In Praise of the Bees

by Kristin Gleeson

  Sárnat’s face lights up for a moment and her cracked lips form a smile. ‘Two. Now that is special. I thought I’d even failed at childbearing. That I carried a monster.’ She takes Cuimne’s hand, and at Ornait’s signal, begins to push in earnest.

  Ornait, positioned on a stool at Sárnat’s parted legs, looks at Cuimne and gives a nod. The head is through.

  Lassar smiles from her place on the bed, leans forward and strokes Sárnat’s matted head. ‘You’re a great woman, you. The babe is all but here.’

  ‘The first babe,’ Sárnat says with a hint of humour.

  A few moments pass, giving Sárnat time to gather her strength, before she is called on again to push. That final effort that thrusts the baby into Ornait’s hands costs her and she leans against Cuimne for support.

  Ornait holds up the baby. ‘A boy, good and healthy.’

  Sárnat nods weakly. ‘That comes as no surprise.’

  Cuimne goes to Ornait’s side, Lassar taking her place supporting Sárnat. Cuimne takes the baby and holds it while Ornait cuts the cord. She marvels at his tiny fingers and toes. When the task is finished Cuimne washes the baby’s mottled skin tenderly and carefully after she cleans the blood and mucus from the nose, eyes and mouth. When she reaches his hands, his fingers clutch her thumb and she notices how very tiny they are.

  ‘Give Sárnat the babe for a moment, before the labour begins again,’ Ornait says when she is done.

  She hands the baby to Sárnat, reluctant to release him from her arms and face all the feelings he stirs within her. She watches Sárnat pull back the linen cloth to view his face and sees the glow, the shimmering that encompasses Sárnat. It is a perfect moment, a moment between a mother and her baby.

  The moment stays with Cuimne, haunts her when Sárnat is gripped in the agony of the next child fighting its way out into the world. They’ve placed the other baby in a small wooden bed made ready and Cuimne finds herself glancing towards it at every possible moment, until Sárnat’s cries ring out loudly and without cease.

  Cuimne bends down beside Ornait. The midwife is pushing and massaging Sárnat’s belly. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asks softly.

  ‘The baby is turned the wrong way. I’m trying to bring it into the proper position.’ She works quickly, her hands pressing and manipulating, while Sárnat’s contractions push against her efforts and Sárnat’s cries become screams. They change her position, putting her on her side, anything that might ease her pain and encourage the baby to shift.

  ‘Her strength is going,’ Ornait says.

  Cuimne makes no comment, but she can see the pale face and the unfocussed eyes. ‘Please, Sárnat,’ she whispers. She utters the prayer that comes to her mind so often these days. The prayer to her Lord, the Saviour whom she now asks to save this good woman.

  Lassar eases herself down on her knees, groaning. She takes up Sárnat’s hands and chafes them hard. She whispers words Cuimne can’t understand, but there is no doubt she is praying to her gods.

  Ornait gives Cuimne a bleak look, though she speaks loud, encouraging words to Sárnat while she continues to work. Eventually, she looks up and nods grimly. ‘The babe is turned and making its way out, now, but I don’t think she has enough left in her.’

  ‘Do your best,’ Lassar says.

  Cuimne can detect only the slightest rise in Sárnat’s chest. Her eyes are dark bruises.

  ‘The head is there,’ Ornait says. ‘I’ll see if I can help it out.’

  Cuimne puts her lips to Sárnat’s ear. ‘The babe is here, we just need one last push from you. That’s all we ask. That’s all your babe asks.’

  Whether it is her prayers or Lassar’s, or the words she spoke to Sárnat, or nothing but Sárnat’s motherly instincts, her body tenses and the strength none thinks she possesses is gathered and given over to enabling the child to join his brother. Cuimne takes this boy, who seems even smaller than his brother, if that were possible, and washes and wraps him with just as much care. He too is sound and whole of body, all the fingers and toes the correct number. She strokes each of them with her finger and they curl in response.

  ‘Cuimne.’ Ornait’s tone is sharp. She shakes herself out of the reverie and turns. Sárnat lies unmoving, her face waxen. ‘She’s only barely with us and I need your help to get the afterbirth.’ She issues instructions rapidly.

