Sacrifice

by Philip Freeman

  For Kenzie

  SACRIFICE

  Chapter One

  No, no, no! Deirdre, you don’t add the wine until after you stir in the fish sauce.”

  “Grandmother, I have been cooking this dish for twenty years. I think I know by now when to add the sauce. And besides, you’re the one who taught me how to make it.”

  “Well, then I didn’t do a very good job, because you’re supposed to put the wine in last, or it will boil off and you’ll lose the flavor.”

  My grandmother and I were in her hut near Brigid’s monastery cooking a special May Day dinner for Father Ailbe, Dari, and two of Grandmother’s druid friends. It was not going well. Early that morning I had taken a loin of pork from her smokehouse and simmered it in an iron pot with bay leaves, peppercorns, celery, and a spoonful of honey. Grandmother had hovered over me the whole time, making sure I didn’t cook the pork too quickly. After an hour, I took the pot off the hook over the fireplace and set it aside to cool. Meanwhile, my grandmother was making the dessert, a plum custard flavored with cumin and raisin wine.

  “Ailbe and the rest will be here any minute. Deirdre, make yourself useful and fetch a jug of wine from the wellhouse. But be careful not to break it. This Gaulish pottery is so fragile, not like the solid Roman stuff from the old days.”

  “Grandmother, I’m not five years old anymore. I won’t break the wine jar or ruin the dinner.”

  She waved me away as she stirred the custard. I stomped out the front door and went down the path to the small stone hut near the well. I grabbed a jar of wine from the back of the cool, damp building and made a point of banging it against the side of the door as I left. As much as I loved my grandmother and was grateful to her for raising me after my mother died, there were times when she made me want to scream.

  “How’s the dinner coming?”

  I turned toward the familiar woman’s voice and saw Dari and Father Ailbe coming up the path that stretched through the woods back to the monastery at Kildare. Dari was holding Father Ailbe’s arm to steady him on the rocky path. She held a bundle of yellow buttercups in her other hand.

  “A gift for your grandmother,” she said. “I wish she would have let us bring some food to help with the dinner, but at least these should brighten the table.”

  Dari wore a typical bright smile on her face. I was always amazed that she managed to look so cheerful and that her long blond hair always seemed in place. My own dark red hair was frazzled and generally looked like I had just been caught in a windstorm.

  “Dari, be glad you didn’t bring anything to eat. Nothing would be good enough for that woman.”

  “Oh, having a little trouble around the cooking fire, are we?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. She knew very well how my grandmother and I clashed in the kitchen.

  “Don’t get me started. I want this to be an enjoyable meal for all of us.”

  Father Ailbe stood next to her, waiting patiently. He had heard all my complaints before and knew they were a regular part of my visits home from the monastery. He had once been a tall man, but more than eighty years of life had left him slightly bent. Still, I was pleased to see him looking so well on this lovely spring day. I knew the winter had been hard on him, as it had on us all, but I could tell he had gained back some weight and that his color was much better. I reached out and gave him a big hug.

  “Thank you, my dear, but what was that for?” he asked as I let go.

  “No reason, Abba. I’m just happy to have you here today.”

  I had called him “Abba” since I was a little girl and couldn’t pronounce his name properly. I took his other arm and walked to my grandmother’s house with them. She was stirring the pudding as we came in.

  “Ailbe, welcome, and you as well, Dari. Sorry the dinner is a little late. We’ve been having a bit of trouble with the main dish.”

  Before I could think of some witty comment, Father Ailbe spoke up.

  “Aoife, you’re so kind to invite us here today. I know what a busy time Beltaine is for you and the other members of the Order. Are you going to King Dúnlaing’s festival tonight?”

  “Yes, I’m lighting the sacred fire and helping with the sacrifices. You know you’re invited as well. The king is always glad to see you.”

  “And I him, but it’s a long walk to his farm and my knee has been bothering me today. My arthritis is acting up again.”

