The first thing that they had done when they arrived back at the hamlet and greeted father O’Hara was to tell him what had transpired. Then the priest had taken them all outside and made them stand together under a vast old Oak tree. He told them to bow their heads and spend a moment in silence thinking about the departed mother and father. Then he said a simple prayer.
‘O God, who hast commanded us to honor our father and our mother;
in Thy mercy have pity on the souls of my father and mother,
and forgive them their trespasses;
and make me to see them again in the joy of everlasting brightness.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.’
They loaded everything that they could onto the two flat back wagons. Nathaniel had started with the medicines, then weapons and ammunitions, then the food, candles, blankets, clothes. Finally the cigarettes and then whatever space was left, he had assured father O’Hara that he could fill it with alcohol. They weren’t much bothered with the bottled water as it was heavy and the abbey had a well.
The priest had loaded the hard tack first. Whisky and brandy. Then port and finally wine. But there were still hundreds and hundreds of bottles of wine left in the cellar, a fact that thoroughly upset the holy man.
He kept shaking his head and muttering. ‘Tis a terrible ting ta leave da alcohol here for bandits. What wid me being a man of God, married to the holy ghost an all dat, de only pleasures dat I can partake in is da smoking and da drinkin.’ Then he crossed himself. ‘An da prayin of course. Great pleasure I gets in da praying to our Lord.’
He took his lit candle down into the cellar for one last look. ‘Come on,’ he beckoned to Nathaniel. ‘A final look-see in case we missed sumat special. Give us a hand wid dose young eyes of yourn.’
Hogan smiled and followed the priest, lighting another candle as he descended the steps. The cellar ran under the entire length of the huge house and there seemed to be no system behind its layout. It was simply scores of shelves with hundreds of bottles on them.
Hogan heard the father exclaim joyously.
‘Rehoboam. Ardeg.’
‘Sorry, father. Is that Latin?’
‘Hebrew and Gaelic, my son. A rehoboam is a large bottle dat contains six normal size bottles in it. Ardeg is a single malt whisky from Islay. An dats what I’s found. A great big bottle of Ardeg. Found it in da corner covered in dust. Does a favor an check da corners for more, would yez?’
‘Okay, father,’ replied Nathaniel. ‘But let’s make it quick. I want to be back well before nightfall.’
‘Less talky more looky,’ responded father O’Hara.
Nathaniel held the candle up and checked in the corner closest to him. Empty. He strode quickly across to the opposite corner and checked there to find the same. But, as he turned away, he fancied that he had seen something. Something tall and hidden in so much dust as to be more a hint of an object than the actual object itself. He took his candle closer.
It was propped up in the corner. Dust lay thick upon it like a protective blanket. But there was no hiding the shape. It stood around four foot high, the butterfly shaped double blades at least eighteen inches wide. The oak shaft two inches across and covered in brass studs. The handle covered in strips of wound leather.
He reached out and freed it from its prison of dust and dereliction. His hands were shaking and, as he touched it, it was as if a song of joy had started in his head. It was the self-same axe that he had seen in his dream about the druids. The dream that had left him with his scar. The marine tapped the weapon against the wall and the dust fell off to reveal the blades in their full glory. Simple and unadorned, the edges still glowed sharp as newly forged steel and, as he swung it back and forth a few times, the haft was as flexible as newly bound.
‘No whisky here, father,’ he called out, his voice hoarse with emotion. ‘Let’s go.’ He headed up the stairs, carrying the battle-axe with him.
Louise was in charge of the one wagon with its two horses and father O’Hara the other. Nathaniel and Tom had a horse each. The marine swung into the saddle and slotted the axe into one of the saddle straps, the head nestled alongside the saddle.
‘Wow,’ said Tom. ‘Cool axe.’
Nathaniel grinned. ‘I thought so.’
They set off back to the abbey, the marine riding next to father O’Hara’s wagon and Tom next to his sister’s.
‘So tell me, father,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Was this your parish?’
‘Nay. Dis has nay bin a church for many a year now. We sold it to de people of dis heathen hamlet some two-year back. Actually, my poor church has been selling a lot of property of late. The Holy Father sent me on a tour to unconsecrate all of de churches in this area and surrounds. Some seven in all. Well, I’s been on da road for but one day when da Lord decided, in his wisdom, to return us all to da dark ages. For some few days, or maybe more, I wus totally lost, my son. Not biblically, yez see, only physically. Den I did find my way here, guided by prayer and da odd direction from strangers. I figured, just because all had gone to pot, twas no reason why I shouldn’t still be doing my job. So here I wuz, sent to unconsectrate de building. I arrived and dey was all nice as pie. Oh, father have some tea and a drap of the good stuff. Oh, an here be a cigar for you as well. Den da moment I finish de rite of deconsecration da feckin bastards smack me onna head wid a hunk oh wood and bundle me in da cellar wid only de booze and de cigarettes as my company. Dat was some tree day ago or so.’
O’Hara lit himself a cigarette and then glanced back at the two teenagers. They had fallen behind a little and were out of earshot.
‘Now be telling me, marine. Da chillun’s mamy. From what you say she be killin herself den. Takin her own life?’
Nathaniel thought a while before he answered. ‘Why?’
‘Well,’ continued father O’Hara. ‘It be a mortal sin and all. And assisting be a mortal sin as well. Our Lord gets extra riled at dose two tings, yez see. Awful hard to get into da kingdom of eternal light if yez committed a mortal sin.’
‘What are the mortal sins?’
O’Hara shook his head. ‘Oh, even on dis long trip dere be top many to list. It’s hard work being a catholic, my son.’
‘What about murder?’
‘Oh yes, dat one is plain.’
‘So by killing those Satanists at the church I committed a mortal sin?’
‘No. Yez committed a righteous act, my son. A soldier of de Lord.’
‘What about booze and cigarettes. You know that cigs give you cancer and booze messes up your liver. So aren’t you slowly killing yourself? Isn’t that a mortal sin?’
O’Hara laughed. ‘Don’t bandy words wid da Lord, soldier. But to answer, no, dat is mere stupidity. And da Lord knows dat is no sin.’
‘Well then,’ said Nathaniel. ‘When Marjorie asked for the pills and the brandy she had no idea that the mix would kill her. She was merely looking for a way to ease her pain.’
‘I see. And youze? Did youze know?’
Nathaniel shook his head.
‘Ah, and, as I already said,’ continued the priest. ‘Bieng stupid tis no sin. Good den. In da name of de Lord I exonerate youze boat.’ O’Hara breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Dat feels good. Much happier now dat de whole mortal sin thing is put to rest.’
He lit two cigarettes, leaned over and handed one to the marine.
Nathaniel saluted him with it and they continued on their way.
They arrived at the gates of the abbey like conquering heroes. They brought the wagons in and literally everyone came to the quadrangle to see them. The Prof was introduced to father O’Hara and then he organized the scholars to take all of the food to the kitchens, the weapons to the armory and the blankets and candles to the storerooms. The nurse took care of the medicines herself.
That night, before they ate, father O’Hara stood up and said grace.
Nathaniel smiled. Their little enclave of survivors had just got bigger by one.
Chapter 3
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