Sacrifice

by Philip Freeman

  “Are the portents good?” I asked.

  He wiped his hands and knife on a cloth and said a final prayer before turning to me, knife tucked firmly into his belt.

  “The signs are unclear today.”

  “Do you perform this sacrifice every day?”

  “Many in the Order, even sacrificers, no longer perform the morning offering. I find that omission appalling. Why are you here?”

  “Have you heard of the deaths of the two nuns of Kildare?”

  “Of course. Do you think news like that hasn’t spread to the far corners of Ireland by now?”

  “Undoubtedly. Who do you think might be responsible?”

  “Well, shall we consider this rationally, like we used to in Sister Anna’s logic class?”

  “Fine.”

  “We know that only druids have the knowledge to perform sacrifices. The women in question were killed by means of sacrifice. Therefore the women were killed by a druid.”

  “So you agree that there are no other possible suspects, aside from druids?”

  “The only other possibility is that a druid taught someone else to perform the sacrifices. I think that unlikely in the extreme. No druid in his right mind, even in the Order’s present state of corruption, would reveal such secrets to those who are not initiated. Such a thing has never happened in all the centuries of our race.”

  “Which druid do you think is responsible?”

  “Instead of playing this little game, Deirdre, why don’t you just ask me what you came to ask?”

  “All right, Finian. Did you kill those two nuns?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “You shouldn’t. It’s reasonable to assume that whichever druid killed the nuns chose his targets because he resents Christianity. Now, since most druids on this island are all too eager to welcome Christians, I would say the killer takes a narrower, more traditional view. It’s well known that I am a traditionalist—or what you undoubtedly refer to as a fanatic—and that I have no love for your church. So if I were you, I’d put me on the top of your list of suspects.”

  “But you didn’t do it?”

  “I already told you that. Is there anything else you want?”

  “Yes. You should know that King Dúnlaing has put me in charge of finding the killer. I need to warn you that he will not tolerate a lack of cooperation in my investigation. If you have any knowledge of these crimes or hear anything without reporting it to me, he is likely to consider you as guilty as the killer, even if you never touched those nuns.”

  “Do you plan to bring me before the king for interrogation?”

  “No. But my warning holds. If you know anything, you should tell me now.”

  “Even if I did know something, I wouldn’t betray those who believe as I do. I didn’t kill the nuns, but I sympathize with the man who did. I understand the anger that would drive a person of faith to kill and risk his own death for his beliefs. If I thought sacrificing a few nuns would remove the stench of Christianity from this land, I would do it in a heartbeat and gladly face whatever punishment was meted out to me by the king.”

  “Finian, what happened to you? You were one of the best students at the monastery school. You experienced nothing but love from the sisters and brothers of Kildare. Why have you turned on us? What did we do to you?”

  I had never seen the expression on anyone’s face that I saw then on Finian’s. If it is possible to combine unbounded hatred and infinite delight into one malevolent, triumphant look, that was what I saw.

  “You think that I rejected Christianity because of something that happened to me at the school? You think perhaps I resent the way Sister Anna rapped my knuckles with a switch when I passed notes in class? Or maybe that one of the brothers forced me behind the barn and made me perform unnatural acts with him? Not at all. Everyone treated me with great respect and kindness, just as the Gospels taught them to.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I realized at last that Christianity is poison. Its message seems so innocent at first—Love your neighbor as yourself, forgive your enemies, look forward to heaven someday. But I want to live in the real world. The truth is that life is a struggle, full of suffering. Whatever joy we experience in life, we make for ourselves and those we love. We can’t waste our lives on our knees hoping for better times. We are born in blood and die in pain. To ignore that and believe that a single, all-powerful, and benevolent God controls our fate is both ignorant and foolish. Do you think the wisdom gained over untold ages and passed down through our traditions is to be cast aside because a Jewish rabbi said some pleasing words on a mountain? Your Jesus claimed that a little yeast leavens a whole lump of dough. Well, Christianity is that yeast and it spreads its oh-so-innocent teachings into our most cherished traditions. Your religion will never amount to anything on this island, but it corrupts everything that it touches.”

