“Lord Miliucc, I know well the punishment for a slave who escapes. Even so, I do return to face your judgment.”
A genuine expression of awe came into the king’s face. He looked to Cormac, who stood off to one side, his eyes lowered, frowning at the ground.
“You know it is death to return here,” said Miliucc slowly, “yet you deliver yourself into my hands.” I could see even as he spoke that his displeasure was at odds with his fear and amazement. “Why is that?”
“I return in the hope that I may be forgiven, O King,” I answered. “Nor do I come empty-handed.” Reaching for the leather bag at my belt, I drew it out and held it before me. “I ask you to accept this gold in payment for the slave you lost and, in accepting, grant your slave his freedom.”
The king regarded the leather bag, and his eyes swung back to mine, but he made no move to accept the offered payment. Did he imagine some trick or treachery?
Untying the bag, I shook out a handful of gold solidi and offered these to the king. “This,” I said, holding out the small heap of coins, “is for the purchase of my freedom.”
He eyed the gold but still made no move to take it.
Holding the coins before him, I poured the rest of the bag—more than fifty coins in all—into my hand until they spilled onto the ground. “And this,” I declared aloud, “is the honor price.”
The gathered crowd murmured approval behind me.
“My Lord Miliucc, I ask that you accept this in payment for the debt I owe you.”
The king raised his eyes from the gleaming coins at his feet; I suspected he was on the point of refusing my offer when Cormac clapped his hands and declared, “Here is a wonder! Has anyone ever heard of such a thing? An escaped slave returning to buy his freedom! Tell me, Lord Miliucc, in all of Éire has such a thing ever been known?”
Miliucc frowned. “The lords of Éire will laugh at me when they learn I am mocked by a slave,” he complained. “They will hold me a king of low account, whose slaves command their master.”
“The lords of Éire will grind their teeth in envy,” I countered, “that they do not own slaves willing to buy their freedom with good gold.”
Still the king hesitated. “I could kill you now and take the gold anyway,” he said.
This brought a swift response from the queen. “Stay your hand, my lord,” she whispered. “Is not your honor worth more than the price of a slave?”
“Heed your queen,” Cormac advised. “There is glory to be won here, but you must act wisely. If you accept his money and free him, it will show you a man of honor and fairness second to none. Your name will be lauded throughout this island as one who earned such great respect that even runaway slaves cannot rest until they have redeemed themselves.”
For the first time Miliucc allowed himself to bend a little. I could see he liked the sound of Cormac’s suggestion; it gave him a reason to be generous and allowed him to keep his dignity. He turned to Forgall, his battle chief. “Do you think I should accept this gold?”
“At once, my King,” replied the warrior, “and without hesitation.”
Looking at the glittering coins in my hand and on the ground, Miliucc said, “How much gold is there?”
“An amount double the price you paid for me,” I answered, “and as much again.”
“Why?” Lord Miliucc could not believe what he heard.
“Is it to shame me with your wealth?”
“By no means,” I said quickly. “The first amount is to redeem myself from slavery, and the second is to repay you for the loss of my services while I have been away.”
“Hear, now!” cried Cormac. “Lord King, this is a just and honorable offer. Show yourself its equal and accept it in the spirit in which it has been made.”
The warriors, led by Forgall, acclaimed this plan, and Miliucc, unwilling to show himself mean and grudging in the eyes of his people, raised his hand and said aloud, “Because this man, who was my slave, has honored me by acting justly, I forsake the death I vowed for him.” To me he said, “I accept this gold in payment for your services.”
“And free him, my lord,” added Cormac.
Miliucc hesitated—still distrusting his good fortune, I think—then allowed himself a final grimace before acceding. “And I give this slave his freedom.”
Cormac stepped forward and, raising his hands in declamation, cried, “May all bear witness! This day Succat has redeemed himself from slavery. Henceforth he is a free man. Let no one seek to hinder or constrain him.”
He turned and embraced me, and the people, who had waited to see how the thing would go, suddenly surged forward, and with much jostling and good-natured buffeting, I was welcomed back into the tuath. I thanked the king and was escorted into his hall, where I was received with all courtesy. The king brought me to sit at his table with his warriors and poured me a cup of beer with his own hand. “Sit and be welcome,” he said, then fell silent, uncertain what to say.
Cormac made up for the awkwardness. He settled beside me on the bench. “I knew you would come,” he said, clapping me on the back again. “Although I didn’t know it would be today.”
“I went to find you,” I said. “Oh, Cormac, I wish I had found you.” I gazed at him, the memories of the last years instantly arising and washing over me in a flood. A lump formed in my throat. It took a moment to pass; when I could speak again, I said, “I meant to come back. I truly did. But when I failed to find you, everything changed.” I told him of my experience wandering injured, freezing, and dying, and my rescue by the Saecsen farmers. “After that, something hardened in me. I lost my way.”
“And have you found it again?” he asked, watching me for my answer.
“I believe I have,” I replied.
Cormac put his arm on my shoulder. “Welcome home, brother. I have missed you.”
“And I you,” I replied. I looked quickly around the room. Cormac saw my glance and read it. “You have not asked me about Sionan.”
