Just as I was about to ask Sister Anna who she had in mind, we heard the noise of horses outside. This was unusual, since the monastery owned none. Such animals were too expensive for us to feed and were kept mostly by the warrior nobility. My first thought was that it must be some of King Dúnlaing’s nobles come to gloat over our misfortune.
But as we stepped out of the hut, I was surprised to see the riders were four men in monastic robes, though considerably finer than the ones we wore at Kildare. They all were tonsured in the Roman style with only the top of their heads shaved. The two largest monks wore fine swords strapped to their belts. The third was a man of average height who looked like a clerk with his ink-stained fingers. Like the large men, he wore a small silver cross about his neck on a silver chain. The fourth was a short, stout figure with delicate hands and no cross.
“Speak of the devil,” said Sister Anna softly.
The abbot of Armagh had just ridden into our monastery.
Chapter Eight
Greetings, brothers and sisters in Christ.”
The abbot spoke in an impressively booming voice to the crowd that was gathering around.
One of the larger monks got down and helped the abbot slowly off his horse. He handed the reins to Brother Kevin without a word as if he were a stable boy. Then the abbot saw us and approached the abbess with arms outstretched.
“Sister Anna, my dear woman, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”
He gripped Sister Anna’s hands in his own as he talked.
“What a lovely little monastery you have here. I’ve been meaning to visit for so long but, as you well know, the demands of those of us who oversee the flocks of our Lord are great. Fortunately I was nearby supervising the completion of our new church at Clondalkin and I told myself I simply had to stop by.”
The abbot of Armagh was the youngest son of an Uí Néill royal family and used the conquests of his kinsmen to the advantage of his monastery. He had established daughter churches in the lands conquered from us and was now trying to spread his influence into Munster and Leinster itself.
Sister Anna looked as if one of the Indian pythons Father Ailbe talked about had just slithered through our gate and wrapped itself around her. But she was nothing if not the proper host.
“Abbot, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to Kildare. Please come inside my office so that you may rest after your long journey.”
She pried herself loose from his grip and motioned him toward her door. She spoke to me quickly, telling me to bring refreshments from the kitchen. I scampered off and found the last of the buttermilk and poured it into a jar. I grabbed two clean cups and arranged a whole batch of Sister Brianna’s honey cookies on our finest plate. I was determined to make as good an impression as possible on the abbot, though I hated to waste our food on him. I walked quickly back to Sister Anna’s hut and knocked softly.
“Come in.”
Sister Anna was at her desk while the abbot was smiling in the chair in front of her. His clerk was standing behind him looking as if he were afraid to touch anything.
“Abbot, this is Sister Deirdre, one of the newer members of our community. If you don’t mind, I would like her to stay.”
This was surprising, but I bowed to him with as much grace as I could muster. If Sister Anna was going to be polite, so could I.
“Ah yes, Sister Deirdre. It seems as if I’ve heard your name somewhere before. Weren’t you a member of that horrible order of witches and sorcerers? I believe you were one of their singers, weren’t you? I’m so glad you’ve seen the light of Christ and left behind those evil ways.”
I felt the bile gathering in my throat, but before I could respond I caught the stern warning on Sister Anna’s face. I measured my words carefully.
“Yes, Abbot, it is true I come from a family of druids and have been trained as a bard.”
“Of course, of course,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve heard you’re very good with your harp. What a blessing that you now sing the praises of our Lord.”
He then turned to Sister Anna with a most solemn expression.
“My dear Sister Anna, I cannot tell you how much it grieved me to hear about the loss of holy Brigid’s bones. Unthinkable! I can’t believe that someone would steal the bones of that blessed woman from her own church. Truly, we live in the last days if such crimes are committed in the heart of this wonderful Christian community.”
“Thank you, Abbot. Your words are a comfort to us in our time of trial.”
“Indeed, indeed,” replied the abbot. He loved to repeat his words.
He took one of the cookies from the plate and began to nibble on it. He reminded me of a very large mouse.
“And it has also come to my unworthy ears that another tragedy has befallen your monastery recently. Is it true that your efforts to establish a church in Munster on the lands of King Bran have, as they say, gone up in flames?”
He glanced at me for just an instant as he said this.
“Yes, Abbot,” Sister Anna answered, “The church at Sleaty was destroyed in an unfortunate fire.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Sister Anna. It was such a promising idea. I passed by the site only a month ago on the way to Cashel to meet with King Feidelmid. I’ve been trying to persuade him to let us establish a church of our own in Munster. Your workmen at Sleaty were doing a splendid job. I know the poor souls there will be at a loss without the nuns of Kildare to minister to them. And of course, the grain from the fields there would have been a great benefit in your ministry here.”
“Yes, it would have been helpful,” Sister Anna conceded.
“Truly, truly. But perhaps your brothers at Armagh can be of service in your hour of need.”
I watched Sister Anna’s eyes narrow as the abbot continued.
“Our own supplies are meager in these hard times, but in the spirit of Christian fellowship we might be able to spare some food to help see you through the winter and into the next harvest. I fear the pilgrims who normally come to the festival of holy Brigid in February might not feel, shall we say, motivated to attend and bring their offerings this year without the bones to draw them. We would also be willing to pay the rent you owe King Dúnlaing and guarantee future payments as well. We may even be able to influence King Bran to allow the construction of a new church at Sleaty.”
Sister Anna’s expression didn’t change.
“That is indeed most generous, Abbot.”
He took another cookie and a long draft of the buttermilk.
“Of course, we would need to insist on a few conditions.”
I could guess what was coming next.
“And what might those conditions be, Abbot?” asked Sister Anna.
“Nothing really. Mere trifles. To see that the resources we donate would be used prudently, I would need to appoint a few men to oversee their distribution. They would have to be stationed here at your monastery. I would also like to send a few priests to help in your spiritual mission. I believe Father Ailbe is the only ordained minister you have at present. May I ask where he is, by the way?”
“Father Ailbe has been visiting friends in the west,” said Sister Anna. “He’s making his way back to us even now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I’ll miss him. I hope he will be alright. So many things can happen on these wild roads. I never travel anywhere without my guards.”
I was really starting to hate this man.
The abbot took two more cookies and passed his cup to Sister Anna for a refill of buttermilk.
“Father Ailbe is a such dear man,” the abbot said. “I met him when he came to Armagh many years ago. I know he was a favorite disciple of our beloved Patrick.”
This was an outrageous lie. Father Ailbe arrived in Ireland several years before Patrick. Although the two were friends, Father Ailbe was never his disciple. If anything, Patrick looked up to him as a teacher and guide.
Sister Anna spoke before I had a chance to cause any trouble.
“Yes,
I’m sure Father Ailbe will regret missing you as well. As for your kind offer of help, I’m afraid I must decline. It would be unfair of us to take bread from the hungry mouths at Armagh to fill our own bellies.”
“Ah, I understand, Sister Anna.” The abbot smiled in a most condescending way. “Well, do know that our offer remains open should you change your mind.”
“Thank you, Abbot. We are still hopeful that we will recover the bones and be able to continue our ministry on our own. In fact, I have placed Sister Deirdre here in charge of searching for them. Perhaps you might have some counsel you could offer her. Your wisdom is renowned throughout the island.”
I wondered why Sister Anna would tell him about me.
The abbot smiled again.
“Sister Deirdre seems a worthy choice to lead the investigation. My dear young lady, I wish you the very best in your search. I’m afraid any advice I could offer you would be superfluous. I can only say that I will keep you ever in my thoughts.”
The abbot rose from his chair.
“Do you mind if I take a few of these cookies with me, Sister Anna? They are simply delicious.”
“Of course, Abbot. Sister Brianna will be so pleased that you appreciate her baking.”
The abbot handed the cookies to his clerk, who placed the entire batch, plate included, into his satchel. We then all went out the door into the muddy yard where the large brother helped the abbot back up onto his horse.
“Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, Sister Anna. I’ll be heading back to Armagh now, but I hope you won’t hesitate to send word if you need anything—or if you change your mind.”
“You are most gracious, Abbot.”
With a flick of his reins the abbot and his party rode swiftly out of the gate, splashing mud on those standing nearby. The crowd dispersed and returned to their work, leaving the abbess and me alone.
“Those cookies were meant for the children, Sister Anna.”
“Yes, I know. But somehow I doubt the abbot would care.”
“Now that you’ve seen him again, do you think he was responsible for the theft of the bones?”
“I think it is a distinct possibility.”
“Then shouldn’t we confront him? We could talk to Father Ailbe when he returns and force the abbot to tell us what he knows under threat of censure from the synod of bishops.”
“No, we couldn’t. The abbot is far too clever for that. The fact remains that we have no proof. Suspicion is not evidence. If he is responsible, I need you to find proof—solid proof.”
“I will do my best, Sister Anna.”
“I hope that will be enough. You see now how the vultures begin to circle. Even if the abbot isn’t responsible for the theft of the bones, he is certainly quick to take advantage of the situation. Others will be as well. We have precious little time. You must find those bones.”
Chapter Nine
Dari, did you pack the cheese?”
“Yes, Deirdre,” she sighed. “Both the soft kind you like so much and some of hard stuff. If we don’t eat the latter we can use it to fight off robbers. I got enough of both from the kitchen to last us for a few days, plus some loaves of bread we had left over from dinner.”
Dari hadn’t wanted to come on the trip back to the Sleaty church with me. She rolled her eyes when I told her about the dream. But I didn’t want to go alone and at last I talked her into it.
After all the turmoil around the monastery since the theft of the bones, it was restful to be walking through the Irish countryside on a bright autumn day. The grasslands near the monastery were full of flowering white and yellow daisies and red clover. Cattle and sheep grazed in the meadows near scattered farmhouses and golden plovers whistled a plaintive cry as they flew overhead.
After we had settled the matter of the cheese, Dari and I enjoyed the silence of the fields and forests for the next few hours, happy with each other’s company and feeling no need to talk. We stopped for lunch near a small stream. A few clouds were moving in from the south and I feared we would have a storm before the day was over.
