Patrick: Son of Ireland

  “The queen will be here any moment! You must not let anyone see you.”

  “Let them see me,” I said carelessly.

  “No!” She spun from my arms and shoved me toward the door. “Go to my house and wait for me. I will come to you as soon as I can.”

  I slipped out the door and entered the narrow path between the royal houses. I walked around to the courtyard in front of the king’s hall and then ambled here and there about the ráth, allowing myself to be seen in various places. I spoke to some of the farmers as they returned from the fields and to a few of the warriors, too.

  In a little while I made my way to Sionan’s house and, when I was certain I was not observed, went in to wait. It grew dark, and I fell asleep, awakening when she arrived. “I brought us some food,” she said; kneeling beside me, she ran her hand along my arm. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished,” I replied.

  “Then light the fire and we will eat.”

  I set about kindling a fire in the hearth, and we were soon sitting before a tidy blaze, drinking the king’s beer and holding flesh forks to roast choice bits of pork. “The queen is very pleased with her new silver combs and bracelet,” Sionan told me. “She thinks you a shrewd trader.”

  “I wish I had been able to get combs for you.” I lifted my hand to stroke her hair. “One day perhaps.”

  She caught the wistful undercurrent in my tone. No doubt I had already decided in my heart what I would do, and now I was beginning to realize what my leaving would mean. It must have come out in my speech, for she turned and observed me with concern. “What is wrong?”

  “At the gathering,” I said, “things did not go so well.” I told her then about being given a new ollamh. “And if that were not bad enough,” I concluded, “Buinne has been made master of our house. He is making life a misery for everyone, and he hates me most of all.”

  “Then it will be good for you to have a new ollamh,” Sionan observed, misunderstanding the situation completely. Nor did I have the heart to correct her.

  I spent that night with Sionan and the next as well. Then the traders moved on, and I had to return to the druid house. I left the ráth reluctantly, dreading my arrival and the inevitable confrontation with Buinne. Indeed, I had but reached the mound when the disagreeable druid pounced. “I know where you go and what you do,” he hissed, stepping out to meet me on the path.

  “Do you, Buinne?” I said.

  “How long did you and your whore think you could hide it from me?”

  I had long ago decided to deny everything; whatever Buinne knew or suspected would not be confirmed by me. “What are you talking about, Buinne?”

  He took a step closer, his mouth twitching with hatred. “I mean to put a stop to it.”

  I regarded him cooly and made no reply.

  “Nothing to say?”

  “When a man’s anus does the talking, I try as much as possible to ignore the stench.”

  His eyes flared with anger, and his jaw bulged. “You hold yourself so superior,” he growled, shaking with rage. “This is what I have always hated about you. You should have remained a slave. You have no business here.”

  “Datho disagreed.”

  “Datho was a fool; his liberality made him weak and easily deceived.” He took a menacing step toward me. “But I am master now, and you will not deceive me.” His lip curled back in a savage, gloating sneer. “You will never become a bard. I will see to that. I am going to have you sent back to your sheep on the mountain.”

  I let him stew in his vile juices for a moment, then asked, “Tell me, Buinne, have you finally gone mad at last?”

  “Mock me if you will, slave boy,” he growled, “but I swear on my life you will never be free.”

  He grinned maliciously and tilted back his head. I wanted to smash him in the face for his insolence and spite. Instead I waited until he turned and started away, then called after him, “Was it poison, Buinne? Was that how you murdered Datho?”

  He halted in midstep and turned. “What?” he said, the blood draining from his face.

  He gaped at me, sucking air like a winded animal; and I realized that until that instant the arrogant, duplicitous Buinne had never imagined anyone might have suspected him of bringing about Datho’s death. Consequently he had not thought to create a denial, plausible or otherwise. Or perhaps the accusation surprised him so that he forgot the lie he meant to tell.

  He lurched clumsily toward me, demanding, “What did you say?”