  With some effort they manage to persuade Sárnat to drink a little of the brew that is ready and then massage her stomach vigorously to get the desired results.

  Ornait looks at the bowl filled with the afterbirth. She shakes her head. ‘I hope all of it has been expelled.’

  Cuimne stares down at the mixture of blood and mucus and tries to read its meaning. It tells her nothing and she turns away. Her knowledge is poor and her efforts are best directed toward more practical matters. She helps Lassar and Ornait wash and settle Sárnat into a freshly made bed. Sárnat remains unconscious, a pale ghost against the linen sheet. Her breath is faint and her hands are clammy.

  Ornait frowns. ‘We can only wait now. Hope there is no fever or any other after effects from such a birth as this.’ She indicates the two infants lying in the wooden box. ‘You’ll probably need someone else to suckle them.’

  Lassar nods and the two women thank Ornait. Lassar leaves to fetch Ailill and ask Barrdub to organize some food. Cuimne takes up the stool beside Sárnat and begins the vigil. As Ornait has said, there is nothing to be done now but wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Cuimne looks down into the face of the sleeping child in her arms; the lips that alternately purse and open, the slightly crusted nose and the lids, so delicate and nearly transparent. She notes every detail and has done since his birth ten days before. She has seen his skin take on a lighter, less mottled hue and smooth itself to mould more firmly around the body.

  Maél is the smaller of the two babies, and perhaps it is his small size that explains Cuimne’s strong attachment. His efforts at suckling proved too weak at first, and she spent hours trying to give him some sort of nourishment, his feeble mewling making her increasingly desperate. She finally succeeded when she dipped a square of linen in a bowl of watered milk and squeezed it so the milk dripped slowly into his mouth. It was a tedious method but she’d been determined that this little one should live, after all he’d been through. Eventually, he’d found the strength to suckle and for that she is glad, though she misses the feeding that had become like a ritual for her.

  His brother, Faélán, has managed better and has been feeding at the breast of Barrdub’s aunt almost from the first. He found his voice all too soon and uses it with force when he is hungry. The two of them keep Cuimne busy, though any spare time she has is given over to helping Lassar nurse Sárnat.

  Sárnat’s recovery hadn’t been certain. She’d been so weak and feverish in the days following the birth it often seemed she wouldn’t last beyond the next sunrise. Ailill spent all the time he could silently holding her hand. They’d brought the babies to her and laid them beside her at different times, in the hope that such a sight would surely lift her spirits and encourage her recovery, but she did little more than briefly open her eyes.

  It is only on this day, the tenth day, when Sárnat eats all the broth, drinks the healing brew given her and asks to see the babies that Lassar and Cuimne feel she is finally mending. Cuimne gives Maél one last fond look before she wraps him up again in readiness for his mother. She’d thought to bring Maél first, knowing this delicate quiet little babe would win over any heart. When she reaches Sárnat’s side Ailill is there, smiling and talking. He falls silent when she hands Maél to Sárnat, watchful. The hope is palpable. Sárnat smiles down at Maél and lifts her face to her husband. The pleasure is evident.

  Cuimne watches the three of them and feels a small little stab. ‘He’s a lovely sweet boy,’ she says. ‘So quiet. He’s just beginning to suckle and you can see the difference it’s made.’ It is only then, when the words are out of her mouth, she real
izes her choice of words is poor.

  But Ailill deflects the sting. ‘Ah, but he’s a great little babby now, alright. And that’s down to you, Cuimne.’

  There are tears in Sárnat’s eyes. ‘All of us have so much to thank you for.’

  Cuimne tells them thanks are not needed, insisting more than is necessary or even usual, hoping such emphasis would banish from her mind the feelings that suddenly arise without cause. It makes no sense to feel envy if that’s what it is she feels. The source of the envy she refuses to examine because it is only borne of the tiredness she most certainly feels.

  ‘I’ve sent word to the community about the arrangement.’

  Cuimne gives Ailill a blank look, his words unclear.

  ‘I wanted to let Máthair Gobnait know that you would be coming to her. Now that Sárnat is on the mend and the boys are doing well, there is little need to keep you much longer. We’ve stolen so much of your time already.’