I nodded. My mouth went dry. “Is she well?”
“She is that.”
He waited for me to say more, but I could not. My heart was in my throat, and my tongue would not move.
“She is not here,” he said. My expression must have given away my sudden and acute disappointment, for he quickly added, “She no longer serves in the queen’s house.”
“No?”
“Not for three years.”
“I see.”
“I know she would like to see you,” Cormac said. “You should go to her.”
“Oh, I will,” I replied. “I want to.”
The ship’s master and crew arrived just then, entering the hall in a timorous clump. They glanced around the hall, visibly unsettled by the strangeness of their surroundings as much as by the size of the warriors. I rose and went to reassure them. “All is well,” I told the master. “We are welcome here. Come, I will present you to Lord Miliucc. He will want to hear what you have brought to trade.”
“I will take care of them,” said Cormac, intervening. Turning me, he gently pushed me toward the door. “Go and see her,” he said.
“And you will see to the sailors?” I said, edging hesitantly toward the door.
“Go, Succat. She will know you are here by now.”
The next thing I knew, I was running through the narrow lane to the house where I had last seen Sionan. I forced myself to slow down and walk the last few paces. When I had calmed myself, I stood before the door and knocked.
In a moment there came the soft tread of a step, the door opened, and there stood Sionan: slender and erect, her head high, a strange and uncertain light in her eyes.
I took half a step toward her and found that my voice had abandoned me. All the things I had imagined saying—all I meant to tell her at this long-anticipated moment—flew from my mind. “Sionan…,” I began, forcing lips and tongue to move at last.
She stiffened at the utterance of her name and closed the door in my face.
&nbs
p; I stood for a time, feeling foolish for having presumed she would receive me after all. “I have come to speak to you,” I called through the rough wood.
There came no reply.
“Sionan?”
Again there was no reply.
“Sionan, if we cannot talk now, I will come back later. Maybe that would be better. Is that what you want?”
At this the door opened slowly once more. She stood there as if frozen, gazing at me without expression.
“Sionan, I have come back,” I told her. “I’ve come back to stay. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I would like to explain.” She made no move or sign that she had heard me at all.
“Will you not hear me at least?” I blundered on. “I’ve come a very long way.”
I looked at her face in the gloomy half-light of the doorway. She had changed but little that I could see; her hair was slightly shorter, and her form, still slender, had gained a pleasant fullness, but that was all.
“Please?”
Still she stared, mute and unmoving. Then, with a slow shake of her head, she said, “Why?” Her voice was soft and low, and the sound of it sent a pang of remorse through my heart. How could I have deceived this woman? How could I have abandoned her and caused her such pain?
Now, seeing her face-to-face, all the reasons, all the explanations and excuses, turned to dust in my mouth. I sank to my knees on the threshold and bowed my head before her. “Lady, I do not blame you for being angry,” I said, pouring out my heart, “and if you should send me away, I will go. Even so, I want you to know that I am sorry for deserting you, and I do most heartily and contritely beg your forgiveness.”
“What are you doing?” she said. “Get up.”
“I cannot,” I said, “until I know what is in your mind.”
Again a great and awful silence stretched between us. When she did not speak, I glanced up to see tears glistening in her eyes.
“Please,” I said, “for the sake of the memory of our former life—if for nothing else—I beg you to forgive me.”
She stood unmoving over me, and then, reaching down, she placed her hand on my head. “But I have forgiven you a thousand times already, if you only knew it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. My throat closed over the words, and I was unable to say more.
Taking her hands in mine, I kissed them. She grasped my hands and raised me to my feet. Hardly daring to meet her gaze, I rose and stood before her. “Will you come in?” she said, stepping back into the hut.
Without waiting for an answer, Sionan took my hands and drew me inside. We stood in the dim light of the single room. Newly kindled flames smoldered on the hearth, sending thin tendrils of smoke coiling into the air and lending the room a pungent smell. The pallet bed lay on the bare earth floor in one corner, and the small table and two low chairs sat in the other. In all, it was as far away from the splendor of Domus Columella in Rome as the earth is from the moon, yet my heart soared: It was exactly as it had been the day I left.
“Welcome home,” said Sionan. “I knew this day would come, and yet now that it is here, I am not ready.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and the tears she had held back until now began to fall. “I have missed you so much.”
Overwhelmed by the grace of Sionan’s loving forgiveness, I lowered my head and wept. “I am sorry, Sionan,” I said, “I am so very, very sorry.”
“Oh, mo croí,” she whispered, gathering me in her arms, “my heart, my heart. Nothing matters, save that you are here and we are all together now and always.”
It took a moment for her meaning to come clear. “Together—” I said. “All?”
Her eyes played over my face, her expression at once proud and a little uncertain. “Succat,” she said, “would you like to meet your son?”
FIFTY-EIGHT
I STOOD FOR A long time just gazing upon the small, dark-haired boy as he played with sticks from the woodpile stacked behind the hut. Engrossed in his game—pulling twigs from the pile to form a neat little heap of his own—he remained oblivious to our presence. Then Sionan took my hand and drew me toward him, saying, “Here, now, it is time he met his father.”