  “Your secret is safe with me, Buinne,” I told him, plunging ahead recklessly. “I am not going to tell anyone—unless, that is, you keep poking your rat nose into my affairs. I warn you, Buinne, leave me alone.”

  White-faced, stunned into silence, the treacherous bard gazed at me with dull horror. I decided to leave him before he recovered his wits. I did not see him the rest of the night. He did not come to the table and did not sleep in the druid house—nor did I.

  Instead, I spent a wretched night, restless and wakeful, tormented by the awful expression on Buinne’s face when I guessed his guilty secret correctly. The dread realization pulsed with every beat of my heart, producing an anguish that drove all thoughts of sleep from my head. Again and again, like a circling bird, my mind returned to the terrible question: How long before he poisons me?

  TWENTY-NINE

  I HURRIED TO SIONAN’S house, pulled the strap to lift the latch, and let myself in. She was still asleep in bed, so I went and lay down next to her. I kissed her forehead and stroked her hair to wake her. She smiled as she opened her eyes. “Succat, you’ve come to me very early.”

  I kissed her again and said, “I could not sleep. I had to see you as soon as I could.”

  “Come here,” she said, and pulled me into her embrace.

  We lay for a time simply holding one another until I worked up the courage to say, “I have something to tell you.” Before she could speak, I blurted, “I must leave Sliabh Mis.”

  The smile faded from her lips.

  “Now. Today. I have to go.”

  She looked at me in disbelief. “Why?” she asked after a moment.

  I had already decided on the lie; I had planned out my story as I hastened to the ráth. “It is Buinne. I know he killed Datho, and now he has tried to kill me.” Oh, the lie came easily to my lips. Indeed, I half believed it myself.

  “Succat!” Sionan gasped, sitting upright in bed. “How?”

  “Yesterday, when I left here, he was waiting for me. He said he knew about us and that he was going to make trouble.” That part was true enough. “Then last night at supper I tasted something in my food. I pretended to eat but did not swallow. I waited until he was asleep and came here as quickly as I could.”

  “You must tell the king.”

  “Buinne would just deny it, and then it would be a slave’s word against that of a filidh. Buinne might even say I killed Datho, and Miliucc might believe him.”

  She searched my face with her eyes. “What will you do?”

  “This is what I have been thinking,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “I must go and find Cormac—find him and bring him back. He will know how to deal with Buinne.”

  “Succat, no—”

  “Now, listen,” I told her. “The traders who were here, they have moved down the coast a little, but I can find them. I will go to them and beg passage to Britain.”

  “If you escape again, the king’s warriors will catch you,” Sionan told me gravely, “and this time they will kill you.”

  “That is why I need your help. You must make certain no one knows I’ve gone.”

  “What if the king wants to see you?” she countered. “What if he sends someone to fetch you?”

  “If he asks for me, just tell him that I have been sent to collect plants for a potion. Tell him I will return in two days.” I squeezed her hands to make her understand. “Two days are all I need. By then I’ll be aboard ship, and no one will be able to stop me.”


  She bit her lip but said nothing.

  “Two days, Sionan,” I repeated. “That is all I ask.”

  She looked at me for a long moment and then wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest. In a moment I could feel warm tears seeping through the fabric of my robe.

  “Ah, Sionan, my love.” I sighed. “Don’t cry.”

  She did not raise her head but continued to sob. “If you go away to Britain, I know I will never see you again.”

  “Of course you will. That I promise.” I lied boldly, trusting her to believe me; my life lay in her slender hands.

  “No. It is true. Once you see your homeland again, you will forget all about me.”

  “Sionan, listen to me.” Taking her by the shoulders, I pushed her back gently. “The only reason I am going is to find Cormac. When I have found him, I will bring him back to deal with Buinne. But if I don’t go, Buinne will kill me. Cormac is the only one who can help me now. Understand?”

  “Then take me with you,” she said. “We will go together. I can help you.”

