Saint Brigid's Bones

by Philip Freeman

  Father Ailbe was standing by the door when I came out.

  “So, my child, did you or the mattress win?”

  “Abba, I’m sorry.” I put my head on his shoulder. “I’m just so frustrated. Sister Anna expects miracles.”

  We sat down on the bench outside the church. The last rays of the sun were fading in the west.

  “She has high expectations, certainly, but you have extraordinary abilities.”

  “Not extraordinary enough for her. I thought I was making real progress.”

  I told him everything that had happened while I was away, about the letter, and about my conversation with Cormac, even the part about the kiss. He was quiet for a while, then spoke.

  “Cormac is a remarkable young man with great talents. He would be a worthy match for you. What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know, Abba. I would never want to leave you and Dari, but let’s face it, I’m a terrible nun. There are times when I even wonder if I even believe in God. Does that make me a bad Christian?”

  “No, it makes you human. Being a Christian doesn’t mean being free from doubt, it means having faith in spite of doubts.”

  “Faith is hard. Abba, I’m sure your life hasn’t always been easy. How have you been such a good Christian all these years?”

  He gave me a wry smile.

  “My child, if you knew all the sins I’ve committed, you wouldn’t think I’m a good Christian at all.”

  He got up slowly from the bench and held out his hand to me.

  “We’d better get moving. Sister Anna will be angry at both of us if we’re late for evening prayers.”

  I decided to spend the next two weeks revisiting the farms and homes around Kildare questioning everyone again. Sister Anna wanted witnesses that the abbot and Dúnlaing’s sons had engineered the theft of the bones and I was determined to find them for her.

  My last visit was the one I had been putting off as long as possible. I arrived at the farm of Fergus in the morning so there would be no question of me spending the night. As soon as I walked through the gate, Boann’s son Tigernach ran up and gave me a big hug.

  “Tiger, you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last. How old are you now, eleven?”

  “I’m twelve, Deirdre,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “Did my father tell you I killed a buck last month? I’ve got the head mounted above my bed.”

  “So I heard. That’s wonderful, Tiger. You’re going to be fighting off the girls before you know it.”

  He blushed and led me to his mother’s hut where Boann was nursing one of her twins.

  “Deirdre, welcome!” Boann was a tall, powerful woman with flaming red hair. She always reminded me of some warrior woman out of Irish legend.

  She passed the baby to one of her older daughters and gave me a firm embrace. Ness, the other wife of Fergus, was there as well and hugged me till I thought I would pop. Ness was a black-haired beauty with eyes as dark as a seal. Some people whispered that her grandmother had been a selkie from the sea near Inishmore.

  “What brings you here, Deirdre?’ asked Ness as she handed me a bowl of porridge.

  “Monastery business, I’m afraid. Sister Anna has put me in charge of finding the missing bones of Brigid, though I’m not having much luck. I’m questioning everyone again hoping to find some clue we missed before. I think the bones were stolen sometime around Michaelmas at the end of September. Did either of you see anything unusual then, any strangers passing through the woods or fields?”

  “I was in labor then,” Ness said, “and wasn’t paying much attention to anything else.”

  “And I was with her the whole time,” said Boann. “Besides, I was so busy being pregnant with the twins, the whole Uí Néill army could have invaded and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  We all laughed. It was good to talk with them again just like in the old days.

  “Was Fergus around then?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” said Boann. “He was so worried about us he didn’t stray from the farm until a few days after the twins were born when he snuck off in the night by himself. He claimed he was going hunting, but I think he just wanted some peace and quiet. Men are useless around babies in any case.”

  “Was he gone long?”

  “No, he was back by dawn,” said Ness.

  “Is he here now?” I asked.

  “I think he’s out behind the barn mending a plow on the forge. I can send Tiger to find out.”

  “No need,” I said as I got up. “I just want to talk with him for a minute.”

  I walked across the familiar farmyard past my old hut, now empty. The flower garden I had planted in front had turned to dust. I think Fergus was using the hut now to store cattle feed.

  When I came to the empty bull pen next to the barn, I stopped and leaned against the wooden fence. This was the last place in the world I wanted to linger, but I couldn’t help myself. I stood there alone and remembered.

  When I was in my early twenties, there were plenty of men in my life, any one of whom would have made a good husband. Almost all of them asked if they could pay a bride price to my grandmother. One of them offered ten cows with their calves if I would be his wife—an outrageously high price even for someone of my status. But although I enjoyed their company, I had no desire to marry. My work and friendships were enough for me. I was a respected bard who earned rich gifts from patrons as I sung of their glorious ancestors or their own victories in battle. I often accompanied my grandmother on her rounds through the farms of Leinster and saw to the visitors who were always knocking at the door of our home. I read Homer and Virgil with Father Ailbe late into the night. I would also go with him as he made sick calls at households around Kildare or simply sit with him by the fire and listen to his endless tales of faraway places. I had many friends in our tribe and beyond, most of whom I had known since we were children. We would talk and laugh and sing while we passed babies around. It was a rich and full life that I thought was enough for me.

