“Do you think I will fail?” I regarded him closely. “For if that is what you think, tell me now. Do you think I will fail?”
He hesitated, then puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. “No, I do not see that.”
“Then be of good cheer,” I told him.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Let the brothers attend me,” I suggested. “You stay here with the others and uphold us in prayer.”
So now I stand waiting for the confrontation to begin. The king arrives as I knew he would, with his chariots and warriors, bristling with weapons and stewing for a fight. It took him long enough. Well, he will have his fight, but the streams of regret flowing from this contest will not be mine.
King Loegair lurks there, hovering just beyond the circle of light thrown out by my bonfire. The king’s druids know better than to allow him to come within the radiance of my presence. They think to make me come to them and thus demonstrate their king’s superiority over me and mine. I will go. It makes no difference—homage is a hollow gesture unless both heart and will are broken, and poor Loegair will take some breaking before he bends his stiff neck.
Listen! They summon me. I rise and take up my staff.
“Do not go out there,” cautions Forgall. Firstborn of my little flock, the former battlechief steps into my path to prevent me. “They mean to attack and kill you.”
“Fear for nothing, brother,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder to move him aside. “Remember your Psalms: Some take pride in chariots, and some in horses, but we shall walk in the Light of the Living One.”
“We will go with you,” says Brón, stalwart friend.
“No, it will be better if I go alone.”
“Then we will pray for you.”
“Pray rather for Loegair and his warband,” I tell him, turning to meet my visitors. “A proud and haughty king is about to be humbled. Let the world beware!
So saying, I step to the edge of the light, where the king and his retinue can see me. Thus we meet, face-to-face across the battle line: Loegair with his warhost, his company of druids, his splendid weapons, his many gated fortresses—and I with my small, trusted band of believers. I feel sorry for Loegair, I do. The sides are so uneven.
“Greetings, Lord Loegair,” I call. “May the peace of Esu be yours tonight.”
The haughty king draws himself up. In his chariot he looks nine feet tall. “Did you think to defy me and escape my judgment?”
“The only judgment I fear is not yours to perform, O King.”
“You revere another king over me?” he roars. “I am king here, and my kingdom extends as far as a man can walk in seven days.”
“The king I serve holds all powers and dominions in his grasp, and his kingdom extends forever.”
Loegair’s features twist in a snarl of rage. “See now!” he cries to his wise advisors. “Out of his own mouth he has confessed his crime. My decree stands! Death to him who defies the sovereign lord on this night.”
The high king takes up his spear and levels it at me. He shouts a command to his waiting warriors. “Seize him!” They dismount from their horses and move to lay hold of me.
“Peace, Loegair,” I counsel, raising my staff. “You tread on holy ground. Show some respect, or the consequences will be on your head.”
The warriors hesitate. They waver between their king’s command and my own.
“Take him!” shouts the king.
They come at me in a rush. Lofting the staff, I turn my eyes to the night sky. “High King of Heaven, we enthrone you this night. Shield your servants from the harm of evil, and reveal, O Power of my power, the glory of your everlasting kingdom!”
As my prayer resounds in the hall of heaven, a cloud of dark mist falls between me and the attackers. Taken unawares, they cry out in confusion. Their weapons clash to no purpose. I hear them shouting; the horses rear and bolt; the chariots crash into one another, and men are thrown to the ground. An instant is all it takes for the fearsome attack to dissolve into chaos.
I know I should stop it before it comes to blows, but it cheers my soul to hear the king whining like a strap-beaten whelp. Well, I warned him. He should have listened.
As the chaos thickens around me, I turn to regard the brothers praying behind me. They are anxious. They stand in a hesitant huddle, wishing they were somewhere else. Away in the east the light of a new day is playing on the far horizon. Perhaps it is time to end this confusion before Cormac’s prediction of harm comes to pass.
“We have done what we came to do, brothers,” I tell them. “We will go home now. Follow me. I will lead you down. Look neither left nor right and do not linger. No harm shall befall us.”
Raising my staff, I move a little closer to the veil of darkness separating the king and his warband from the blazing light of the fire. I draw the figure in the air and speak the words of the caim, the protecting charm surrounding us. Slowly the darkness thins, and the light of the bonfire blazes in the eyes of our attackers once more.
“There!” shouts the king. “I see them! There they are!”
Turning to the brothers, I say, “Ready? We go.” With the fire at our backs, I lead my faithful band down the hill the way we came, as behind us the king strives to gather the shreds of his dignity, which has been torn and trampled in the chaos.”
“Keep walking,” I call to the others behind me. “Do not stop or look around.”
“After them!” cries Loegair, growing desperate. “Ride them down!”
A horse neighs, and the dogs begin barking and whimpering. At once the pursuit falters. The warriors, still confounded by the darkness, pull up short.
“Hie! After them!” cries Loegair.
“Where?” comes the answer. “We cannot see them!”
