Saint Brigid's Bones

by Philip Freeman

  The Uí Néill confederation of tribes, the sworn enemies of Leinster, home of our monastery, controlled the northern half of the island and were pushing ever southward against us. They were rich, powerful, and ruthless in their efforts to control all of Ireland. The abbot came from a prominent Uí Néill family and although he was supposedly neutral in secular affairs, he did everything he could to expand their rule at our expense.

  “Maybe we could go west,” said Fiach. “I’ve heard there are monks on Skellig Michael off the coast.”

  “Yes,” I said. “There are a few monasteries on the mainland as well. I know Father Brendan started one recently. But those are small communities dedicated to contemplation and prayer, not service. The followers of Brigid are devoted to the poor and needy. We can’t serve people if we live on deserted islands and empty coasts.”

  “What about Britain then? Father Ninian’s old church in the land of the Picts has fallen on hard times lately and could use some help.”

  “Fiach, how could we leave Ireland?” I asked. “For most of us, this is home. This is where Brigid labored so long to build her monastery. To leave here would be to give up her dream as well as ours. And what about Father Ailbe? He’s been on this island for decades and would never abandon it.”

  Father Ailbe had given his life to the Irish. We might leave, but he never would.

  “The simple truth,” I declared, “is that we have to find a way to continue our work at Kildare, bones or not. Our ministry is here, at this monastery, not in Britain or even somewhere else in Ireland. This is the center of everything Brigid built with her sweat and love. And remember, she didn’t choose this place at random. Even the druids say there is something special about Kildare, as if Brigid knew that this was a place of unearthly power and possibility.”

  My listeners nodded. It was something we all felt, monks, nuns, and visitors alike, even those who put no stock in the old ways of magic and spirits.

  “The soul of Brigid is here at Kildare, even if her bones are gone,” I said. “This is where our work must live and prosper.”

  They seemed to have cheered up a little as we left the cooking hut and went to our sleeping quarters for the night, but Eithne still looked angry. The beds of all the nuns—except Sister Anna, who had her own quarters—were lined against each side of the hut with a simple wooden chest at the foot of each for the few personal possessions we each had. The hut was nothing but a large rectangular room about thirty feet long with no decoration except a cross on the wall above the door, but it was warm and dry with a peat fire always burning in the center. Dari and I had our beds next to each other nearest the door. The older nuns were closest to the fire, with Eithne’s bed at the opposite side of the room as far from me as was possible. While she was washing at a basin in the back of the hut I screwed up my courage and went to stand beside her.

  “Eithne, I wish we could put the past behind us and be friends.”

  She dried her face with a rag.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Deirdre, but I don’t want to be your friend. You’ve brought nothing but pain to me since you were six years old. I hated that you were always smarter than me, even though I was the older one. I hated that the boys always thought you were so pretty. I hated that you came from a wealthy family. Then, just when I thought you were out of my life forever, you came back and joined the monastery as a nun. You, the least likely nun I’ve ever met. You could have married a king or a wealthy nobleman. Why did you have to come back here to torment me again? You, with all your talents, your gifts, your advantages. You have everything I ever wanted.”

  She threw the rag on table and practically hissed at me.

  “I hated you when you were a girl, Deirdre, and I still do. If I could do something to drive you from this monastery, I would. But it doesn’t look like I’ll need to now that you’ve burned down the church at Sleaty and killed us all. Maybe whoever stole the bones did us a favor. Now we can just die and get it over with.”

  I stood there in shock, not knowing what to say.

  “Go to bed, Deirdre, and leave me alone.”

  I crossed back to my side of the hut, shaking, took off my clothes, and crawled under my blankets. Dari was already asleep in the bed next to me. She looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  I lay awake for a long time thinking about what Eithne had said. I couldn’t believe the fury in her voice. I thought about when we were teenagers and she had been so fond of Cormac, a young prince from Glendalough who was also a student at our school. She did everything she could to get him to like her. I know a few times she snuck out of the girls’ sleeping quarters and met him under the tree by the stream. I followed her once and saw them making love in the moonlight. She was on top of him and saw me spying on them from behind the bushes. I thought she would be embarrassed or angry, but she just smiled at me, as if in triumph.

  A few weeks after that Cormac began to pay attention to me instead. My guess was he had grown tired of Eithne. A peasant girl wasn’t the sort of woman a prince could marry anyway, as she must have known. One night I snuck out and met Cormac under that same tree. I had never been with a man before, but I think Cormac knew that. He was gentle and wonderful. When we finished, I lay happily in his arms with a blanket pulled over the two of us. Cormac was sleeping next to me when I heard a branch crack in the woods behind us. I looked up and saw Eithne staring at me with a look of such pain on her face that I wanted to go to her and tell her I was sorry. She left us there and we never spoke of it. Cormac and I spent many nights together under that tree over the next few years, then he went home to Glendalough to help his father rule his small kingdom. He and I saw each other from time to time and were always friends, but the passion we had known in school and the dreams I had of being with him faded away. Still, I often thought of him and our nights together, even after I became a nun.