  I stood there not knowing what to say.

  “And you, Deirdre, you’re the most dangerous one of all, nun or not. Look at you in your robes, a bard of the greatest skill and the noblest rank. Yet you have turned your back on the ways of your people in a futile attempt to be both a Christian and a druid. I can at least respect someone like Sister Anna who tells me to my face that I’m going to hell for serving false gods. But you want to have it both ways. You’d have us all, Christians and druids, join hands around the altar of the gods with a little cross on top enjoying the best of both worlds. Well, you’re a fool, and I despise you and everything you stand for.”

  With that, he turned his back on me and walked away.

  Chapter Eleven

  I didn’t trust Finian. If he wasn’t the killer, it was surely someone from his small group of fellow believers; and if so, I couldn’t believe that Finian didn’t know who it was. I decided that I would go back to my grandmother’s house for a satchel of food and a blanket, then return the next day to the grove where Finian lived and keep an eye on him. If he left his farm, I would follow him, sword in hand, and stop the next killing before it happened. There was a small hill covered with leafy trees behind the dolmen that would be perfect for keeping an eye on him. I had spent many hours in my youth stalking deer with my bow and arrow, so I knew how to stay out of sight.

  Just as I was leaving the next morning, Dari and Kevin walked down the path.

  “I wanted to see how your visit with Finian went.”

  “About as you would expect. He denied everything, but I’m going back to his grove to keep an eye on him for a few days.”

  “Would you make a detour with us first?”

  “To where?”

  “Pelagia’s hut. One of the king’s men went there yesterday morning to bring her back to the monastery, but she wouldn’t even talk to him. You know her better than I do, and you can speak to her in Greek.”

  “Nobody really knows her, Dari.”

  Pelagia was a small, elderly solitary who lived on a crannog in a lake southeast of the monastery. Crannogs were artificial islands built for defense centuries ago in lakes and rivers. In times of trouble, people would retreat to them, but the one Pelagia lived on was too small to be of practical use and so had been deserted for ages when she built her hermitage there. It was connected to the shore only by a rickety wooden bridge that threatened to collapse at any moment.

  Pelagia herself seemed ageless to me the few times I had visited her. She was a true solitary and never came to the monastery. She spent her time tending her garden and praying. The rumor was that long ago she had been a wealthy prostitute in the Syrian city of Antioch but one day had heard the preaching of a local bishop and abandoned her profession to become a nun—or rather a monk. Pelagia always dressed as a man and even cut her hair short. Indeed, until she spoke, which she seldom did, you wouldn’t guess that she was a woman at all. She had lived on her little island since before Father Ailbe had arrived at Kildare. He wo
uld visit her once a year to offer her the Eucharist and hear her confession. They always spoke in Greek, since she had never learned more than a few words of Irish. I always wondered how she had ended up in Ireland, but even Father Ailbe didn’t know and I respected her privacy too much to ask. Though no one knew her well, she was revered as a holy woman among Christians and non-Christians alike.

  “Please, Deirdre, it’s not far out of your way. Sister Anna is getting more worried about the solitaries who refuse to come to the monastery. If I can’t convince Pelagia, I’m afraid the abbess is going to send the king’s warriors to force her to return.”

  “All right, I’ll go with you. Kevin, I presume you’re coming along to escort them back?”

  “Yes. I’ve been practicing with my sword, so I’m ready for anything.”

  He then proceeded to demonstrate his skill by attacking a large holly bush. He looked so much like a little boy playing soldier that we couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t a particularly talented swordsman, but he was big and very strong. I wouldn’t have wanted to face him on a battlefield.

  It started raining buckets just as we came to the far side of Pelagia’s lake. I had somehow taken the wrong path so that we ended up pushing our way through reeds in water up to our waists. I had never been so thoroughly wet. Even Dari was looking forlorn. We were ready to give up on finding the path when we saw two men in a log boat paddling along the shallows. I called to them and they pulled close to shore. They invited us to stay and eat with them in their hut just a short distance away until the rain stopped. We gladly accepted.

  Their home was little more than a shed covered with a thatched roof. Still, I was grateful to sit in front of their blazing fire. Kevin positioned himself near the door as our faithful guard. Dari curled up in a dry corner to take a nap until dinner was ready.

  The fishermen were a strange-looking pair, one tall and lanky while the other was short and rather stout. I had known many peasants and woodsmen in my day, but these two were something from another age. Instead of woolen cloaks and pants, they wore only a kind of long tunic made from animal skins. They had no furniture of even the simplest kind, but sat and slept on deerskins covered with fleece. The only metal I saw in their hut was a small bronze cauldron and an ancient iron blade they used to fillet fish, which seemed to be their only food aside from wild herbs and a gray paste made of acorns. Still, the stew they were making smelled delicious, so I wasn’t about to complain.

  I tried to engage them in conversation, but their Irish was strange, as if from long ago and seldom spoken. They communicated with each other mostly through gestures, but they were friendly and made me feel welcome. As the stew began to bubble, the taller one looked at me and spoke.

  “Ma’am, if I could ask, what’s that hanging from your neck? I’ve never seen one before.”

  My cross had fallen out of my tunic while we were stumbling through the marsh.

  “It’s my cross. I was a sister of the monastery of holy Brigid at Kildare.”

  They looked puzzled. I was amazed they hadn’t heard of Brigid’s monastery. It was only a few miles from their lake, though they had probably never been far from home.

  “It’s a community of women and men,” I continued, “who have devoted their lives to the worship of God and service of others.”

  “Which god would that be, ma’am?”

  “You don’t need to keep calling me ‘ma’am’—but to answer your question, we worship the Christian God, creator of heaven and earth, who sent his son Jesus to show us the way of salvation.”

  The shorter one reached over to stir the pot, which was now boiling. He threw in a handful of herbs, glanced over at his companion, then looked back at me.

  “Sometimes we pray to the gods when the fishing isn’t good, but we never heard of yours. Does he live under the earth?”

  I was astonished. I knew that most of the people in Ireland still followed the old ways, but I thought everyone had at least heard of Jesus. How had we Christians failed so badly?

  “You’ve never heard of the Christian God? But you live on the same lake as Pelagia, one of our nuns.”

  “Oh, the holy lady,” the taller one said. “She never talks to us. We don’t really go anywhere else. We mostly stay by the lake.”

  I decided I was going to teach these men the basics of Christianity before dinner.

  “Well, our God made the earth and sky—even this lake you live on. He made the animals and birds and fish. He sends rain and sunshine and loves us all. A long time ago, he became a man named Jesus and died for our sins so that we could go to heaven if we put our trust in him.”

  They were silent for a long time. Then the shorter one cleared his throat.

  “You mean your god is dead?”

  “No, no.” I clarified. “He was dead for three days, but then he came back to life and went to heaven to live with his father, the one true God Christians believe in.”

  “But isn’t his son a true god too?”

  “Yes, of course, but you see, God is divided into three parts—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

  The taller one scratched his head.

  “I thought you just said there was only one god. Now you’re saying there’s three?”

  I sighed deeply and wondered how I could explain the Trinity to these two. I decided to use an old trick of Patrick’s.

  “Look at this clover,” I said as I reached to a bed of shamrocks just outside the door. I plucked one out and held it up to them. “It has three distinct leaves, but it is still a single plant. In the same way, God is three persons, but also a unity.”

  I could see their puzzled faces as they pondered this. At last the shorter one spoke up.

  “But don’t some clovers have four leaves? My grandpa always said those were lucky.”

  “It’s not about the clover!” I was out of patience now, as well as being hungry. “It’s an analogy, a metaphor,” I practically yelled at them. “It’s a way of explaining a cosmic mystery so that even people like you can understand it!”

  They looked at each other uncomfortably. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, ashamed at being such a poor guest.

  “Well, ma’am, like I said, we don’t get away from the lake too much.”

  After dinner, our hosts led us to the path that went around the lake to Pelagia’s hermitage. There was smoke coming from behind her hut.

  “Chaire, Pelagia,” I called out my greeting in Greek.

  There was only silence.

  I pulled out my sword and motioned for Kevin and Dari to stay behind me. Kevin instead stepped in front of me onto the bridge with his weapon held ready. I was perturbed but followed him. I was also afraid the bridge might collapse under his weight.

  He entered her hut first, with me and then Dari close behind. We could tell at a glance that it was empty. There was no bed, only a mat on the dirt floor covered by an old woolen blanket. A cross made from reeds hung on the wall next to—oddly enough—a strand of gorgeous pearls. There was nothing else in the small hermitage except for an old cloak next to the door and a single clay bowl and wooden spoon.

  We left the hut and made our way quietly around the back, to where the thin column of smoke was rising. Next to her garden was a large and very rusty iron cauldron fixed above a fire with a ladle hanging next to it. Most households had such a vessel for cooking and washing clothes. It smelled as if Pelagia was cooking some kind of stew. She must have left it there to simmer while she went into the woods to gather herbs. I decided it was best for us to wait for her in front of her hut so as not to startle her when she returned. But I thought maybe I should first stir the stew for her to make sure it wasn’t scalding on the bottom. And so I lifted off the lid.

  There were large chunks of cooked meat floating on the top, as was normal enough, but the smell was strange. There were also far too many bones, as if someone had dismembered a large calf and put the entire animal into the pot. I carefully eased the ladle to
the bottom and hit something large and hard. I worked the ladle underneath it and pulled it to the top. It was a human skull.

  I screamed and fell backward onto the ground.

  “Deirdre, what is it?” Dari said.

  I could barely talk. “Dari—the stew—it’s Pelagia!”

  She stood speechless for a moment, then moved toward the pot. I jumped up and ran in front of her.

  “No! Kevin, please take her back across the bridge. Dari, I don’t want you to see this.”

  “Deirdre,” she almost whispered, “do you mean someone killed Pelagia and put her in the cauldron to cook?”

  “Yes. Please, Dari, let me deal with this. I need to examine what’s left of the body and I don’t want you to watch. We can’t carry this cauldron back to the monastery. I’ve got to look at it here.”

  It was then that I remembered why Dari was my best friend. In spite of the fact that she was shaking and clearly ready to faint, she forced herself to face me and spoke with a clear, strong voice.

  “Deirdre, Sister Anna sent me to take care of Pelagia and that’s exactly what I mean to do. You may help me if you wish. In fact, I’d be grateful if you would.”

  We put out the fire, then I took off my bardic robes and laid them on top of a nearby juniper bush. I went inside the hut to fetch the blanket from on top of the sleeping mat and spread it on the ground next to the cauldron. When this was done, I helped Kevin and Dari pour the contents slowly on top of it.

  Pieces of flesh and parts of bones came spilling out and settled on the blanket, while most of the broth drained away across the small yard into the lake. Even with all the experience I had helping Father Ailbe with surgeries and amputations, not to mention the autopsies of the last week, nothing prepared me for this examination.

  I couldn’t help but gag as I sorted through the remains. There was nothing left that was recognizably human except for her skull. The other bones had been crushed into small pieces. There were knife marks on the leg and arm bones indicating that the flesh had been scraped away. Pelagia hadn’t simply been killed, she had been butchered. All the flesh had been thoroughly cooked. The cauldron must have been above the fire for hours.