  ‘I was happy to stay. And I would willingly stay longer. As long as you need me. Until Sárnat has much of her strength back.’

  ‘Ah now, Barrdub is here to help if you would rather go soon.’

  She blinks back the tears and forces herself to reply. ‘Yes, yes of course. I’ll leave whenever it’s convenient for you, then.’

  Ailill nods and smiles. ‘I’ll arrange for Aed to take you, in say, three days’ time.’

  ‘Thank you. That should give me sufficient time to prepare.’ Cuimne speaks the words with as much conviction as she can and hopes mightily that they will prove true.

  ~

  Her parting is stiff; the words that she speaks are so formal they pain her ears. The others seem not to notice, the warmth of their manner so fully expressed it takes all of her concentration to avoid a breakdown altogether. She tells herself it should be joyful, this parting. Her kin have a growing, healthy family and she has escaped without any further sign of Óengus and his plans and is heading toward a community of dearly beloved women. In the end she can only manage to turn quickly to the small cart that contains her belongings and climb up inside of it, and give a strangled final farewell.

  Aed is silent on the journey, leaving her to dwell on matters she knows she shouldn’t as they meander along under a dull grey sky. She worries about the rash that has appeared on Maél’s face and if Barrdub will remember how to mix the ointment she told her about. Lassar is there to watch Barrdub, she assures herself. Cuimne forces her mind on the road ahead, toward Máthair Gobnait. She will understand what troubles her and help her to smooth her path once again. And she will have the offices to occupy her, too. Prayer, singing, contemplation of the Gospel words. All of that would soothe her soul, give her peace and contentment.

  Ailill had suggested distant kinsmen for her to spend the first and second night and she agreed initially, but then asked that they might visit Colmán’s friend Murchad and his wife for the second night. For some reason she has a need to see them again, especially Almaith.

  When they finally arrive at Murchad and Almaith’s, Cuimne is suddenly nervous. It isn’t the welcome that causes her anxiety. The welcome is open and full of warmth as they draw her inside, out of the coolness of the spring night. It’s the sudden memory of the conversation she’d had with Almaith on her last visit and the desire to see a friendly face is quickly overshadowed by fear of Almaith’s probing words. If she didn’t know differently, Cuimne would have thought Almaith had obtained the rank of aigne, not her husband.

  As before, the household is overflowing with family members, the children just as active and the talk just as far flung and relaxed. She explains away the imaginary marriage that Colmán had used to account for their journey the last time by saying unforeseen problems in the contract had occurred and it had been dissolved. Except for a raised brow from Almaith they accept her words without any question and Cuimne eventually relaxes and shares the story of the twins and Sárnat’s fortunate recovery. It’s the kind of happy news that needs to be shared and brightens spirits. Almaith, in particular, questions her carefully about the birth and all that had been done to ensure its success.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Colmán?’ Almaith asks when all the questions have been answered.

  ‘No, no. Is something amiss with his family? Rónnat, is she well? I know she must have taken Domnall’s death very hard.’

  ‘No, no. Last we heard, all is well, but that was some time ago. I just wondered if you had heard from him.’

  Cuimne can feel Almaith’s gaze on her and she lowers her eyes, afraid they might betray things that even she doesn’t realize. ‘I’ve not heard from Colmán since he left my home place last autumn.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know. Not to worry. Last we heard, all is well there.’

  No more is said about Colmán after that and the conversation shifts to another direction. Eventually yawns drive Murchad’s parents to their beds and Cuimne rises to follow a little while later. Almaith shadows her to the cubicle to check on her son and ensure that Cuimne will settle without interference.

  As before, the toddler is fast asleep, thumb in his mouth. Cuimne smiles at the innocent scene.

  ‘It’s so good to see you once again, Cuimne. I know we only met the one night, but I feel we’re friends.’

  Cuimne takes her hand. ‘I’m glad. I look on you in the same manner. It’s part of the reason I hoped to stop here on my way to Máthair Gobnait’s.’

  ‘Yes, Máthair Gobnait. Both you and Colmán spoke well of her.’

  ‘She’s a good and devout woman. She’s been so very kind to me. I’m looking forward to seeing her once again.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt about that.’ Almaith pats her hand. ‘You’ve changed, you know. The last time I saw you there was a darkness about you. It seems to have vanished, now.’

