Brigid of Ireland (Daughters of Ireland Book 1) (11 page)

Bram was old indeed, and his legs were short but strong from much walking. His gait was straight and confident.

Brigid shook her finger at him. “Nonsense. Ye can do it, and I’ll help. We’ll travel much faster that way. I’ll help ye up first, then I’ll get on.”

What sounded simple took many attempts. Bram’s legs were hearty, but his arms weren’t. He was not able to pull himself up far enough to reach the horse’s back.

“Maybe if I get on first. Then I can lend ye an arm.” Brigid mounted and gripped the horse’s mane with one arm and held out the other to the druid.

His eyes grew round. “I don’t think this will work.” She was sure it would. “Let’s try.”

He grabbed on to her arm, hiked one leg and then slid down to the ground with a thud.

“Oh, dear, are ye hurt?”

He twisted his head back and forth. “Nay, but I told ye it would not work. Yer as weak as I am, ye are. I’d better walk.” He rose with the help of his walking stick. The fall had shaken him. He moved about like a tethered ox and seemed to carry as much weight.

She glanced around. Was there something he could stand on? “What about that druid stone? Could ye put a foot on it and walk yer way up?”

He peered at the upright stone, then back at her. He winked. “Let’s try.”

Brigid led Geall over to the rock and the druid hobbled behind. She got as close to the stone as she could. Bram gritted his teeth and pushed one leg up the rock. When he was high enough to reach her, she lunged with all her might and he bounced up onto the horse’s back. How they kept from falling headfirst back on the rock, she didn’t know.

“Yer quite clever, lass.” Bram secured his walking stick by weaving it through his bag’s laces and then they were ready.

Day was just arriving, bringing golden hues to the dark sky. Bram instructed her to travel through the forest but to keep close to a well-traveled path leading north. “There’s thieves on the road. We may still meet them, but this way we won’t be seen from a distance.”

“I never saw any thieves on my way here, just beggars.” “That may be, but yer in the wilds of Munster now. And on

this particular road, they’re one and the same.”

“They’re just hungry, then.” Why was she the only one with compassion for the people?

Steering the horse through the underbrush was laborious.

The road would be much easier. Why hide?

The druid grunted behind her. “Hungry? Perhaps they are. But they do not work for their food, nay. They choose to steal it from others, sometimes killing them in their effort.

Ye’ve much to learn that Dubthach has not taught ye, young one.”

Someone
was
out to kill her. Ardan and Troya were more of a threat than any beggars they might meet.

“Tell me about this secret druid code, Bram. Does it pertain to curses?”

He was quiet for a long time. His silence worried her. She pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted. “I’ll go no further until ye speak the truth of it.”

He smiled down at her. “I cannot lie, but neither can I reveal any sworn secrets. If ye will not travel on with me, I’ll go alone.”

She smiled back. He was old and feeble. She was young and strong. “As ye wish. But ye’ll have to get down first.”

“Ye’ll help me.” “I’ll not.”

He sat there a moment, staring at her. Then he cocked his head to one side. He lifted his robed arm and placed his finger to his lips. He whispered, “Quiet. Get back on the horse. They’re coming.”

“Who… ” “Now!”

The sound of running feet filtered through the trees and Brigid threw herself back on the horse. Within moments men dressed in black hoods were visible on either side, carrying spears. Geall bolted and carried them past the bandits, who turned to pursue them.

Brigid steered the galloping horse to the road.

“Nay. To the left! Get to the left.” Bram’s squeaky voice was pitched high.

“Why?” “Just do it!”

Brigid urged the horse off the road and into a riverbank. The river wasn’t deep, but rocks in the bed caused the horse to stumble a few times, threatening to send them sailing off headfirst.

She called over her shoulder. “Hold on!”

“I’m holding on to ye, but it’s yer job not to get us thrown off. Steer him through that crag.”

Up ahead she spied the rocks he spoke of. The druid knew the land better than Brigid, and those men meant to stab them and steal the horse. Given the choice of trusting a druid or facing death by impalement, she’d take a chance on Bram. When they reached the rocks, she guided the horse up a narrow path. She could barely catch her breath. “They had no

horses. They can’t catch us now.” “Keep going.”

The sky seemed to grow closer and the air thinner. Brigid’s chest throbbed. She could only imagine how the flight must have jarred the old man’s bones. “Let’s stop here.”

“Nay, we’re almost there, we are.”

The rocks gave way to a high plateau, invisible from the ground below. A cluster of stone buildings clung to one side of the cliff.

Quick breaths did little to help Brigid regain her strength. “Please, let’s rest a moment.” It was cold at that elevation. She thought she’d be warmer on the ground and dismounted.

“As ye wish.” Accepting her hand, the old man carefully wiggled down from the horse.

Brigid stomped her feet on the ground, trying to warm her toes.

“Here, take this.” Bram offered a woolen blanket from his pack.

She thanked him. “Why are we here, Bram? A druid visiting a Christian bishop?”

“I’m here to ask him to leave.” The old man led the horse to a frosty stream for refreshment. “I’m sure it’s warmer in his house. Shall we go?”

“Not till I get some answers. What know ye of Ardan and his apprentice?”

