when the lords and princes of Éire who had been deprived of builders and laborers began grumbling about the high king’s new hall. They found fault with its size, which was larger than any of their own, and with its cost, which, like a flood running downhill, would eventually find its way to them.
“Now: Tuan mac Carell, filidh of vast renown, was alive in those days, abiding in the wood by himself. He heard the axes of the workmen cutting the great oaks, and he heard the grumbling of the small kings and lords. Up he gets, and off he goes. He summons the small kings and lords and addresses them, saying, ‘Why do you stand there moaning and making mouths at the high king? If you have a grievance, why not go to him, speak out your complaint, and demand satisfaction?’
“The small kings looked at each other in dismay. One of them, Lord Goiben, plucked up his quivering courage and said, ‘If we fail to heed the wisdom of your urging, the reason, you will find, is this: King Aedh is the greatest king ever seen in this island. He will not suffer anyone to gainsay his decrees, and anyone who tries is instantly set upon by the king’s warhost. That unfortunate fellow is flayed alive, and his skin is sent to his widow for a keepsake.’
“Old Tuan mac Carell blew out his cheeks. ‘Is it a man who speaks thus or an insect? Hear me then. Though he may not listen to one of you, yet he might listen to two. And though he may not listen to two of you, yet he will surely listen to three. And though he may not listen to three of you, yet I believe he will listen to four. And though he may not listen to four of you, yet I insist he will listen to five. And though he—’
“The small kings threw their hands in the air. ‘Enough!’ they cried. ‘We understand. We will all go together to the high king at Tara, and he will not fail to hear our complaint.’
“The small kings and kinglets went home and gathered their bards, their wise counselors, and their learned advisors, and they all marched to Tara to confront the high king over the extravagance of his great hall. Early one day, as dawn lit the morning sky, the great company assembled on the Plain of Tara, which is below the sacred hill, and called to the king to attend them.
“High King Aedh, making a circuit of the royal ráth in the morning, looked out and saw all the lords and lordlings gathered with their bards and advisors and wise counselors, and he called Fintan to him and said, ‘Chief Bard, look out upon Magh Fál and tell me what you see.’
“Fintan, wise and good, looked down from the sacred hill.
‘O, Mighty King,’ he said, ‘I see a great assembly of nobles and bards.’
“‘And what, from this, do you foretell?’ inquired the king.
“‘From the frowns on their faces, I foretell contention and disputation, controversy and argument. In a word: trouble.’
“‘Can it be eluded?’ wondered the king.
“‘Great King, the time for evading this contention is long past.’
“‘Well, if it cannot be avoided,’ replied the king, ‘then we will go down and see what remedy they seek.’
“The high king gathered his counselors, advisors, musicians, and not a few of his finest warriors; he mounted his noble chariot with the silver wheels and, with the carynx blaring and drums booming, he drove down to the plain with this great company to see what had stirred the small kings from their nests.
“Driving his chariot into their midst, High King Aedh warmly greeted his lords and lordlings and all their retainers and retinues, and asked, ‘What event of great moment has brought you here today, my friends? Can it be you have come to pay the tribute yet owing?’
“Lord Goiben, who had been chosen to speak for them all, dismounted from his horse and approached the chariot; he stretched forth his hand to touch the king’s foot. ‘Wise King,’ he said, ‘Champion of Justice, Friend of the Oppressed, Generous Giver, we come to you today because we cannot rest for the torment of a question only you can answer.’
“High King Aedh looked at the great assembly and shook his head sadly. ‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘since I am not to have the tribute, the least you can do is tell me the question that is causing you such torment.’
“‘The question, Great King, is this: If the king is servant of his people, is it right that he should have the greatest portion?’
“‘Now, that,’ said Aedh, ‘is an excellent question. Allow me to confer with my wise counselor, and I will soon provide the answer you require.’
“The high king turned to his druid Fintan and said, ‘Evil is this day! Some cunning is behind this, believe me. For if I say the king’s portion must be smaller, then they will say I cannot build the great hall. If I say the king’s portion must be
larger, then they will say that I am neither just nor righteous, and they will take the kingship away from me. What wicked person put them up to this? Tell me, and I will have his skull for a drinking cup.’
“Fintan, loyal as he was wise, replied, ‘If you would keep your hall, then you must pose them another question. If they cannot answer you, then you need not answer them.’