  But still I knew that something was missing. By the time I was twenty-five, my friends had all long since married and started families. I loved playing with their children and telling them tales of Irish or Greek heroes. It wasn’t so much that I wanted a husband—men are more trouble than they’re worth, my grandmother always claimed—but I came to realize that I very much wanted a child of my own.

  It was then that Fergus walked into my life. He was a moderately prosperous cattle breeder I had known for years. He was several years older than me with two wives already and half a dozen adorable children. He was a head taller than most men and handsome enough with his big, drooping mustache. He could also be quite charming when he wasn’t going on endlessly about the best qualities to look for in breeding stock. He wasn’t a Christian, and may not have been my ideal choice for a mate, but he was convenient.

  He was visiting my grandmother one summer afternoon seeking her advice about the purchase of a new pasture. She had just talked him out of it when I returned from a wedding and sat down with them both to share a jar of cool wine. By the last cup I was in a jolly mood and asked Fergus if he wanted some company as he rode home. My grandmother raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. I rode behind Fergus on his horse holding him around the waist and listened to him talk about all his children and how they made him laugh. By the time we reached his home it was dark so he invited me to spend the night. His two wives were not the jealous sort and welcomed me. They each had their own hut in the compound where they lived with their children. Fergus took turns going back and forth between them, but that evening he stayed with me. By morning, I knew I wanted to marry him.

  When I told my grandmother, she said little. She knew I wanted a child and was not going to stand in my way. She was smart enough not to tell me that Fergus was the wrong man for me because she knew I wouldn’t listen. He brought her five fine cows as my bride price. The wedding itself was a small affair at our home with Father Ailbe presiding. When it was done, my
grandmother placed my hand in his and gave us her blessing. Then I hugged her and rode away with Fergus.

  Marriage wasn’t so bad, at least at first. I had my own hut and continued my life much as before. I came and went as I pleased on my bardic rounds. Fergus was happy that I did so since it increased his prestige, and because I was now bringing my earnings home to him. He visited me often at night to perform his husbandly duties, which I have to admit he was quite good at. Before the beginning of winter, I knew I was pregnant.

  The other two wives of Fergus were good company and gave me all sorts of helpful advice as I grew ever larger. My trips away became less frequent as travel became more difficult. Other women might go on about how much they enjoy being pregnant, but I felt exhausted and ever more uncomfortable. It once took me five minutes just to bend down and pick up a knife I had dropped. Fergus laughed at me and said I was spoiled having come to childbearing so late. I could have strangled him.

  During labor I swore no man would ever touch me again, but I forgot everything when I saw the face of my son for the first time. He opened his eyes and looked at me when the midwife laid him on my chest. He had red hair and eyes the color of a mountain lake. I named him Aidan. As I nursed him that evening in my hut and held him in my arms, I was the happiest woman in the world.

  My little boy grew so fast I could hardly believe it. Soon he was crawling around our home and getting into everything. I was jealous when his father visited and made him laugh by playing games with him or doing bird imitations, but I was glad Fergus took such an interest in my contribution to his growing family.

  I’m ashamed to confess I began to lose interest in my husband once my son was born. I started to see a hundred things about him that annoyed me. As the months went by, my visits to my grandmother’s home with Aidan became longer and more frequent, so much so that Fergus began to grow angry with me for not being with him. Two or three times he struck me, but I just glared at him, daring him to do enough damage for me to go to the brehon judges and divorce him.

  When Aidan was just a little over a year old he made his first hesitant steps and ventured outside our hut at Fergus’ farm with me at his side. He loved to visit the animal pens and feed the pigs we kept behind the barn. I always worried about him getting hurt, but Fergus said I needed to let the boy have some fun.

  One day when Aidan and I returned to the farm from my grandmother’s house, I saw that Fergus had bought a new bull. It was a dark red beast, unlike the mostly black cattle he kept. It was enormous and stamped the ground menacingly whenever anyone came near. There was something about that bull that frightened me the first time I saw it. I told Fergus that it had an evil spirit and he should get rid of it, but he just laughed and asked what a woman knew about bulls.

  It was only a few days later while I was making supper that I looked up and saw that Aidan wasn’t by the fire where I had left him. I usually paid better attention, but I had burned some onions and was trying to scrape them off the bottom of the pan when I saw he was gone. I dropped everything and ran out the door, frantic to find him. He was nowhere in sight, but then I heard the bull in the corral snorting and pawing the earth. My heart stopped beating and I ran to the fence only to see the monster charging my little boy who had somehow crawled under the railing. I screamed and rushed at the bull waving my arms to distract it, but it was too late.

  After the servants had dragged the bull away, I held the broken body of my son in my arms and kissed him, as if I could will the life back into him. The rest of the household gathered around me in silence, as Fergus knelt beside me and gently put his hand on my shoulder. I wouldn’t look at him. I took my son back to our hut and placed him in his little cot beside my bed along with the toy rabbit he loved so much. I lay beside him all night wondering why I still had breath in my own body. The next morning we buried him in a nearby grove as I sang a song of lamentation over his grave. Then I walked back to my hut with my harp, wrapped my traveling cloak around my shoulders, and left everything behind.