We moved closer. “Ultán,” she called gently, “your father has come to see you.”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, the boy looked up and, oh!—the light of love that shone in that child’s face shamed the sun with its brilliance. “Mam!” he shouted.
Scrambling to his feet, he ran to her arms. She swooped him up and held him close. He clung to her, his head pressed against her cheek, regarding me with shy, almost apprehensive interest. Slender and long-limbed like his mother, he also had her large brown eyes. Then he turned his gaze to me, and I realized that the face observing me with such serious curiosity was my own.
I reached a hand to him. “Ultán, I am glad to meet you.”
The sound of my voice inspired him to bury his face in the hollow of his mother’s neck. “It is your father,” she told him. “He has greeted you nicely. What do you say?”
After a little coaxing the youngster was finally persuaded to part with a murmured greeting. Then, in a gesture that warmed me to the soul, he reached out a hand. “Papa!” he said, squirming toward me.
I took him into my arms and clasped him to my breast, exulting in the bundled warmth of his small body as he put his arms around my neck and snuggled close. I carried him back into the house, where, after a simple meal, little Ultán was put to bed, and then Sionan and I sat down by the fire, and I began to tell her all that had happened since the day I left.
Dawn found us that way, drowsy before the glowing coals of a spent fire, having talked through the night. Pale pink light stole through the chinks in the door as I told of the plague and all those close to me who had been swept away. I described Oriana’s death and my debilitating despair. I told of meeting Pelagius and, shortly thereafter, receiving the vision that set my feet on the homeward path.
“But tell me,” I said, “were you never angry with me?”
“Angry?” she replied. “I was furious! When the months passed and you didn’t return, I raged at you. I cursed you and swore bloody vengeance. When Cormac returned to say he had no word of you, I began to fear the worst. I thought you shipwrecked and drowned or made captive again and carried off somewhere else, and I hated you all the more for leaving and taking such a risk. But by then the baby had begun to grow in me, and Cormac said I must forgive you—that whatever had happened, it would not be helped by hating the father of my child.”
She paused, glancing down at her hands. “That was a hard, hard time, to be sure. But it passed. And when the child was born, I did not hate you anymore. Who could look upon Ultán and harbor hatred in her heart for the man who gave him to her? Maybe some can, but I could not.” She raised her head and smiled at me sadly. “Oh, but I so often wished you could have been here to see him grow. Oh, how I wished it.
“And often is the time I thought about what I would say if you ever came home. I would be noble and kind. I practiced in my mind until I had it all just right. But tonight, when I saw you standing there, all my fine words deserted me. The old rage came back instead, and I thought to punish you.” She shook her head slowly. “Oh, my heart, I could not. Seeing you on your knees in the mud, your eyes so full of hope and love…I knew it was you I wanted, not the spite.” She smiled pensively. “I chose you. I have always chosen you.”
Sionan sat in silence for a moment. “I am sorry about the woman’s suffering,” she said at last. “But, God help me, I cannot feel sorry that she died, since it was her death that released you to come back to me.”
“Oh, Sionan.” I sighed. Clearly there were mysteries here too deep for me to comprehend. “I do wonder—might there have been another way? Then Oriana would not have had to die for me to return.”
“Perhaps,” Sionan suggested, “it took something as strong as death to save you.”
EPILOGUE
THUS BEGAN THE long
pilgrimage to this time, this place, and the bonfire that flares high and bright on this Beltaine night. Curious how fire has always marked the more significant events of my life. As I look back over the years, I see that the path has been illumined by the shimmering glow of fire.
Like the apostles of old, I have been kissed by the flame, and my soul burns within me. I am alight with God’s holy power; his ineluctable strength flows from my hands. I live and move at his command. My master is the Lord of Light, and I am his slave.
Tonight we have ignited a beacon that will awaken a land too long aslumber. Tonight we defied a king and kindled a blaze in Ireland that will never be quenched.
“Why antagonize him?” said Cormac when I told him what I had in mind. “Let him have his fire; it means nothing to us. We will go to him tomorrow and hold council with him. If we tell him our grievances, he will listen. He is not unreasonable.”
“Loegair must be made to understand that a new power is at work in the land—a power he cannot stifle with his puny decrees and self-important displays of arrogance.” I saw the way clearly before me and was surprised Cormac did not see it, too. My teacher and anam cara, my soul’s true friend—it was Cormac who smoothed my return to the druid house and Cormac who stood by me when the storm broke over my joining the Ceile De priesthood—he most often grasped the nature of things far more quickly than I ever did.
“Hear me, Cormac,” I declared, “we have worked long and hard with the people of this region and have accomplished much—no thanks to Loegair and his piddling interference.”
“In truth,” agreed Cormac. “Which is why it makes no sense to risk throwing it all away.”
“He is doing this only to intimidate us, brother,” I insisted. “It is time our king learned the limits of what human strength can achieve. He thinks himself a king of kings? Well, I propose to give him a taste of true sovereignty.”
A deep frown creased Cormac’s broad face. “It is dangerous. Buinne will be there. He is sure to make trouble, and someone could get hurt.”