“‘An excellent plan!’ cried the high king. Then, considering all the filidh, bards, and ollamhs, he despaired, and added, ‘But what question can I possibly ask that they cannot answer?’
“Fintan leaned close; putting his lips to the king’s ear, he said, ‘The question you must ask is this: Why and wherefore is Éire, most favored of islands, divided as it is?’
“High King Aedh embraced his faithful counselor and, removing a gold band from his arm, gave it to Fintan, saying, ‘Now I know you are the wisest of the wise! Who else could have thought of such a question? Tell me, what is the answer?’
“At this Fintan merely shook his head and said, ‘I do not know.’
“The high king glowered. ‘If you do not know, let us hope no one else does either. Come what may, I will ask them.’ Turning to the great assembly, he raised his voice and said, ‘I will gladly answer your question. Indeed, I am anxious to do so. But first you must answer the question I shall pose.’ And he asked them the question Fintan had given him.
“When the members of the assembly heard this, they quickly came together to discuss how best to answer. All the kings and their wise advisors and counselors pondered long. One after another cast, but failed to strike the answer. Finally Lord Goiben called Tuan mac Cairell to him and said, ‘You have heard the question. You are the wisest and most learned among us. What is the answer?’
“Wise Tuan shook his head. ‘That there is an answer cannot be denied. But I have never heard it—and I am the oldest human being who ever lived. Therefore I think you must accept your defeat as gracefully as you can.’
“‘Though we do many another thing,’ replied Goiben, ‘that is the one thing we will not do. Back to the forest with you!’
“The kings and kinglets fell to arguing then about what should be done if no answer could be found. They were still writhing in disputation when the sun soared high overhead. Suddenly ugly black clouds boiled up to cover the sky and the sound of a mighty wind filled all the world. And though it was bright midday, the heavens grew dark as twilight after the sun has set. Not the slightest breath of wind could be felt, yet the roaring of the unseen wind grew louder. There was thunder but no lightning, and the hair stood up on the necks of men and beasts alike. Clots of hail fell out of the sky and lay in the grass smoldering as if on fire.
“All at once they heard a voice crying out to them. They turned and saw, approaching out of the west in the direction of the setting sun, a mighty champion, fair and tall—taller than any three of the tallest warriors among them and more wonderful to look upon than the most handsome man they had ever seen. His eyes were the color of the windswept sky, and his teeth were straight and white. His chin was smooth-shaven, and his brow was high and fine.
“For a cloak the magnificent stranger wore a shining veil as radiant and rainbow-hued as crystal, and for sandals, hammered bands of purest gold. His hair was pale as flax and uncut, falling in curls to the middle of his back. This mighty champion carried two stone tablets in his left hand and a silver branch with three fruits in his right, and these were the fruits which were on the branch: apples, hazelnuts, and acorns. Around his waist he wore a girdle of bronze plates, and each plate could have served as a platter for four kings. In his girdle he carried a knife with a blade made of glass that was sharper than the sharpest steel.
“Around the stranger’s neck was a golden torc as thick as a baby’s arm, and on the ends were jewels: a ruby on the right and a sapphire on the left. His hands were broad and strong, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like the waves upon the shore or like the rushing of many waters.
“He came to stand before the assembled kings of Éire, and he said, ‘Greetings, friends—if friends you be.’
“The princes and princelings quailed before him, but High King Aedh drove his chariot to where the stranger stood. He raised his hand in kingly greeting and said, ‘I am king here, and this is my realm. I welcome you, champion—if champion you be. What has brought you here?’
“‘I have come from the setting of the sun, and I am going to the rising. My name is Trefuilngid Treochair,’ answered the stranger.
“‘A strange name,’ replied the king. ‘And why has that name been given you?’
“‘Easy to say,’ replied Trefuilngid, ‘because it is myself, and no one else, who upholds the sun, causing it to rise in the east and set in the west.’
“The high king regarded the towering stranger with curiosity. ‘Forgive me, friend, for asking,’ he said, ‘but why are you here at the setting of the sun when it is at the rising you must be?’
“‘Easy to say,’ answered the marvelous stranger, ‘but not so easy to hear, I think. For, in a land far away from here, a man was tortured today—and for that reason I am on my way to the east.’
“‘This tortured man,’ inquired the king, ‘of what account was he that one such as yourself should take notice?’