  Lying in my bed in the sisters’ sleeping quarters that night with Eithne’s angry words still echoing in my ears, I listened to the wind blowing through the trees outside. It sounded like a storm was coming. Finally I began to drift off to sleep.

  But somewhere in the space between sleeping and waking, I heard a voice whispering to me:

  Go back to the fire.

  I sat up in bed and looked around. Everyone was asleep and all was quiet inside the hut. I threw on my cloak and rushed outside. There was no one there. I searched the ground for footprints near the wall closest to my bed, but there was nothing, even though the earth was damp from a light rain. Tired, wet, and feeling rather foolish, I went back to my bed and crawled under the covers. I heard Dari stir beside me.

  “What were you doing outside, Deirdre?” she whispered.

  “Nothing. I was just dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

  “What was the dream about?”

  “Nothing, Dari, it was just a voice. An old woman whispering.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said for you to go to sleep.”

  “No, really.”

  “She said to go back to the fire, whatever that means.”

  “Hmm. Maybe she wants you to go to the cooking hut and bring us a midnight snack.”

  “It was just a silly dream. It doesn’t mean anything. And I’m too tired to talk about it. Good night, Dari.”

  “Good night, Deirdre. Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter Four

  Early the next morning, Sister Anna called me to her hut once more. I stood outside the door, wondering if somehow she was going to blame me for the missing bones, then I knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Our abbess looked as if she hadn’t slept for days, which was probably the case. I stood in front of her desk once more as she read by the faint light of a single oil lamp with the wick trimmed well back.

  “Frugality, Sister Deirdre,” she said as she saw me looking at the lamp. “I’ve always practiced it, though now it is needed more than ever.”

  She put down the letter she had been
reading.

  “I’m afraid, Sister Deirdre, that circumstances don’t permit me to continue our previous discussion about your troubled spirit this morning. Other, more pressing matters demand our attention. To be blunt, we face the greatest threat in the history of our monastery. A few days ago I told you that our community faced a crisis. Now we face a catastrophe. Without the bones of holy Brigid, pilgrims will cease to come to Kildare. The food and offerings those visitors bring are essential to the continuance of our ministry. The bones also helped guard our monastery from the greed of King Dúnlaing’s nobles. Without them, I’m certain they will press the king to take back our land.”

  I nodded in agreement. As bad as things had seemed for our monastery a week ago, they were considerably worse now.

  “But I didn’t call you here, Sister Deirdre, to explain the dire circumstances we face. You know them as well as I. The simple fact is we must find those bones before the beginning of spring or our monastery is finished. The feast day of holy Brigid in early February, just over three months from now, draws more pilgrims to our community than any event of the year. If we can’t recover the bones by then, our ministry, our monastery, our dream is over.”

  No matter how much I might wish it otherwise, what she said was true.

  “We’ve searched and questioned everyone around the monastery to no avail, not that I’m surprised. I find it most unlikely that one of our people would commit such an unholy crime against their own community. I can think of nothing anyone in the monastery would gain from the act. I can only assume, therefore, that the thief or thieves live beyond these walls.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “I’m so glad you concur, Sister Deirdre, because I am assigning you the task of finding the bones.”

  I looked at her in disbelief for several moments before I responded.

  “You can’t be serious. Me? Find the bones? A few days ago you said I was drifting like a ship at sea. Now you want to place the future of the monastery in my hands?”

  “I appreciate the irony as well, Sister Deirdre, but be quiet and listen. You wouldn’t be my choice for the task under different circumstances, but whoever has taken the bones of holy Brigid must come from outside this community, perhaps from beyond the bounds of these tribal lands. We both know that the only people who can move freely between tribes are members of the nobility such as yourself. You are a bard, a member of the Order of Druids. If it were up to me, I would question every person on this island myself to find those bones, but I’m not a warrior, a druid, a king, or one of the privileged few as you are. Even a blacksmith can wander the land and cross its tribal borders without the permission of a king, but the abbess of Kildare cannot.”

  I had never given any thought to this benefit of being part of the Irish nobility. It was simply part of my birthright.

  “In addition to your ability to travel, you have many friends throughout the four provinces of Ireland. Your work as a bard has gained you influence with kings and commoners alike. You come from a family of druids and have a bond to members of the Order in every tribe. I leave aside the fact that you are insufferably curious. If anyone of the community of Brigid can find those bones, it’s you.”

  “But, Sister Anna, where should I look? Who would have dared such a thing, even those living beyond these walls?”

  “That, Sister Deirdre, I leave for you to discover. You will never find the bones by searching under rocks or beds. They could be safely hidden anywhere by now. So I would suggest you begin by asking yourself who had something to gain from such a theft. Question people. Use your connections. The bones were not carried off by spirits. Someone must have seen something. Someone must know something. Find that person.”

  She then reached under her desk and handed me the small wooden box containing the silk ribbon from Brigid’s chest and the piece of cloth the armed stranger had left behind on Tamun’s farm.

  “Take these. They may be helpful, though I doubt it. But for now they’re the only clues we have.”

  She nodded towards the door.

