Patrick

Across the Irish sea, in the land known as the end of the world, King Niall, high king of Ireland, sat on his throne in his hall. The time had now come. His men were ready. Tonight, they would go. King Niall motioned to one of his warriors. “Fachmad, get yourself and your men ready. You leave tonight.” The raiders grabbed their weapons, and with a shout to their king, they thundered out of the hall. The boats full of Irish warriors eager for plunder pushed off into the darkness and made their way to Britain. After a long night they slipped up to the shore. The little town of Bannavem lay peaceful in the moonlight, unaware of the raiders running deftly toward it. Unprepared, the sleeping citizens were helpless against the vicious attack. Plundering and capturing as they went, the raiders swept through the village, wanting to load their vessels with as much treasure and captives as they could. Lupita was sound asleep. Potitus was sound asleep. The servants were asleep. Maxi lay asleep at the side of Patrick’s bed. But Patrick lay awake thinking. All he could think about were the rows of Roman soldiers marching out of the village. Flavius had left as well, to go back to Italy with his father. The world as he knew it was changing so fast. The village was ripe with fear. Now that the Roman soldiers were gone, Britain was open to barbarians and, even closer to home, raiders from Ireland. This wasn’t the first time his parents were away from the villa, but with the Romans gone, things were different. Patrick felt afraid. He had often been found gazing out across the Irish Sea toward that savage land. It seemed closer now than ever. Patrick kept thinking about his grandfather’s words to him. “We must trust in God,” he would say. As hard as he wanted to please his grandfather, Patrick could not bring himself to trust in his God. He knew it caused his grandfather much grief and worry, and he felt terrible about that, too. As Patrick finally drifted off to sleep, the band of Irish raiders was quietly finding their way along the path leading to Patrick’s villa. Suddenly, Maxi sat up, his ears pricked to full attention. Patrick had no time to fight back. He woke to barbarians entering his room and throwing him on the ground. They had him gagged and bound his hands painfully behind his back. Too frightened to resist, Patrick was marched downstairs. Horror and grief seized him as he watched his grandfather and older slaves slaughtered in front of him. A chain was fastened around his neck, and along with some of the villa’s younger and fitter servants, he was marched off in line to the waiting boats. He caught sight of Lupita bound in the same manner, chained along with female slaves. She was wailing frantically. Patrick was too numb to even cry out to her. Patrick sat in shock in the rocking boat. Three feet of iron links separated him from the next captive. He didn’t even notice that the body connected to him by the chain of iron was the hated ale slave. A dawning realization was slowly coming to Patrick that his life had suddenly, horribly changed forever—and not for the better. But little did the pagan raiders know, as they headed home, was that their brutal activities that day would change the history of their island forever.