  “Well, you’re the physician. You know that a brew of willow bark with a touch of clove will help with that.”

  “Yes, but like most doctors I’m a terrible patient. Please do give the king my regards.”

  “Aoife,” said Dari, “I brought some fresh flowers for the table. May I put them in a vase with water?”

  “Yes, of course, and thank you, my dear. It’s so nice to have such a thoughtful young woman visit my home. Proper respect for one’s elders is so rare nowadays. Would you like to help with the pork?”

  Father Ailbe shook his head, urging me silently not to say anything.

  There was a knock at the door. I opened it to find two elderly women standing in front of the hut. They wore the distinctive white tunics of druids under their cloaks and had slender golden torques about their necks. Their long gray hair was tied in braids down their backs.

  “Cáma, Sinann, please come in,” said my grandmother as she swept past me to greet them. “Deirdre, were you going to make them wait outside all day? Fetch some cups and pour everyone a glass of wine.”

  Both of the women were friends of Father Ailbe and greeted him warmly. Dari took their cloaks and placed them on my old bed near the door. Everyone sat down at the table, aside from my grandmother, who was still fussing with dinner. She laid the hot bread fresh from the hearth on the mantel to cool for slicing and placed a small jar of her special butter-and-honey relish on the table with a wooden spoon. She then sat with us and took a sip of the wine.

  “Not bad,” she said. “It was a gift from King Eógan after I used a vision to help him find one of his prize rams that had wandered into the hills.”

  “That man would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his neck,” said Cáma. “He called on me last year to interpret a dream he had after three of his horses wandered off. He had some silly night vision about them being taken by dragons, but any fool could have told him they would be grazing on the summer grass near the Avoca River, which they were.”

  We all laughed as Dari refilled the cups.

  “So, Sinann, how are the heavens looking lately?” asked my grandmother. “It was beautiful last night. You must have been up late gazing at the stars.”

  “Yes, indeed, the skies are rarely so clear. I was able to measure the angle of separation between the pole star and true north more accurately than ever before. I also found a new tailed star, very faint, just below the Great Bear’s nose.”

  “A new tailed star, really?” asked Father Ailbe. “Do you think it will grow brighter?”

  “Hard to say. These tailed stars—or comets as you Greeks call them,” she said with a teasing glance at Father Ailbe, “usually fade away in a few days.”

  “Could it be an evil omen?” asked my grandmother.

  “Possibly,” said Sinann. “I don’t put much stock in astromancy, but this star has a nasty red tinge to it. I’ll be watching it to see what happens.”

  “Sinann, are you and Cáma going to the festival tonight?”

  “Oh, yes, Ailbe, we’re helping Aoife with the sacrifices. I thought Dúnlaing might have invited Finian to perform the rituals, but he can’t stand the young man, no matter how skilled a sacrificer he is.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dari said, “I don’t know as much about the druids as I should, but do you mean that any druid can perform the job of any other druid? I thought t
here were different positions within the Order.”

  Although teaching comes naturally to the druids and we’re always glad to share our knowledge, I was a little perturbed with Dari. I had tried to explain all this to her before, but she never showed any interest in learning about the druids from me.

  “Yes, my child,” Cáma answered, “there are many different roles within the Order, but we all receive the same extensive training in the foundations of druidic teachings. Any of us can, for example, officiate at ceremonies, offer sacrifices, or render judgments in legal cases. Just last week I performed a wedding and two funerals and settled a boundary dispute between some local farmers. But we each have our special areas of expertise that require years of extra study. I’m an interpreter of dreams and Sinann studies the workings of the heavens, while your friend Deirdre is a bard and her grandmother a seer. Still, while people come to me to understand their dreams, they could also go to Aoife, who would do a wonderful job.”

  “Oh, but not as well as you, my dear,” protested my grandmother.

  “And I was never good at visions like you, Aoife,” Sinann said.

  “But you’re the best astronomer in Ireland,” I said.

  “Just as you’re our most talented young bard,” Cáma added.

  “Ladies, please,” Father Ailbe said as he raised his hand. “Let us agree that you’re all wonderful at what you do. Now, is it just me, or is anyone else hungry?”

  Everyone laughed, then Grandmother put the pork loin on a platter with garnishes while Dari and I set the table with plates and knives. We then brought the bread and pork to the table and all took our seats. Dinner smelled simply marvelous.

  “Ailbe, would you like to ask a blessing on the meal?”

  Grandmother normally wanted nothing to do with Christian rituals, especially after I became a nun, but she was a gracious host. I knew that Cáma and Sinann would have no objection to a Christian prayer since most druids are open to all aspects of the divine. Father Ailbe, for his part, had the greatest respect for Irish traditions and always urged understanding and harmony between the religions of our island.

  “I would be honored, Aoife.”

  Father Ailbe bowed his head and made the sign of the cross on his chest, as did Dari and I, while the three druids sat in silence with their eyes closed and hands raised to the sky.

  He began to pray.

  “Master of the Universe, Creator of us all, grant us your grace—”

  “Father Ailbe! Father Ailbe!”

  A young girl was shouting in the distance. We could hear her running up the path from the monastery. We rushed out the door together and met her in the yard as she burst through the trees. It was Neala, a slender girl of about eight who was a student at our monastery. She was the fastest runner at Kildare and always beat the boys in the races we held at school contests. She was frantic as she ran to us and fell into Dari’s arms.

  “Neala, what’s wrong?” Dari asked as we knelt beside her.

  Her chest was heaving as she tried to breathe. Father Ailbe urged her to sit quietly and catch her breath, but the girl kept trying, unsuccessfully, to talk. At last she grabbed Father Ailbe’s hand and began to pull him back down the road.

  “Neala, child, what’s wrong? Tell us,” he said.

  “Father—you—must—come—now,” she managed at last.

  “Why, Neala? What’s happened? Is someone hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “No—not hurt—Sister Grainne—in bog.”

  “Sister Grainne is in a bog? That doesn’t make sense. Does she need help?”

  The poor girl burst into tears as Dari held her.

  “No—she—has been—murdered.”

  Chapter Two

  Sister Grainne was from one of the eastern clans of our tribe along the River Liffey, like many of the nuns at our monastery. She was a lovely, gentle woman about seventy years old and a devout Christian who lived as a solitary in a small hermitage just beyond the Red Hills northwest of the monastery. Like the dozen or so other solitaries associated with Brigid’s church at Kildare, she practiced a quiet life of prayer and contemplation. She would come to the monastery about once a month for Sunday services and to bring us some of the excellent cheeses she made from the milk of her single dairy cow. Like most of the solitaries, she had no possessions of value in her small hut. I had known Grainne for years and couldn’t believe anyone would want to hurt her.

  When Neala had finally calmed down, she told us that a passing farmer had found Grainne’s body in a bog next to her hermitage early that same morning. She appeared to have wounds from three crushing blows to the back of her head. The farmer had wrapped her in a blanket and gently loaded her into his cart. Her cow was still in her barn, lowing from a full udder, so the farmer milked it quickly, tied it to his cart, and came straight to the monastery. Sister Anna, our abbess, ordered the body taken to the infirmary and sent Neala to find Father Ailbe.

  We left dinner on the table and rushed as fast as we could back to the monastery. Everyone went, including my grandmother, Cáma, and Sinann, none of whom could believe such a thing had happened at Kildare. Death from disease, hunger, and war was common enough in our land, but murder was a rare event. The hurried walk back to the monastery was hard on Father Ailbe, but he insisted that he could keep up with the rest of us. As we entered the gate, I saw a small crowd of monks and nuns gathered outside the infirmary, some praying, some weeping, but most just looking confused and frightened. Sister Anna met us at the door.