  I had thought of this—indeed, I had often entertained the notion that she and I might make a life in Britain. But, blind as I was, I could never see her there. I told myself I feared she would not be accepted by my countrymen and would forever remain an outcast no matter what I might do to help her. In truth I think the thought of returning with a barbarian Irishwoman for a wife embarrassed me. My embarrassment shamed me, yes, but I was weak and could not help it.

  “You know I would take you with me if I could,” I told her. “But if you go with me, the king will catch us both before the day is out. If you want to help me, then you must stay here. I need you here to delay the search as long as possible so I can escape them.”

  Sionan had turned her face away and gazed into the darkened corner of the room.

  “Now, look at me and tell me you understand.” I peered at her intently, willing her to accept what I said as the truth.

  Instead her eyes teared up once more, and she bent her head, letting the teardrops fall onto her breast.

  “Oh, Sionan.” I gathered her in my arms once more. “I will come back, I promise.” After so much deception what was one more empty vow?

  She refused to be consoled. “Then go! Be off with you.”

  “Sionan,” I pleaded, “believe me, if there was any other way, I would take it.”

  She stared at me a long moment, making up her mind. “You are right. This is the best way. You must go.” She rose abruptly, strode to the door, and looked out. “There is no one waiting for you. Go now while you have the chance.”

  I stepped to the door. There I lingered, knowing that this was the last time I would ever see Sionan. It was she who had saved me, and she had been my strong and sheltering rock ever since. My debt to her was incalculable. I owed her my life.

  The terrible weight of my deception settled full upon me then, threatening to crush me into the ground. My stomach squirmed with the awful knowledge of what my leaving would mean to her—no less than what Cormac would do when he learned I had broken faith with him and shattered his sister’s loving heart. But the yearning, the insatiable desire to be free once more, was eating me alive. Despite all the good things that had happened to me since coming to the druid house, I still could not accept my lot. Since my feet had touched the soil of Ireland, my one aspiration had been to regain my freedom. I had the chance now as never before, and I could not let it pass me by. Somehow—God alone knows how—I bore up under the fearful strain and even managed a smile of farewell.

  Sionan drew me into a last embrace. I put my hand to her face and caressed her cheek. “I love you, Sionan.” I had never said those words to anyone in my life. I said them now, and even though I was abandoning the one I spoke them to, they were no less true. “I do love you.”

  She smiled sadly and lowered her head. “You will have your two days,” she said, and then turned from me. “Now, go.”

  I could not bring myself to lie to her further, so bade her farewell and forced myself to step through the doorway. I stood for a moment on the path—hesitating even then, wanting to return to her—but I heard the sound of someone coming and, turning away, stole quickly from the ráth lest anyone see me.

  With tears in my eyes, I made for the coast. Retrieving the water gourd and bag of provisions I had hidden beside the stream on my way to the ráth, I hastened along the valley toward the sea, pausing every now and then to look behind to see if anyone was following and then moving on again. The whole of the first day I followed the coastline; that night I slept in a hollow in the rocks, rising again at first light. I ate a little from the bag, and drank some water, and pushed on. When I finally came in sight of the ship later in the day, relief washed over me in waves, and my heart pounded so hard I became light-headed and had to sit down to catch my breath.

  The settlement was little more than a fishing camp, and I knew that the traders would not wait there long, so I hurried to summon one of the fishermen to take me out to the ship in his boat, which he reluctantly agreed to do—seeing that to deny a filidh such a simple request was certain to bring bad luck, for even a novice druid might satirize the witless drudge who refused or chant a rune to drive the fish from the nets of the villagers, thereby causing needless misfortune. Thus was I soon sitting on the slippery bench of a small boat while the fisherman rowed through the waves out to where the ship lay at anchor in the bay.

  Upon drawing near the ship, I called a greeting to those on board, and several men hailed me from the rail. I answered them and asked to speak to the ship’s master, who duly appeared. I made a respectful greeting and begged permission to accompany them to their next destination. The master—a large, beefy, bull-necked, rough-handed man, smooth-shaven but with dark hair that he wore long and braided like a barbarian’s—returned my greeting pleasantly and, recognizing me as the one who had helped him with Miliucc, said he would be happy to allow me to come aboard to discuss the matter.