  I stayed with my grandmother for the next two months. Sometimes I would lie in bed for days staring at the roof. Sometimes I would walk down to the stream and watch the leaves float past. Fergus tried to see me several times, but I wanted nothing to do with him. Father Ailbe came and sat with me in silence, knowing I didn’t want to talk.

  At last my grandmother spoke to me one evening and said I needed to make a decision. My son had passed on to the next life and nothing I could do would bring him back. I needed to go on living, as painful as that might be. She would help me however she could, but I had to find the strength inside myself to do it.

  I knew she was right. The next morning I set off down the path to the monastery. I couldn’t go back to my old life as a bard living with my grandmother. I wouldn’t return to Fergus as much as he wanted me. So I chose the only other world that was familiar to me. I took vows in the church of Kildare and put on the veil as a sister of holy Brigid.

  I left the bull pen and found Fergus behind the barn pumping the bellows while he held the glowing blade of the plow in the fire. He was stripped to the waist and covered with sweat in spite of the cool morning. He reminded me of the god Vulcan in his workshop. He looked up as I approached. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, but he didn’t look pleased either.

  “I was wondering when you’d come by. I heard you were making the rounds of all the farms asking questions. Any luck yet?”

  “No. I still haven’t found the bones.”

  “Here, pump this.” He placed my hand on the bellows handle. I took off my cloak and worked the wooden shaft up and down while Fergus pounded the blade with his hammer. When he plunged the red metal into a bucket of water, it hissed like meat on a spit. Then he motioned me to a bench and sat down next to me. The smell of his sweat reminded me of one hot summer night when we had made love under the stars.

  “Fergus, I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure what it means.”

  “What was it?”

  “A friend of mine was talking to a friend of his from Glendalough who heard that your old boyfriend Cormac was talking with some outlaws in the dead of night a couple of weeks ago. Seems like a strange thing for him to do.”

  “Were these outlaws Lorcan’s men?”

  “No, local scum I think.”

  Cormac had told me he was talking with bandits who knew Lorcan, so this didn’t seem strange. I told Fergus about the letter found on the dead man and Cormac’s plans to talk to outlaws who might be able to help.

  “Hmm, maybe,” he said. “I still don’t trust him. No king ever did me any favors.”

  Fergus got up and walked a few steps away. I could tell he was trying to work up the nerve to say something to me.

  “I don’t want to beat a dead horse, Deirdre, but, like I said before, you can always come back here if the monastery doesn’t make it. I could have your old hut cleaned out in a few days. I could fix up the garden so you could plant some more flowers in the spring. I know Boann and Ness would enjoy your company again. So would I.”

  “Fergus, seriously, what’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you so eager to get me back?”

  He looked down at the ground as he spoke.

  “Deirdre, I meant what I said back at the monastery. I do love you, but there’s more to it than that. Last winter was hard for me. I lost six cows and ten calves. Then the barley crop this fall was poor and I had to give up my lease on the land near the river. I even had to sell my last two slaves. I don’t have much grain left in storage and if things don’t change soon I’m going to have to hire myself out to work for one of Dúnlaing’s men. I’ve been a free farmer all my life, as was my father and his father before me. I don’t mind hard work, but I don’t want to spend the winter staring at the ass-end of some rich man’s sheep just to feed my family. I’ve got nine children on the farm now with the three babies born this autumn. I don’t want them crying because their bellies are empty. I�
��ll do whatever I have to do to take care of them, but it would be a great help if you were back with us. The payments you could bring in as a bard could see us through until summer. I know I’ll be alright then. I just need a few months to get back on my feet.”

  I knew Fergus was having a hard time, everyone was, but I didn’t realize things were so bad for him. Still, I had to end this and the only way I knew was to be brutally honest with him.

  “Fergus, I appreciate how hard things are for you. Maybe I could get a few chickens from my grandmother and bring them by, for the sake of the children. But let me say this again—our marriage is over. It doesn’t matter what happens at the monastery, you are no longer my husband and I am never coming back to you. I don’t love you. I’m not sure I ever did.”

  For a long moment he looked like I’d punched him in the stomach. Then he was in front of me with fire in his eyes. He grabbed me by the front of my tunic and lifted me off the ground with one hand and held me against the wall of the barn.

  “You’re never going to find those bones, Deirdre. You want to starve to death when the monastery closes? Fine by me. I gave you a chance. Keep your damn chickens. I won’t let my children go hungry. I’ll work all winter long shoveling pig manure for one of Dúnlaing’s pretty boys if I have to. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”

  He threw me down on the ground.

  “Now get off my farm.”

  I got up, brushed the dirt off my cloak, and spat on the ground in front of him.

  “Go to hell, Fergus.”

  Then I turned and walked away.

  I was eager to get back to Kildare, but I knew I had to make one last stop. It was a place I hadn’t been to for over three years. It had been too painful before. I walked down a short path past a field of barley stubble. There, beneath a willow tree on the edge of the farm, far from the noise of children and cattle, I found the tiny grass-covered mound ringed with stones and topped by a small cross.

  I knelt and placed my hands gently on the grave, then gave myself over to tears. For what may have been hours, I lay on top of the mound. Then, as the sun began to set, I took out my harp and sang his favorite lullaby: