Colmán’s eyes show a flash of anger, but he quickly conceals it. ‘We can, of course, make the presentation tomorrow. My men will be attending, as I’m certain will be your community, so I suggest we hold it outside the Tech Mor. My men will help arrange things.’
Máthair Gobnait glances at Epscop Ábán and nods. ‘Your offer of help is welcome,’ she says. She rises. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I have much to see to before this day ends. A Thiarna Epscop, if you would like to take your rest until Nones I will happily show you and Brother Cormac to your beds.’
With those words she dismisses everyone, scattering each person to their own thoughts, away from physical contact from the others. It is a pause in a battle of old and new, and the battle’s winner could be either group, though the war is clearly won already.
CHAPTER TEN
He catches her as she emerges from the oratory, after Nones. She is the last one to leave, not because she has lingered to pray longer, but because she hopes to avoid the men that wander the faithche. In the sacred area of the termann that surrounds the oratory, she feels safe. She’s certain that the looks the men give her as she passes are beyond the norm and their meaning is nothing good. These thoughts crowd her mind as she steps over the threshold back outside, her sandals giving their reassuring slap on the stone. She stops abruptly when Colmán puts a hand on her arm and asks for a word.
She panics for a moment, certain that one of his men has told him something about her. He leads her to the south side of the building, away from the Tech Mor and most of the other buildings contained in the faithche. She can hear the cows lowing in the distance, and quickly tells him she must go help Siúr Sadhbh with the milking. He gives her a soft smile and lifts her hand. The nails are now fully repaired, the skin soft around them.
‘You help by watching?’ he asks.
She flushes, the lie too obvious and silly. Colmán knows she would never be called upon to perform such a menial task, something he’d only pointed out to her as recently as that morning.
‘What is it you want?’ Her tone is curt, defensive.
‘I mean you no criticism. In fact, it’s your help I need.’
‘Why would you need my help? I was of no use to you during the proceedings today, how would it be any different now?’
‘On the contrary, you listened carefully to all the testimonies. Now I would ask your opinion.’
‘My opinion?’ She’s astonished he would even think to ask her. His surly companion would have all the information she possessed and would know more than she about the workings of the court, and Colmán’s method of handling matters in the course of his profession. ‘I’m sure I’d be of little help to you there.’
‘Just listen for a moment, Áine,’ he says. He takes up her hand and gives her a pleading look. ‘This is a new situation for me, and I need someone who understands to some degree the workings of the church, and most particularly this community.’
She stares down at his hand clasped over hers and can feel the sweat break out on her palm. What has she become entangled in? This man with his precise ways and knowledge of the law is the last person she should become familiar with. She withdraws her hand carefully.
‘I have been remiss in asking after your wife,’ she says a moment later.
A brief look of frustration crosses his face and he waves his hand a little as if to brush the matter aside. ‘She is as well as before. There is no change in her situation, and that of course makes her unhappy.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
He sighs and the sadness is there, filling his eyes. ‘This is nothing new, Áine. My wife has been unhappy, even bitter, for years. It’s a situation that hasn’t been easy for anyone. I find my time is better spent pursuing my obligations in the law.’
‘You’re running away.’
He gives her a piercing look. The irony of the statement is immediately clear to her and she lowers her eyes and changes the subject. ‘What would you ask of me?’
His face clears. ‘In my view it seems that Máthair Ab doesn’t see the theft to be as serious as the bishop does. Am I right?’
She gives a little nod. ‘I cannot say that I know An Thiarna Epscop Ábán particularly well, but I think your assessment is correct.’
He frowns a moment, deep in thought. ‘I’m not sure she would agree to any sort of smachta.’
‘But wouldn’t that be impossible in any case to have a fine, since she would be the person paying it and the fine would be to her? That’s if they will be guided by the Brehon law in this matter.’
He looks at her and frowns. ‘You see my dilemma. I must find some compromise that honours all aspects.’
She raises her brow and wishes him a clear mind for this judgement.
‘And this judgement, like all the judgements that are being given now, should it be written down in your view, to become a matter of record?’
This is the heart of his real problem, the one that keeps his feet shifting restlessly in the grass and his fingers toying with a thread on his sleeve. In the past, the judgements were memorized and passed down orally, to be cited in cases where the decisions pertained. Each process and step those seeking the rank of aigne, brithen or any other rank, learned meticulously in the nemed they attended for numerous years. Only lately had these judgements been written down, become part of the official record upon which future practices and decisions would be based. Colmán’s reluctance to record this proceeding and enter his judgement into the record was because he had no clear sense of the outcome. The law that had provided his direction for years might be seriously affected by any precedence he established in the judgement.
She understands this and is careful in her response. ‘In my view, you shouldn’t enter it into the record.’
He nods slightly, looking distracted. He takes her hand again and presses it firmly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your thoughts.’
She looks down at his hand and studies the rings that encompass two of the fingers there. The stones are good quality and the gold that holds them catches the light. He rubs her palm with the tip of his thumb and she pulls away. She really can’t trust this man, she thinks, and flees.
~
They assemble in the morning, just after Terce, for the presentation of the case on benches, just outside the Tech Mor. The sisters find places on the benches, while Colmán’s men stand behind them, each bearing witness to the proceedings for their own respective community. The others in the household are present too, the servants, the few poor bothach, and some of the ócaire and bóaire who heard of this event and are near enough to attend. Some trickle in as the day advances, people Áine has never seen, and they cram themselves behind the benches, determined not to miss out on such craic as this.
The sun shines down on them, casting a strong halo of light on Máthair Gobnait, who sits in the front, between Epscop Ábán and Colmán. Áine squeezes out a place next to Siúr Sodelb, who is well hidden to the side. It’s not Siúr Sodelb’s wish to be present in front of so many strangers, but she won’t disobey Máthair Gobnait’s request. Áine can only sympathize and try her best to be inconspicuous too. All who were questioned are present. Brendán and Findbar are seated near the front and Cenél is on the opposite side, Cadoc standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder.
Epscop Ábán rises and addresses the group, pressing his hands together against the woven leather belt that ties the plain dark robe. The sisters and Máthair Gobnait follow suit and bow their heads, ready for the prayer. He beseeches the Lord to bless the proceedings, guide those called to judge and those called to speak to tell only the truth. This is no easy task asked of the Lord, or any of the gods to whom Colmán and the other non-Christians in this assembled group might pray. While this prayer is offered, Colmán’s head remains unbowed and there is a determined set to his mouth.
The prayer done, Colmán opens the proceedings, a tactic that might have seemed well played on his part, except that Epscop Ábán gave him
a small nod first. Colmán begins confidently and outlines the events. The onlookers’ initial awe- inspired silence eventually gives way to a few suppressed laughs and low murmurs. Periodically they glance at Cadoc, Siúr Sadhbh, or the builders, as each testimony is described. It is another reason to endure sitting or standing close-packed in a space where the heat of the sun and their bodies causes the sweat to form. It becomes pure craic, stored for later telling on some winter night around their hearth at home, or for the sisters to recall when trying to stab a needle through the thick coarse cloth of the manach’s robe, by the light of a sputtering tallow candle, while they embroider the truth with as much skill as the fabric they work on.
When they hear Cenél’s role described in full, even given the sympathetic presentation Colmán’s position as a legal representative requires, they all look at Cenél, seeking an explanation. They want some bit of understanding for his actions. What reason can they insert that would give spice to the tale of the horseman who galloped away on Máthair Gobnait’s precious horse with the builders’ tools in the dead of night?
Máthair Gobnait rises at this point and indicates her own view of this theft by a servant of her community that caused no loss. She bears no grudge, she assures everyone, and the sense of disappointment is palpable.
‘It seems we have heard all there is to hear regarding the facts of this matter,’ Epscop Ábán says when she is finished. ‘We will discuss it further and a judgement will be agreed and announced tomorrow. ’ He turns and thanks Colmán for the presentation of the case.
Colmán rises and addresses the assembled group. He thanks them for their patience and bids them return the next day. It’s not perhaps the most authoritative word, but it is the last word. The crowd disperses slowly, knowing it has been dismissed by both the church and the law.
~
Colmán presents the facts in a measured tone, his eyes moving slowly between Máthair Gobnait and Epscop Ábán. They sit in the Tech Mor, on the benches placed once again over to the side, away from the fire. This time it’s not the distance from the heat they seek, but the bit of privacy it affords. Áine perches uneasily next to Máthair Gobnait. It’s not until she sat down on the bench that she realizes she’s the only one besides the three judging that is present for the discussion, and she wishes she could leave. The tension is high and there is no place for her opinion in this matter.
‘The law in this situation is tricky,’ says Colmán. ‘We have a theft of a horse and tools. A horse that’s worth much, even given her age. The tools are part of two men’s livelihood. Yet they’re all returned before the absence was noticed, but not by the thief. In this instance it seems to me that to require Cenél to pay a fine of four horses for the theft is excessive, as well as impractical, given that he’s only a servant. And since his tuath is responsible for payment, it becomes more complex, because some would argue that it would be Máthair Ab who would be responsible.’
Máthair Gobnait smiles, an appreciative light in her eyes. ‘You could see it that way.’
‘The Lord doesn’t like a thief,’ says Epscop Ábán. ‘But the man has repented. He said as much. In view of the points made I think some penance, some kind of punishment is in order. Bread and water, the Pater Noster said often and on the knees for at least a year, would help his soul and his contrition.’
‘The Lord also teaches us mercy,’ says Máthair Gobnait. ‘Do you think such a penance is too harsh?’
Epscop Ábán frowns. ‘Your compassion does you credit, Máthair Ab, but the penance is about more than punishment, it’s about atonement, cleansing the soul. No, I don’t think it too harsh.’
A flicker of anger passes across Máthair Gobnait’s face. ‘But I must disagree with you there, A Thiarna Espcop.’
The bishop turns and looks at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘I speak for the Church, Daughter.’
Her eyes remain mutinous but she lowers her head. His message is clear, though. Obedience is the cornerstone of a community of cailecha and of manaigh. It is a lesson that must be repeated on occasion. For Máthair Gobnait those occasions are not pleasant when she feels her understanding is the better one.
‘You would rather a penance than a judgement under the law?’ asks Colmán.
‘This penance is a judgement under the law,’ replies Epscop Ábán. ‘We’ve all agreed that a theft took place and punishment is required.’
‘Restitution, not punishment,’ Colmán says. He frowns slightly.
‘The penance is all the restitution we seek,’ says Epscop Ábán. He smiles benignly but his tone is firm.
‘I could argue that he is of my tuath, and my father is responsible for his fine,’ says Colmán.
‘Ah, but Findbar and Brendán’s family are client workers on monastery land and Cenél is their servant. That makes him our responsibility.’
Colmán pauses and for a moment casts a glance in Áine’s direction, as if she might come to his aid in this legal wrangling. She lowers her eyes and stares at her hands. Colmán sighs eventually and nods. ‘If that’s what you wish, Máthair Ab, then consider the matter settled.’
~
The crowd shifts and shuffles in their places. Yesterday brought some welcome entertainment, and though this case is not being conducted in the manner they are used to in proceedings held at Lughnasadh, some of the same ingredients are still present. A judgement is to be given, today, and they can see if their predictions on the outcome are accurate.
Colmán stands and presents the case summary first and then gives the judgement. Bread and water for a year and the Pater Noster said on his knees thirty times, seven times a day. The crowd shuffles loudly. Mutters and whispers push and shove their way around the gathered group and reach Findbar and Brendán. With an admirable internal cue, perhaps from years at the mallet, the two rise and speak in unison.
‘He’s only to pray and eat bread and drink water? Where is the restitution? What of the injury done to us? The man is a thief.’
‘And he will be known as a thief from now on,’ Máthair Gobnait says, her voice calm. ‘There will be little sympathy for him. Few, if any will want to keep his company. He has many years of service to give you, and I suggest you forgo any wages for that service.’
‘Would you employ a thief, Máthair Ab?’ asks Findbar. He shakes his head and steps back, pulling Brendán with him. The matter is closed, the protest registered, it’s only for ócaire to do as their betters command.
Silence falls and the crowd looks on, hoping for something more. Epscop Ábán stands, assumes the pose for the Bendictus, right hand raised with two fingers erect. He issues the blessing on all. It becomes a dismissal as much as anything else. A sigh escapes from many, but the message is clear and they obey. People filter through the doorway, talking in low voices about what has transpired.
Áine leans over to Siúr Sodelb and whispers an offer to accompany her wherever she might want to go. The weather is fine enough and perhaps she can help pull weeds among the herbs. Such a calming task would be perfect until she can slip into the oratory for the next office. The two head towards the garden, each with their own particular limp, until Colmán calls Áine’s name and asks her to wait for him a moment. Her heart sinks, but she nods anyway.
Áine promises Siúr Sodelb to join her in a moment and watches her make slow progress to the garden, past the people that still linger, ignoring the turned heads. She wishes people could hear the perfection of Siúr Sodelb’s voice and see the golden hair under her veil that frames the unearthly beautiful face.
‘I want to thank you for your help in this matter.’
Áine turns and faces Colmán. ‘As I said before, there is nothing to thank me for.’
‘It’s for me to decide that.’ He places a hand lightly on her shoulder, but she shrugs it away.
Siúr Feidelm comes up beside Colmán. ‘I beg you excuse me. Máthair Gobnait requested that I prepare something to help your brother’s breathing, but I must ask you a few questions
first.’
‘Of course,’ says Colmán. His eyes cloud.
‘Does he cough?’
‘He does.’
‘And is the cough dry or wet?’
‘Wet, I suppose. He coughs blood.’
Siúr Feidelm frowns. ‘He coughs blood? Often?’
Colmán nods.
‘And his breathing is difficult only at that time?’
‘His breathing is increasingly difficult all the time.’ Colmán’s voice is pained and it cracks at the end of his statement.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distress you with these questions. I know it’s difficult enough to observe it when it does occur.’
‘Sister, my brother’s imminent departure from this world is something that causes my whole family much distress, and the tuath. He is the Tánaiste.’
‘Your brother was to take over the kingship at your father’s death?’ asks Áine. She sees now how much Domnall’s death would be a mighty blow for the family and for the Uí Blathnaic.
‘Domnall was a worthy choice. He knew all the people, was fair in his handling, and was adept at politics.’ Colmán gives a rueful smile. ‘More so than I.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ says Siúr Feidelm. ‘I’ll mix up the ingredients and give them to you in time for your departure. ’
She starts to move away and Áine quickly offers to help with the preparation, allowing a moment’s regret that her time in the vegetable garden would have to wait until later. Siúr Feidelm accepts her help and Áine starts to follow her to the Tech Mor but Colmán grabs her arm.
‘There’s more I would discuss with you, when you have a moment,’ he says.
She resisted the urge to refuse and after a pause gives a reluctant nod, her heart racing in its familiar pattern.
In Praise of the Bees Page 11
