“But enough talk about churches and bones.” My grandmother pointed me to the table. “Come sit down and have some chicken. You can’t save the world on an empty stomach.”
Chapter Six
At the monastery the next evening, I helped with the cooking and cleaning up after dinner. We fed all the sisters and our handful of brothers at each meal along with the twenty or so widows who lived with us. I collected the table scraps and went out to feed the pigs in the pen at the far end of the compound. We were fattening them for slaughter soon and so had brought them in from the woods a few weeks earlier. Tending pigs was the job of slaves in most places, but Brigid had taught us that even the most humble task was of value when done in the service of God.
Our pigs were small hairy animals with long legs, barely distinguishable from the wild boars that roamed the forest. Most were black or reddish-brown, but the largest sow was white with red ears. I sat down on the log bench next to their pen.
When I was a girl, I used to marvel at the way Brigid had with animals, including pigs. One autumn afternoon when she was helping to bring the monastery swine into the feeding pen, a large wild boar suddenly burst into the middle of the herd. The poor animal had been running away from something and was as surprised as the sisters to find itself surrounded by strange pigs. It started to panic and charge around the herd, then Brigid began to walk slowly toward it, singing gently. She motioned to the other sisters to stand still as she approached the boar. They were terrified the beast would gore her with its sharp tusks, but as she came ever closer it seemed to calm down. At last Brigid knelt beside it and stroked its back as she whispered into its ear. Then she led it out of the herd and back into the forest.
The pigs in the pen that chilly night were all healthy and happy as they devoured the scraps I had brought them from the kitchen. Soon they would be ready to be made into sausage and hams to feed us, hopefully, through the winter. I always felt guilty about killing pigs even though I enjoyed their sweet meat. They are intelligent creatures, more so than some people I’ve known. It never bothered me to wring a chicken’s neck, but pigs were different.
I heard heavy footsteps coming toward me in the darkness and stood up. I grabbed a large stick resting against the pig pen, ready to defend myself against anyone trying to kill me as they had at the Sleaty fire, at least according to my grandmother. The full moon had risen, but thick clouds covered the sky. I strained to see who was coming, then a familiar deep voice spoke to me.
“Still fond of pigs, are you, Deirdre?”
It was Fergus, my ex-husband. I lowered the stick, but kept it in my hand.
“What are you doing here, Fergus?”
“I was passing through. I was doing some cattle trading nearby and decided to stop in. Do I need a reason to visit my wife?”
“I’m not your wife anymore, as you well know.”
“I know I always treated you well enough. I didn’t hit you often and I think I satisfied you, if you know what I mean. I could go to the brehons and get a judgment against you if I wanted.”
“Go ahead and try. Most of them are my cousins.”
Fergus sighed and shrugged.
“Deirdre, why do you always have to be so difficult? Was I really such a bad husband? Life on my farm couldn’t have been that bad. Ness and Boann miss you. So do their children.”
“How are they doing? Has Tiger learned to shoot a bow yet?”
“You should see him. The boy can bring down a deer at a hundred paces now. We went hunting last week and he killed the largest buck I’ve ever seen. We had a great feast when we got home and smoked the rest for winter. Did you know Ness had a son at the end of last month and Boann twin daughters just a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes, I heard.”
“There are so many crying babies around the place I can’t get a good night’s sleep anymore.”
“The burdens of fatherhood, Fergus.”
“Oh, mind you, I’m not complaining. What more could a man want than a house full of children?”
This talk about children with Fergus was becoming painful.
“Fergus, why are you here?”
He walked over and sat on the bench. I stood facing him.
“I heard about the bones. I also heard about what happened at Sleaty. Are you alright?”
“Just a few scrapes. Nothing to worry about.”
I knew he hadn’t come all the way to the monastery to make sure I was well. He wanted something.
“Deirdre,” he said at last, “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of a bad situation, but with the monastery in trouble, I wanted to let you know you’re always welcome to come back home and live with me, if you want to.”
I was as likely to move back in with Fergus as become a Frankish concubine.
“Fergus, honestly, why would you want me back? You and I fought all the time.”
“Oh, I suppose I like a challenge. It’s like having a feisty heifer that won’t let a bull mount her.”
“You really know how to flatter a girl, Fergus.”
“You know what I mean. I miss you, Deirdre. My other wives are good women, but they’re not like you. Sometimes after spending an evening with you I wanted to pound my head against the wall, but life was always interesting when you were around.”
He reached down to tie the lace on his boot.
“I guess I’m trying to say I love you. I always will.”
Fergus had never spoken to me like this before, even when we were married, and I wasn’t sure I believed him.
“Fergus, I’m touched, but I’m not looking for a husband. I’m a nun now and my life is here at the monastery.”
I took a deep breath.
“And besides, you know why I left.”
Memories came flooding back like it was yesterday. His shining eyes and sweet laughter, rocking him to sleep in my arms as we sat by the fire.
“I loved him too, Deirdre. I was his father, you know. You don’t own all the grief.”
