Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [79]
She shrugged. “They have always sacrificed. Animals.”
“And men, too, in the past.” He sighed. “I confess to you, Deirdre, that after the death of Conall, I began to lose my desire for sacrifices. I wanted no more of them.”
“You do not believe in the sacrifices?”
He shook his head. “It was a terrible thing, Deirdre, that was done to Conall. Terrible. I am stricken with grief, I cringe for shame whenever I think of it. Yet when it was done, we all supposed we were acting for the best. I thought so, Deirdre, and so, I can assure you, did Conall.” He shook his head sadly. “That is the way with the old gods, Deirdre. It has always been the same: always those terrible sacrifices, whether of men or animals; always the shedding of blood to placate gods who, if truth be told, are no better than the men who make the sacrifices.”
The thought seemed to depress him. He shook his head sorrowfully before taking up his theme again. “It is only here, Deirdre, that such things are still done, you know. In Britain, Gaul, and Rome, they have long since turned to the true God. Our gods are held in contempt. And rightly so.” He gazed at her earnestly. “Think of it, Deirdre, can we really suppose that the sun, the sky, the earth, and the stars were made by such beings as the Dagda with his cauldron, or the other multiplicity of gods behaving, often as not, like foolish, cruel children? Could this world be made by anything other than a supreme being so great, so all-embracing, that He passes our understanding?”
Did he expect her to reply? She wasn’t sure. She was so astonished to hear him speaking in this way that she would hardly have known what to say in any case.
“When I was a druid,” he continued quietly, “I often felt such things. I felt the presence of an eternal God, Deirdre, I felt it when I performed the morning and evening prayers, I felt it in the great silences when I was alone, yet without truly understanding what it was that I felt.” He smiled. “But now, Deirdre, I do understand. All these feelings come from the one, true God which the whole of Christendom knows.
“And the wonder of it is,” he went on, “that there is no need for any further sacrifice. You know, I suppose, why we are called Christians.” He briefly outlined the life of Jesus Christ. “God gave His only Son to be sacrificed on a cross. That sacrifice was made for all men and for all time.” He smiled. “Think of it, Deirdre: there is no need for any blood sacrifice, neither of man nor of beast. The ultimate sacrifice has already been made. We are free. All sacrifices are over.” He watched her as he gave her this news.
She was silent for a moment.
“And this is the message you preach now, in contrast to the druids?”
“I do. And it is a comforting message. For the true God is not a greedy or a vengeful god, Deirdre. He is a loving God. He wants only that we should love one another and live in peace. That is the finest faith I can think of, and I want no other. I have no doubt,” he added, “that it’s the truth.”
“Are you the only druid to become a Christian?”
“By no means. Many of the priests of the old religion are violently opposed. That is what you would expect. But some of the most learned of us have taken an interest for a long time. The Christian Church, you know, holds all the learning of the Roman world.”
Deirdre frowned. She still wasn’t sure what to make of this.
“But you had to abandon everything you had believed before.”
“Not entirely. For some of us, as I said, the new faith was really what we had been looking for all the time. As a Christian priest, I experience the same sense of things. The world is just as full of poetry. Do you remember the words of Amairgen’s great poem?
I am the Wind on the Sea
“One of our bishops has made a hymn, to the Creator of Creation—the one God, that is—and one of its verses is rather similar. Listen to this:
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendour of fire,