S Umbo Aera
S Umbo Aera
A/N: Although the songs are written in the 18-something-somethings, the original (pagan) tunes are kept, and most of the words are those of the original. If anyone can find an earlier version of these son wil will gladly replace the current ones with those.
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‘During reinrein of the fierce pagan King Laohgire, Patrick came to Ireland. On a high hill he lit a great fire. The King’s wizards said ‘That fire will burn until doomsday, and the man who kindled it will destroy the kings and lords of Ireland.’ So the Kings’ forces rose up against Patrick and Patrick cried out ‘At Tara today in this fateful hour, I place all heaven with its power between myself and the powers of darkness!’ A great earthquake trembled, darkness came over the son, and the sky seemed to fall from the heavens. The kings surrendered to Patrick, but Laoghire devised an evil plan, inviting Patrick to come to diner. In good faith, Patrick came with his eight clerics. The Kings men were hidden ready to attack, but all they saw were eight deer and behind them a fawn with a white bird on its shoulder.’
The priest’s hand shook as he pounded on the great oaken door. Too cold now, he pulled his arm into his cloak and began werinering a prayer that someone would save him and his companion, who stayed silent.
Finally, just as the two were about to turn and go back down the road, they heard the bolt slide away and the door was pulled open. A lone man stood in the doorway, looking at them. He wore nothing on his feet, yet he wore a breastplate and carried a sword on his belt while there was no evidence of any need for battle—there were no other settlements or buildings for several miles in any direction and the closest ones were small farms. He said nothing and gave no indication that he was interested in the two, or their fate, whether it be surviving or dying in the cold rain Ireland was famous for.
"Please, sir," the priest spoke, finding it apparent the man was waiting for them to explain themselves. "We are on a pilgrimage. We did not count on the weather."
"Nor the season," the man said, blocking the doorway and giving no indication that he’d let them inside yet. "’Tis well past sunset yet."
"We came from southern France and were not informed of—"
"You seek shelter from your own lack of planning."
"Indeed."
"She is my ward. In exchange for her dutiful help from my disability, I agreed to escort her with my on my journey."
"Our women have never needed such protection," the man in the doorway said coldly, colder than the rain, colder than everything else he’d said so far.
Neither the priest nor his ward said anything.
"I shall grant you solace, for I think it a sin to cast even strangers and fools into the wild to die, buow tow this: not all of Ireland has bowed to Patrick."
The priest merely blinked at the statement before offering his hand to the woman and leading her inside.
"This be the hall of my ancestors," the man said, noting the priest and his ward staring in awe at the inside of the stone building. "Who they were I have never been told."
"Unfortunate," the priest said, squinting at the ceiling.
"I apologize. It is rude of me to harbor guests and still keep such distance. What the names of those I shelter this night?"
"My name is Absolon. This is Lucretia."
"Do you find something strange with my abode?"
"I could not if I wanted to," Absolon answered. "I have spent too many nights reading the scriptures by dim candlelight. My eyes are not what they once were in my youth. I can only see so far in front of me," Absolon said, waving his hand less than arm’s-distance from his face. "That is why she accompanies me. I am too blind to travel on my own."
"Your ward has yet to speak."
"She does not speak French, nor English."
"Welsh, then?"
"I do not know."
"Mother of your…Blodeuwedd?" the man asked in broken Welsh.
To the surprise of Absolon, Lucretia nodded.
"You never told us your own name," Aboslon said.
"I am Valentine."
"You bear a Christian name and yet you hate it so. At least, those it represents," Absolon said.
"I do not hate it," Valentine said, just as coldly as he’d said everything else. "I merely resent it."
There was silence for a long while. Then, just as Lucretia was about to speak, Valentine started instead. "I have some meager provisions, and you are welcome to the beds… I doubt you are unused to such things."
"You are implying what by that statement?" Absolon asked, offended.
"That Ireland is a cold place, and even priest can get cold."
Lucretia laughed at the comment, surprising both men.
"Indeed," Absolon said. Valentine was silent as he wondered about what the priest meant.