  Cuimne smiles. ‘Yes. I think it has. Much has happened in the months that have passed and it has fallen away.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I have to confess it had me worried and I could see that it gave Colmán cause for concern. He’ll be glad to hear that you appear more settled.’

  Cuimne blinks, her surprise strong. ‘Colmán mentioned this to you?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He had no need. It was plainly there on his face.’

  Cuimne looks down and mumbles her reply. ‘Colmán is a kind man.’

  ‘He is,’ said Almaith. She smoothes Cuimne’s hair, like she would a child’s. The two stand there in silence for a moment as she continues her stroking. ‘Well, I’ll let you get to your bed,’ she says eventually. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  ~

  Under a watery sun that promises a bright day, Aed and Cuimne make their farewells while children weave quickly among laughing adults and barking dogs. Furze and tree blossoms scent the air and put a smile on Cuimne’s face, despite a wretched night’s sleep.

  Once they are underway, the pair amble along and Cuimne makes a great effort to study the land around her, noting the signs of a deepening spring. This time when she sees An Dhá Chích Danann come into view, she can look at the mountains with appreciation; note the greening slopes that transform them from the rusty hue of winter sleep to the awakening signs of life. The two breasts, lush with their new growth reassure, and like all mothers, they are woven into the fabric of life. That her own mother has been missing throughout most of her life has always grieved her, but it’s only now she can fully appreciate what she’s missed. An Dhá Chích Danann has been the substitute mother of sorts, always prayed to on her trips between home and her foster family.

  But she is turning from all that now. Her home is now with Máthair Gobnait, a different kind of mother, but surely one just as holy and more loving. She asks Aed to stop a moment. She climbs down and stands before the mountains, silent. The words, so familiar, come to her and she utters them one last time and adds her thanks. It must be done. It is her farewell.

  ~

  Little has changed and yet everything has changed. The fields are greener, the cattle
grazing in them more numerous and the buildings larger than before. She gets down from the cart to a series of warm embraces. Máthair Gobnait, Siúr Feidelm, Siúr Sadhbh and even Siúr Mugain, striding down the hill to her, take a turn at kissing her cheeks and holding her hands in greeting. Cadoc ambles up, a broad grin on his face, and begins to stroke the pony. Siúr Ethne is there too, hanging back from the others, but the smile and sincere greeting speak much for her feelings. Nearby, three young girls stand, their faces filled with curiosity. Their grey gowns and linen head wraps mark their status.

  ‘Three girls, not two, Máthair Ab?’ asks Cuimne.

  ‘Ah, the Lord saw fit to bless us with three girls this autumn. And we’re so pleased.’

  It is a welcome she would have never imagined all those months before, and one so different from her first arrival here in the community. News is demanded amid laughter and Máthair Gobnait’s reprimands them all about proper hospitality. She enters fully into the spirit and joy of the reunion and allows them to seat her on a bench outside, a mug of beer in her hand and begins to share all the drama and entertainment of her news.

  Later, when she sits on her old cot, having changed from her bright gown into the grey one befitting her new home, she has a moment to herself. Sodelb’s place in the bed is still there, though it is now clearly occupied by someone else. Siúr Sadhbh perhaps. Or even one of the young girls. For her, though, it will always be Sodelb’s and the thought gives her a moment of pain. She rises, brushes the tears from her eyes and heads for the door.

  It doesn’t take long, the path is so familiar, trodden so many times at night and in early morning. She enters the oratory, suddenly hesitant, uncertain what to expect or feel. So much of this place is Sodelb. She can find the beauty in every detail; the altar, the cross marks on the rafters, even the wooden benches that often grew hard in the early morning worship.

  She sits on a bench now, at the back, away from the altar and the mound that is Sodelb’s grave. Her eyes adjust to the dim light. The altar and the cross that stands upon it become clearer. She sees then the beaten earth floor, now smooth and even. Her breath catches. What sign is left of the grave? She rises and moves closer, for a moment wondering if she’d mistaken its place. She kneels down, lays her hand on the ground and searches for tell-tale signs. The tears come again.