“‘You cut to the heart of the matter, to be sure,’ replied the stranger, ‘for the man of whom I speak was born to be the ruler of the world. He was called the Prince of Peace, Righteous Lord, and King of Kings.’
“At these words Lord Aedh and his noblemen groaned. ‘Certainly this is a grave injustice, and deeply to be lamented,’ observed the king, ‘yet such things are known to happen from time to time. Even so, it does not explain why you have come among us like this.’
“‘The man I speak of was crucified and killed by the men who tortured him,’ Trefuilngid explained. ‘His name was Esu, and he was the rightful High King of Heaven, Son of the Strong Upholder, Lord of Life and Light. When he died, the sun stepped aside, and darkness has covered the face of the earth. I came forth to find out what ailed the sun, learned of this outrage, and now I am telling you.’
“The king drew himself up and said, ‘I thank you for telling us, friend. But tell us, one thing more: Where can we find the vile cowards who perpetrated this injustice? Only say the word, and rest assured we will not cease until we have punished them with the death they undoubtedly deserve.’
“‘Your wrath is noble and worthy, friend,’ replied the magnificent stranger, ‘but it is misplaced. For in three days’ time the same man who was crucified will break the bonds of death and rise again to walk the world of the living. Through him death itself will be conquered forever.’
“When they heard this good news, the king and all the noblemen and bards of Éire wept for joy. They demanded to know how this had come about, and the glittering stranger told them, ‘It has been ordained from the foundation of the world. But it has been revealed to you now so that you may prepare your people for the age to come.’”
Here Datho finished his recitation. Silence stretched between us as I contemplated the tale. “Now you know,” he said after a moment, “how knowledge of the Truth came to Éire and why it is that I wish to build my bridge.”
TWENTY-SIX
FOR ALL DATHO’S good intentions, I was no nearer to gaining my freedom. Discouraged and dissatisfied, I determined to seize the very next opportunity to advance the matter—come what may. Events overtook me, however; like a storm at sea that hurls the poor sailor and his boat wherever it will, my plans and I were blown far off course.
It came about this way: The next day a rider appeared at Cnoc an Dair with a summons from the king. It seems a party of traders working the western coast had put in at the fishing settlement on the shore. They were Gauls with a ship full of goods obtained in Baetica, Lusitania, Aquitania, and elsewhere: glass cups, bowls, beads, steel knives, fine cloth, leather, olives, and suchlike. A few of the traders approached the ráth to invite the nobles d
own to the ship where they could see the goods for themselves.
The traders’ dexterity with the elusive Irish tongue was crude and clumsy. Still, while they were trying to entice their prospective buyers to come and view their wares Sionan overheard one of the men speaking Latin to his fellow. She told Queen Grania that I knew this speech, and so the king sent Forgall to fetch me. “The king has need of his slave,” the warrior said, and explained his errand to Datho. “He is to come with me at once. I will return him to you when he is finished.”
“Perhaps you might accompany us as well, Ollamh,” I suggested, hoping that while we were at the ráth, I could get him to speak to the king about my release.
Datho declined, but was more than happy to send me off, so I rode to the seaside settlement with Forgall, whereupon I performed the task of translating between the Irish and the Gauls.
It was easily done. The traders were little better than thieves, and when they saw that I was not to be taken in by their extravagant boasts over the qualities of their merchandise, they assumed a businesslike demeanor and their prices became more reasonable.
In the end I made good bargains for Lord Miliucc, acquiring for him a large jug of red wine and a length of fine blue cloth for his lady at prices my own mother would not have been ashamed to accept at home. I also gained a valuable boon for myself, as the queen was mightily impressed with my ability to haggle with the traders and asked if I might teach her some of this useful speech. I suppose she thought that next time traders came, she might bargain for herself.
With Datho’s permission I agreed, of course; if nothing else, it meant I could see Sionan more often. On certain days I would go to the ráth to teach rudimentary Latin to Queen Grania and some of her ladies. She preferred meeting with me late in the day, and it was almost always dark by the time we finished and therefore too late to return to the druid house. So naturally I stayed with Sionan in the hut the queen had given her. Sionan told me the gossip of Miliucc’s court, and I told her what I was learning from Datho. We held each other through the night, and though I ached to leave the warmth of her bed, dawn found me flitting across the valley and toiling up the hill to the druid house.
Patrick: Son of Ireland Page 25