  “Wait for me,” I told the fisherman, “until I give you leave to go.”

  “We have good wine and fine cloth,” the master told me when I had come to stand before him. He spoke the simple Latin of the market, which most traders understood readily enough. “We have also fine pottery, glass, worked gold, and many other things, of course. Very valuable items, worth much, as you know.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “you showed it all to the king and queen yesterday.”

  “Ah! So I did.” He laughed. “But tell me, why are you running away?” Indicating my iron collar, he said, “Will not the king miss his slave? Perhaps he would reward me to take you back instead.”

  “Take me back,” I countered with casual indifference, “and Miliucc may give you a few bits of silver for your trouble. Let me stay, however, and I will prove myself ten times over with the wealth I will bring you.”

  “Ah,” replied the master, his dark eyes glinting shrewdly, “but you are a canny bargainer. This I have seen. You know the value of things and make good deals. We are trading in the south next,” he said. “Help me in the same way that you have helped Lord Miliucc and I will take you where you wish to go.”

  “Britain is where I wish to go,” I told him outright. “Can you take me there?”

  He laughed. “As it happens, yes. After we finish in the south, we go to the Dal Riada—do you know it?”

  “No,” I confessed, “I do not.”

  “No matter. Help me and I will see you safely ashore among friendly people. I am Heracles, and that is my vow to you.”

  “I accept,” I told him.

  “Now, then,” he said, “let us seal the bargain we have made.”

  With that he pulled open his tunic and exposed his hairy chest. “In my homeland,” he said, “it is customary to honor a pledge in this way.” He offered me the fleshy part of his chest. “Come, suck at my breast.”

  “That I will not do,” I told him. “For in my homeland such customs place one man under the a
uthority of another, and I will not be bound.”

  Truly, that is the way of it. If I had sucked his nipple, I would become his bondsman and that was the last thing I desired.

  “I am master here,” Heracles declared. “No one comes to my ship unless they swear loyalty to me.”

  I thought for a moment and then raised a hand to my slave collar. “Remove this iron ring from my neck, and I will gladly do as you ask.”

  “That I cannot do,” he said. “It is death to him who frees another man’s slave.”

  Heracles frowned and pursed his lips. “What is so important in Britain that you must get there so fast?”

  I had decided on the story I would tell to disguise my true intentions; I would tell enough of the truth to satisfy the curious, without giving away my actual purpose. “My friend and master has gone to Britain,” I answered forthrightly. “I am going to find him and bring him back to help settle a matter that has arisen in our village.”

  “I see.” The ship’s master regarded me with narrowed eyes. “It must be a very important matter for you to go to so much trouble.”

  “It is that,” I replied. “Nothing less than life and death.”

  Heracles accepted this with a nod. “Then let me propose another bargain—serve me well and wisely, and the day we leave Irish waters, I will remove your slave collar and see you safely on your way.” Although the smile remained perfectly in place, his voice now took on a threatening tone. “But if I catch you cheating or stealing from me, then I will sell you back to the Irish the next time we drop anchor.”

  He let the warning hang between us for a moment, then spat on the deck of the ship. “Agreed?”

  With no other choice before me, I followed his example and spat on the deck. “Agreed.”

  Heracles’ laugh was a sudden, violent burst; he put his hand on my shoulder. “You are a stubborn bargainer, my friend. And that is why I will take you—even though you refuse to swear fealty to me. Make me rich and we will be good friends, never fear.”

  I thanked him, whereupon he gave orders for his men to up anchor and make ready to sail. They set about the task with reassuring alacrity, and we were under way before the fisherman reached the shore. Once we were out of the bay, the master turned the prow, and we sailed up around the northern tip of Éire. Just before midday, we turned again and then proceeded down along the eastern coast. Although I stood at the rail and searched for the place where I and my fellow captives made landfall years before, I did not see it. Or, if I did, I no longer recognized it.