  “You are released from all other duties at the monastery during this task. What meager resources we have are at your disposal. Go now, and may the grace of God go with you.”

  I bowed my head to leave, but suddenly thought of something.

  “Sister Anna, may Sister Darerca help me search for the bones? She could be helpful. She sees things I don’t.”

  Sister Anna waved me away.

  “Yes, fine. I can scarcely separate the two of you anyway.”

  I bowed again and went out, almost forgetting to close the door behind me. I was terrified. How could I find such a small bundle of bones? It seemed like an impossible job and I had no idea where to begin.

  Who had something to gain from stealing the bones? I first went to the church and prayed. After that I talked briefly with Brother Kevin, who was outside the carpenter’s shop. Then to help me think, I went back to the sleeping quarters and retrieved my harp. Normally I would have gone straight to Father Ailbe’s hut and poured my heart out to him, but it would be at least a week until he returned from Munster.

  I set off on a path leading through the fields south of the monastery. When I reached a small rise, I looked back at Kildare and could see the church shining in the sun. It was perhaps a hundred feet long and half again as wide. I’m sure it was nothing compared to the churches in Rome or Constantinople that Father Ailbe had visited, but since I was a little girl it seemed like the grandest building in the world to me. It was made from solid oak boards fixed against an oak frame and painted with a lime whitewash. Even the roof was made of overlapping oak planks. The oak tree was sacred to the druids, but it was perfectly permissible to build with it. It was the most sturdy of woods and naturally resistant to rot. The monastery took its name from the church, built by Brigid when she had first established the settlement fifty years earlier. She had wanted to name it for the Virgin Mary, but from the start people had called it Cill Dara or Kildare—“The Church of Oak”—and the name stuck.

  “Admiring the view, Deirdre?”

  I turned and saw Roech, a nobleman of King Dúnlaing. Roech owned the land to the south of the monastery and was a close friend of Dúnlaing’s sons Illann and Ailill. He was also a cousin of mine on my father’s side. He was a lean man with a bulbous nose who loved hunting, gambling, and bedding as many women as he could threaten or buy. I grew up thinking he was a disgusting lout and hadn’t found any reason to change my mind.

  “Yes, Roech, I’m admiring Brigid’s church. A shining beacon of holiness to those who dwell in its shadow, don’t you think?”

  He snorted.

  “Holiness is for women and fools. A man’s business is to fight for his king, increase his herds, and sleep with a different wench every night—two if he can find them.”

  He laughed at his own joke. I was unimpressed.

  “Well, Deirdre, in any case it sounds like your church won’t be around much longer. With the bones of Brigid gone missing and, I hear, a certain church across the Barrow burned to the ground, I think King Dúnlaing will be taking back his lands soon enough. Such a pity. I always enjoyed hearing you nuns sing as I walked by.”

  “And what would you know about the missing bones, Roech?”

  A silk ribbon only a nobleman could afford. A warrior running away in the darkness. The clues so far pointed to a man like Roech, especially one who had always despised Brigid and her monastery. If we couldn’t pay our rent to the king and lost our lands, Roech stood to benefit greatly.

  I leaned in close and fixed him with an icy stare. It was a trick I had learned from my grandmother to throw a man off balance. He jerked back and almost fell down.

  “I don’t know anything about your moldy old bones. I’d grind them into meal to feed my pigs if I could find them. Brigid never did me any favors.”

  Roech had once tried to blackmail a beautiful young woman into sleeping with him after entrusting a valuable brooch to her fathe
r for safekeeping. He sent one of his own men to secretly steal it in the night, then said that if the brooch wasn’t returned to him in three days he would take the man’s daughter as his slave in payment. The family was frantic and came to Brigid for help. She prayed with them, then went to see one of Roech’s shepherds whose wife she had once healed. He finally told her what his master had done and where he had hidden the brooch. When the day came for Roech to claim the girl as his slave, Brigid was there at her family’s home and handed the brooch to him with a smile. Roech stormed away cursing Brigid for meddling in his business.

  “Oh, such an unfortunate attitude, Roech. I’m sure Brigid is praying for you even now as she looks down upon you from heaven.”

  He glanced up quickly, then back at me.

  “Spare me your Christian prayers, Deirdre. I don’t need you or Brigid to help me. Things are changing, you see. Things are going to be different soon.”

  Roech acted like a small man with a big secret. He was probably just bluffing, but something in his words made me wonder.

  “What do you mean things will be different soon?”

  He seemed to realize he had said too much.

  “Nothing. I mean nothing.”

  Before he could walk away, I moved in front of him and addressed him in the formal manner of a bard.

  “Roech, son of Lóeg, as a bard of the ancient line of Amairgen, I call on you to tell me what you know. If you fail to do so, I will curse you with the power of my druid blood and the magic of women.”

  He began to shake and back away as I continued, one palm stretched out toward him and the other raised to the sky.

  “You will be enchanted and bound. The great will become small, the straight will be crooked, the seeing will be blind. Your fields will bear no fruit, your cows no calves, your women no children. Your bounty and your manhood will shrivel like a bean left on the stalk in winter. You will die without a name and be forgotten.”