“Deirdre, exactly what are you hoping to find at Sleaty? It’s been two weeks since the fire. There won’t be any footprints left with all the rain we’ve had, and anything someone might have dropped would have been burned to a crisp in the fire. Did this mysterious voice give you any hints about what to look for?”
In spite of her deep faith in God, Dari was a very practical person who didn’t believe in signs, wonders, or voices in the night. I knew she was going on this trip just to keep me happy.
“No, the voice didn’t go into any details. Look, Dari, I feel as silly about all this as you do, but my grandmother is no fool. If she believes I should go back to Sleaty, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Deirdre, you know I think the world of your grandmother, I just don’t believe that dreams are a very good guide for how to live our lives.”
“Normally I would agree, but I’ve been thinking about the voice I heard. I wonder if it was Brigid?”
Dari looked at me skeptically.
“So you think Brigid came back from the dead to whisper to you in your dreams?”
“I don’t know, Dari. I know it sounds ridiculous, but if the fire at Sleaty is somehow tied to the missing bones then maybe she did.”
Dari began packing our food back into her satchel.
“Well, if we’re going to make it to the campsite before sunset we should get moving. I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
We walked for most of the afternoon along a low ridge and arrived at the forest glade where we had planned to spend the night just as the first cold raindrops began to hit us on the head. Dari looked at the sky and frowned.
“Our tarp isn’t going to do us much good if the wind picks up. You know, Deirdre, there is a dry place nearby where we could spend the night.”
“Dari, no, please. I don’t want to stay with Tuán. I’d rather get wet here in the woods.”
“You’re going to get soaked here in the woods and so am I. Come on, Tuán isn’t so bad. At least his hut is warm and dry.”
By now the rain was starting to fall harder. In a moment of weakness, I agreed, and so we set off down a side trail into the woods.
Tuán was an old monk who lived alone in a small hermitage in the nearby forest. He had been there as long as anyone, even Father Ailbe, could remember. He came to the monastery every few months to bring us honey, beeswax, and fresh mead. He made the mead himself from the honey he cultivated in dozens of hives around his hut. The wax he brought was essential for making votive candles and the writing tablets we used in our school. Like Brigid, he had an extraordinary gift for working with animals. I had been to his home only once before and had marveled at the ravens, squirrels, and hares that followed him around his little glen. He was a genius at taming wild creatures. He was also completely mad.
It was almost dark when we came to Tuán’s home. He was outside, feeding by hand the largest deer I had ever seen. The animal almost bolted when it saw us, but Tuán whispered something in its ear and it quickly calmed down.
“Sisters, welcome!” He grabbed our arms and began to pull us towards his hut. “The birds told me you were on your way. Come inside and put your things on my guest bed. I’ve got a stew cooking over the fire and fresh bread on the coals. You must have a cup of mead with me while we wait for dinner. I get so few visitors here.”
“Brother Tuán, you’re so kind, but please don’t go to any trouble. Sister Dari and I would be happy just to get out of the rain for the night.”
He ignored my protests and continued to pull us up the path past the constant hum of his beehives.
“I’ve made some new friends since your last visit,” he said as we stooped to enter his hut. Indeed, there was a red fox curled up in one corner and a huge badger rooting around under his bed.
He poured us each a generous portion of mead in wooden cups and sat down next to us by the fire. We thanked him a
nd took a long drink as he watched us with pleasure. I have to admit he made the best mead I’d ever tasted.
“Tuán, I don’t suppose you know anything about the theft of holy Brigid’s bones, do you? They were taken from the church and I’ve been put in charge of finding them. Do you have any idea who might have taken them?”
I don’t know why I was asking a crazy man who lived alone in the woods about the missing bones, but I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.
He hummed a little tune as he stared at the ceiling. I thought he hadn’t heard me or was lost in a world of his own. Then he started to sing:
Bones, bones, beautiful bones.
Where have they gone to?
Will they come home?
The birds, the beasts, the fishes say,
look in the place the nightingales play.
Dari glanced over at me and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Tuán, that’s all very good, but …”
“Deirdre,” he interrupted me with a smile, “have I ever told you the story of how I came to Ireland and what happened to me after I arrived?”
“Yes, Tuán, last time I was here and several times at the monastery when—”
“It’s really an amazing tale,” he continued. Dari looked quite smug as she sipped her mead.
“It all began a thousand years after Noah’s flood. There was no one in Ireland back then, not even the síd folk. I came on a ship from Greece with Agnoman son of Starn as our leader along with fifty other men and women. It was such a fertile land—and so new! We could graze our cattle year round and had to drag them from the pastures each night so they wouldn’t overeat and explode.”
The exploding cattle of Tuán were a favorite joke among the children of the monastery.
“It was a wonderful time with more babies each year than anyone could count. I had three wives myself and at least a dozen sons and daughters. Everything was going so well until the plague arrived. In less than a month everyone was dead. Everyone but me, that is. I went insane being alone—hard to believe, isn’t it? I wandered naked through the mountains and wastelands for years living in caves and fleeing packs of savage wolves. My hair grew down to my waist and my nails became like claws. At last I grew old and lay down in my favorite cave to die.”
Saint Brigid's Bones Page 6