“There! There!” screams the king. He is frantic now, shouting like a man bereft of reason. He cannot understand why his warriors will not see what is before their eyes.
We pass from view behind the broad shoulder of the hill, and I hear the king berating the stupidity of his men. He rages at their incompetence and breaks dire oaths upon their unthinking heads. “Lord, we do see them,” his battlechief protests, “but it is only a herd of deer.”
“A stag, six deer, and a fawn,” adds Dubthach helpfully. He is the king’s bard, but I think his days in the king’s service are drawing to an end. He will join the Ceile De yet.
“Deer!” shouts the king. He rages at his battlehost; he calls them fools and idiots. He implores his wise counselors to do something, anything, to prevent us from getting away. But it is already too late. We fade from sight in the early-morning mist, leaving only the impression of deer in the minds of our would-be pursuers.
We move down into the deep-shadowed valley. Our hearts sing with the triumph we have won. I lead the brothers in a song that is at once a lorica of protection and a psalm of praise to the All-Encompassing.
With my face to the rising sun, I sing, “I arise today through a mighty strength! Christ my shield and my defender!”
The brothers take up the well-known verses. Timidly, yes, but it is good to hear them all the same. They are learning. “Sing, everyone!” I cry, and they sing:
I arise today
In Heaven’s great might,
In Sun’s fair brightness,
In Moon’s splendid radiance,
In fire’s dancing glory,
In Lightning’s excellent swiftness,
In wind’s matchless dominion,
In Sea’s majestic depth,
In Earth’s steadfast stability,
In Sky’s dazzling splendor….
They sing, and my mind flies ahead to the battle to come. One day soon I will stalk Loegair in his chamber. He will rage, and he will roar. He will call upon his druids to test me and try me, as he must. I welcome the test. Buinne will do all he can to destroy me, but he will fail, and in the end he will fall. That is as it should be. Buinne has evaded justice for his crimes long
enough, and the king must see him bested and bettered—and not only the king: The people, too, must behold the power of a bard of the Ceile De. Only then will they truly believe.
Later, when Loegair has regained his temper, I will go to him, and we will sit down together and speak to one another like grown men. I will ask him for that piece of land I need for the church we will build. And he will give it.
In his eagerness to align himself with the new authority in the land, he will give me whatever I ask. He will seek to possess the power, and, failing that, he will try to possess the one who wields it. But I will not be swayed. In time Loegair will learn, as all must, where true power and wisdom can be found. And then he will be called upon to make a choice.
I will pray he chooses the way of truth and love.
Truth and love—the twin pillars of our faith. But for me they will forever be embodied in the flesh and bone, heart and soul, of my dear wife. It is to Sionan that I owe my salvation; it is Sionan who befriended me, and loved me, and has remained these many years steadfast and faithful beside me.
Sionan spoke the truth in love. It took a power stronger than death to save me. It is Sionan now I think about as I lead my little band home. Night still lingers in the west; in the east darkness flies before the light of a new and glorious day—a day to be cherished and forever remembered as the day Ireland received her True King.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD (www.stephenlawhead.com) is an internationally acclaimed author of mythic history and imaginative fiction. His works include Byzantium and the series The Pendragon Cycle, The Celtic Crusades, and The Song of Albion. Lawhead makes his home in Austria with his wife.
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Praise for the works of
STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD
BYZANTIUM
“Lawhead re-creates an ancient world in all its pastorality, opulence, and brutality.”
Forth Worth Star-Telegram
“The narrative has the excitement of a good fantasy novel, a vivid historical setting, and a lengthy, credible, and satisfying plot.”
Publishers Weekly
THE CELTIC CRUSADES
“Intriguing…action-filled…steeped in historical detail.”
Library Journal
“Action-packed adventure…Lawhead knows how to spin a tale.”
Booklist
THE PENDRAGON CYCLE
“Entertains and tantalizes…an exciting and thoughtful addition to the ranks of Arthurian fantasy.”
Locus
“Lawhead manages to give the old tale new meaning and fascination. A fine storyteller, he brings the Arthurian characters to life without sacrificing any of the haunting pleasures of the legends.”
Omaha World Herald
Also by
Stephen R. Lawhead
THE IRON LANCE
THE BLACK ROAD
THE MYSTIC ROSE
BYZANTIUM
TALIESIN
MERLIN
ARTHUR
PENDRAGON
GRAIL
AVALON
THE PARADISE WAR
THE SILVER HAND
THE ENDLESS KNOT
EMPYRION
DREAM THIEF
IN THE HALL OF THE DRAGON KING
THE WARLORDS OF NIN
THE SWORD AND THE FLAME
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PATRICK. Copyright © 2003 by Stephen R. Lawhead
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books™.
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ePub edition January 2006 ISBN 9780061749186
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Stephen R. Lawhead, Patrick: Son of Ireland
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