  “Father Ailbe, we have placed the body on the table for you to examine. The farmer who brought her is waiting in the church if you wish to speak with him.”

  Sister Anna was the only member of the monastery who appeared unemotional in the face of this shocking event. She was the most stern and unbending person I had ever known, but also one of the most intelligent, and I knew she was deeply devoted to the people under her care. I also realized her self-control was dictated by the need for calm leadership in this moment of crisis.

  “Let’s leave the farmer there for now,” said Father Ailbe. “I want to see the body first. Deirdre, I may need your assistance.”

  “Of course, Abba.”

  “I would like to be present as well,” said Sister Anna.

  “Certainly.”

  “Ailbe, may I come with you too?” asked my grandmother.

  I wasn’t surprised at this request. Grandmother had been Grainne’s friend for many years. She would visit her hermitage whenever she passed that way, and Grainne was a frequent guest at her home as well.

  “Yes, please join us,” he said.

  The four of us stooped to enter the infirmary door. It was a small round hut of woven branches joined tightly with clay and mud like most of the monastery buildings. And like our other buildings, it had an overhanging thatched roof and a warm central heath fire. A colorful curtain separated the examination room on the right of the hut from the beds for the sick and injured on the left, though there were no patients in residence at the moment. Father Ailbe always kept both rooms cozy and cheerful for the sake of those who came to him. He said a physician’s first task was to put a patient at ease. Dried medicinal herbs were hanging from the wooden rafters, while the shelves on the walls were lined with jars of powders and potions. I knew that in chests out of sight were the less-agreeable tools of medicine, like a jagged-toothed bone saw for amputations and a set of finely sharpened steel knives for surgery. In the middle of the room was a large sturdy wooden table. On top of this table, surrounded by candles, lay the body of Sister Grainne.

  She was curled up in a fetal position as she had been found, with a wool blanket draped over her body except for her head. Aside from the pallor of death, she looked as if she were sleeping, with a face as calm as I had ever seen. My grandmother softly placed her hand on Grainne’s shoulder and whispered a prayer to the gods. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed at her friend. I placed my own hand on my grandmother�
�s arm to steady her.

  “Grandmother, can you see anything? Any image of who might have done this?”

  My grandmother, as a druid seer, could often sense images from touching an object or a person.

  “No. Murder is too evil an act to leave a clear impression. It clouds everything with darkness.”

  “Aoife, you don’t need to stay if you don’t want to,” Father Ailbe said. “This may not be easy to watch.”

  My grandmother shook her head.

  “No, I’ll be all right. I don’t want to leave her.”

  Father Ailbe asked me to light several more candles and place them along the sides of the table. Then he carefully pulled back the blanket to expose the body.

  Grainne was wearing a homespun tunic of coarse wool that reached from high on her neck to just above her ankles and was tied around her waist with a cloth belt. Her well-worn leather sandals were still on her feet. Her body and clothes smelled strongly of dampness from the bog water, but there were no signs of decomposition.

  Father Ailbe began his examination with her head as I took notes for him on a wax tablet. He was the very soul of compassion, but he conducted the autopsy with composed professionalism.

  Grainne’s mouth was closed and there were no bruises or contusions on her face. Her eyes were shut as if they had been closed gently after death. Her expression was peaceful and serene.

  Moving behind her, we could see her white hair matted with blood.

  “Three wounds to the top rear of the skull,” observed Father Ailbe. “A heavy blunt instrument, probably some sort of iron pole or the back of an axe. The assailant struck the victim from above and behind, as if Grainne were lying on the ground. The wounds are deep enough to have fractured the skull in three places, but not severe enough to have caused immediate death. The edges of the wounds on the scalp show swelling, confirming that they were inflicted on a living body.”

  I shivered at the thought of someone doing this horrible deed to Grainne.

  “Abba, how could she look so peaceful if she was struck by a heavy instrument while still alive?”