I was not going to do this. I was not going to fight with Fergus. I was not going to talk about my son.
“Fergus, this is my home now. Please leave.”
“But you can’t stay here, Deirdre. You know the monastery won’t survive without Brigid’s bones.”
“I’m hoping to find them before it’s too late. If not, I’ll make my own way somehow.”
He stood up and faced me.
“Maybe I could help. If I could find the bones for you, would you think about coming back to me?”
I suddenly wondered if Fergus might be the thief. If he wanted to ruin the monastery or blackmail me into returning to him, stealing the bones would be a good way to do it.
“And just how could you find them, Fergus?”
“I deal with a lot of people in the livestock business, some of them pretty shady characters. They might know something. I could ask around.”
I had to be careful how I handled this. If he was the thief, taking a tough stand with him would be better than appearing weak.
“I’m sorry, Fergus. I’d be grateful if you let me know of anything you might hear, but I’m afraid our marriage is over, forever.”
He stood facing me with a look of fury on his face. At first I thought he was going to hit me with those meaty fists of his and I gripped my stick tightly, but I watched as he made himself calm down.
“You might feel differently this winter when the wind blows down from the north. I know you can always go back to living with your grandmother, but not everyone has a cozy fire waiting for them. Maybe you could take Father Ailbe and Dari with you, but what about the other sisters and brothers? What about all those widows you feed? Can you squeeze everyone into her hut? It’s going to get pretty crowded.”
“We’ll survive,” I said. “Goodbye, Fergus.”
He grumbled something and left out of the back gate of the monastery. I didn’t believe for a minute that he’d come to declare his love for me. I also didn�
��t think he was bright enough to come up with the idea of stealing the bones himself. He’d struggled at the monastery school for a few years and could manage basic reading and writing, but he’d quit when his father said he didn’t have to go anymore. Could he be working for someone else? If so, who? And why was he trying so hard to get me to come back to his farm now, three years after I left him? I knew it wasn’t out of concern for me. There was something more going on with Fergus than he was admitting and I was determined to discover what it was.
Chapter Seven
I was late the next day for morning prayers. I walked quickly into the church and stood in back, hoping nobody would notice. The other nuns were lined up in front of me facing the altar with their veils over their heads. A couple of the older sisters seemed so shaky I could have knocked them over with a feather. The brothers standing on the other side of the church seemed just as despondent. It felt as if we were all attending a funeral. The theft of the bones was wearing deeply on everyone.
That morning’s first psalm was a perfect match for the mood. The sisters began the melodic chant:
Have mercy on me, O Lord,
for I am in distress.
Tears have wasted my eyes,
my throat and my heart.
Then the brothers took over:
For my life is spent with sorrow,
and my years with sighs.
Affliction has broken down my strength,
and my bones waste away.
I was glad we used the psalms in our prayer services. There are a hundred and fifty of them covering every human emotion from boundless joy to abject despair. Sing them all in a few weeks and you’re bound to find one that fits. I also like them because I’m not good at coming up with my own prayers. I can compose a lengthy eulogy for a king at a moment’s notice, but a prayer from the heart is different. Sometimes it seemed silly to me to talk to God since he already knows what we need and he never talks back. But Father Ailbe always said that prayer is for our own benefit.
The sisters finished the last refrain:
Be strong, let your heart take courage,
all who hope in the Lord.
As the others filed out at the end of the service to make their way to the dining hut for breakfast, Sister Anna motioned for me to stay behind. I stood by the door waiting for her to yell at me.
“Sister Anna, I’m sorry I was late. I couldn’t find my—”
“Spare me, Sister Deirdre. Come to my office after you eat. I have something for you.”
She left the church quickly, heading to her hut. She normally ate breakfast alone at her desk. I joined the rest of the brothers and sisters in the dining hall. They were having our usual morning meal of bread and milk, though I noticed the butter jar was none too full. Dari had already taken her meal to the school to eat with the children. I sat down at a table but none of the others seemed like they wanted to talk to me. They all avoided my eyes. Only Eithne whispered to me.
“Has Sister Anna really put you in charge of finding the bones?”
“Yes.”
“Then God help us. The monastery is doomed.”
I waited for one of the others to come to my defense, but they either hadn’t heard or they agreed with Eithne. Many of them were still angry at me for the fire at Sleaty. I wanted to tell them that a mysterious voice had spoken to me about the fire and that my grandmother had said it wasn’t my fault, but that would have sounded pathetic. My only hope for redemption was to find proof that someone else had burned down the church.
When I had finished eating I walked to the hut of the abbess and knocked on her door.
“Come in.”
Sister Anna was working at her desk. She motioned me towards her and handed me a small piece of parchment carefully folded and sealed with a circle of yellow wax. My name was written in Roman letters on the front.
“This was brought by a messenger last night.”
The image pressed into the wax seal was of a striking young man in profile with a ram’s horn curling over his ear. I realized that it was made by an old coin of Alexander the Great. Father Ailbe had one like it in the chest he had brought from Egypt.
I broke the seal and saw that the writing was in Greek:
Deirdre,
I thought it best to write in a language few know in case this letter is intercepted. You must come to my inauguration at Glendalough. I have information about the bones of Brigid.
Cormac
P.S. Isn’t the seal wonderful? I had it made from a golden coin I got from an Italian merchant. It cost me three slaves, but it was worth it.
Cormac. I felt my heart stop as I read his name. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in several years, not since just before I married Fergus. He had sent me a wedding gift then, a fine Roman oil lamp with an image of the lovers Pyramus and Thisbe carved on top.
I handed the letter to Sister Anna, who glanced at it briefly.
“Well, what does it say?” she asked.
The abbess didn’t know Greek, though she was quite good at Latin. There weren’t more than a handful of people in Ireland who could write in Greek and they were all former students of Father Ailbe. He had also taught me Aramaic, the language of Jesus, and a little Hebrew, though I struggled with the latter.
“It’s from Cormac. He wants me to go to Glendalough for his inauguration. He says he has information regarding the bones of Brigid.”
“Indeed? What kind of information?”
“He doesn’t say.”
“I find it rather odd that Cormac sends us word about the bones so soon after they’re stolen.”
So did I. Could Cormac be involved in the theft of Brigid’s bones? I didn’t want to believe it. Maybe he just wanted to see me again. It had been so long.
“Sister Anna, you don’t think he might have taken the bones, do you?”
“Possibly. Cormac is an ambitious man. If stealing them would serve his quest for power, then yes, I think he could be behind it.”
“But he was a student here for years. He’s practically a member of our community,” I protested.
“A student, yes, but he never received baptism. If Cormac believes in anything beyond his own destiny I would be very much surprised.”
“Sister Anna, I admit that Cormac is perfectly capable of bold action to further his ambitions, but I don’t see how having the bones would help him.”
“Neither do I. Perhaps he has truly heard something. Perhaps he is using the news of the theft for his own purposes. But if he has the bones, you must get them back.”
She tapped her fingers on her desk for a moment. I could tell she was weighing something in her mind.
“Sister Deirdre, I’m reluctant to send you to Glendalough alone.”
I could feel myself blushing. Sister Anna knew about Cormac and me. She had been one of our teachers when he and I were in school together and she seldom missed anything. I don’t know if she knew about our nighttime meetings, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I’m afraid I must insist that Sister Darerca accompany you.”
I was glad to have Dari come along, but I was indignant at having her appointed to watch over me.
“Sister Anna, I assure you that Cormac is part of my past. With respect, I don’t need a chaperone.”
“I disagree, and fortunately I am the one who gets to make such decisions. In any case, I’m not worried about your virtue as much as I am your objectivity.”
“Yes, Sister Anna.” I bit my lip. One did not argue with the abbess of Kildare.
“Now, aside from the dubious promise of information from young Cormac, tell me what you have found so far in your search and how you plan to proceed.”
I wasn’t going to tell her about the voice of the old woman in the night unless I found something at Sleaty. It also seemed best not to mention my suspicions of Fergus until I found out more.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything definite, though I have several ideas about who I s
hould question. It still seems to me the primary suspects are the nobles of King Dúnlaing, especially his two sons, Illann and Ailill. They have a strong motivation for wanting to ruin us and take back the lands of Kildare for themselves. I don’t think the king himself would be involved, but he’s holding a Samain feast at Dún Ailinne next week and all his nobles will be there. I’d like to go and see what I can find out.”
Sister Anna nodded.
“Who else will you question?”
“I plan to visit some farmsteads southwest of Kildare before I visit the king. I’ll leave tomorrow. We haven’t had a chance to question everyone there yet.”
Actually I had no intention of talking to any farmers. I was using it as an excuse to revisit Sleaty and examine the ruined church.
“Who else?”
“It’s possible some disgruntled druids may be behind the theft.”
Sister Anna frowned.
“The Order always respected Brigid. Our relations with them have been amicable since her death. I find it unlikely that they would be involved.”
“That’s what my grandmother said.”
“A wise woman, for a druid.”
“Then there’s the monastery of Armagh,” I continued. “The abbot there has been trying to undermine us for years. If he had his way we would all be declared heretics and excommunicated. He has the backing of a few of the Irish bishops and even some support in Rome. But I can’t bring myself to believe he would steal the bones of Brigid. Sister Anna, you’ve met the abbot a number of times. May I ask what you think of him?”
“I think that the abbot would sell his mother to a Pictish brothel if it would increase his power. I hate to think that a man who calls himself a Christian would commit such a blasphemy as to steal the bones of holy Brigid, but it is possible. Still, he would never have his own men do the deed. It would be too obvious. He would work through someone else.”
“Outlaws?”
“Possibly. They’ve been known to commit such acts for the right price. Or perhaps he would use someone closer to Kildare. Someone who would raise fewer suspicions.”
Saint Brigid's Bones Page 5