“Ah, stories people tell, that’s all. I live on a far-off island.” Brigid padded over to the stream where the horse drank,

his nostrils snorting warm air. She tossed the blanket over her shoulder. “Ye travel much. Ye told me.”

“Aye, all druids do. Still, I have never met him or his student ye speak of.”

“But ye have this secret code. Something all druids know.” The horse finished drinking and they headed to the build- ing. Brigid measured her steps, making them painstakingly sluggish.

Bram blew air into his fist. “Ye make it sound as though I’m plotting with Ardan. Not all druids follow the code, and to those who don’t, I owe no allegiance.”

“Are ye saying Ardan does not abide by the code?” They were getting close and she had to know.

“I have no proof, nay, but I hear he lacks the virtue of… truth.”

Brigid wrung her hands. “Please stop weaving mysteries.

What do ye mean by ‘lacking truth’? He lies? ’Bout what?”

The druid drew his white hood over his head, leaving a few pearly curls peeking out. He blended into the stark bald rocks like a wood mouse in a pile of twigs. From within the depths of his thick cloak, he spoke. “Truth doesn’t change. Ye can’t bend it to please yerself. Talk is that’s what he does. Ye can’t trust gossip, unless ye hear it from other druids, dear. I trust what I heard. If ever there were a judgment for that man, I fear… ”

“Bram, welcome! I see ye brought a visitor.” A man half Bram’s age, but twice Brigid’s, appeared at the threshold of the stone house.

Brigid whispered into Bram’s hood, “He already knows who ye are and yer asking him to leave?”

He motioned her away. “Bishop, meet Brigid, formerly of Glasgleann.”

“Welcome, welcome. Come in and eat. I’ve broth on the fire.”

They trailed in after him. The house was cavernous and nearly bare. Pegs on the walls held utensils and clothes. One finely crafted table and matching chair shadowed the central fire ring. A lone cross, devoid of embellishment, hung on the wall opposite the door. If the bishop had any parchments of Scripture, they were housed elsewhere.

The bishop hoisted two stools from the corner and they all sat, the bishop on the chair, and the visitors on stools.

Brigid’s weary legs and empty stomach overruled her reservations and loosened her tongue. “’Tis so cold up here. Why do ye live on this rock, sir?”

He handed them tin mugs. The smell of lamb stew caused her to further abandon her manners. She gulped the whole thing down and he refilled it. She realized what she had done and her cheeks turned hot. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to give thanks to God.”

The bishop turned his ruby bulbous nose toward Bram. “Have ye brought me a Christian?”

Bram shifted and crossed his knees beneath his tunic. “Not meaning to. Found her on the road here and she needed help.”

Brigid set her mug on the bishop’s polished table. “’Twas not exactly that way. He found me, aye. I was traveling along and… ”

The bishop rubbed his large nose with his finger. “No matter. I’m glad yer here. And what brings you, Bram? Just stopping off on your way somewhere?”

Bram finished his broth and rosy color returned to his pasty cheeks. “This is my destination, bishop. I came to speak with ye.”

Now that he’d warmed up, and she had too, Brigid took their cloaks and hung them on the wall hooks.

The holy man waved a thick hand at the druid. “Speak, then.”

Bram smiled and studied his palms before coming up with a simple inquiry. “Why did ye come here?”

The bishop sucked in a long breath. “I told you before. The church in Rome sent me. Must we go over this again, Bram? I’m to bring Christianity to this part of Ireland. We have spoken of this many times.”

Bram leaned forward, one elbow on his knee. “The gods whisper to me, Bishop. I hear their words in the breeze, I do. ’Tis dangerous for ye. Ye should sail back over the sea. No one here will listen to ye anyway, and I’m warning ye to save yer life.”

The bishop held a hand over his gut and laughed the way someone does when nothing is funny. Although Brigid didn’t believe in Bram’s gods, she felt insulted for him. He was trying his best to save this man from the blood-hungry men they’d encountered earlier on the road. As far she could tell, the bishop was alone up on the crag.

She had an idea. “Why don’t ye join the monks? Yer all Christian brothers.”

Again the bishop snorted. “The monks are isolationists. I am an official church representative. This is how it’s done in Christendom. I come, ordain priests; they set up churches.”

Brigid scooted her stool closer to the holy man. “But pardon me, bishop. Cillian the monk has been to Rome. He has brought back… ”

“I know, I know.” The bishop’s face was red-hot. “They’re Irish monks all the same. I have been
sent
here… ”

This time Bram did the interrupting. “Aye, by the church. We’ve heard that.” He licked his lips. “I do not understand it, I don’t. We are Irish. We welcomed ye when ye first set yer sandal on our shores. Why do ye seek to disrupt our connection with our gods?”

Brigid tried to grab his arm, but it was too late. The druid was standing, intending to leave.

The bishop stood also. “I have been sent here to convert… ” He stopped and wagged his head, giving up.

Bram glared at the plump man. “Dear bishop, would ye be granting us some supplies before we leave? We’ve a long trip back.”

Brigid remained between them like a cornered hedgehog.

The bishop grunted. “I’ll walk you out. That’s all.” He grabbed his cloak from the back of the door.

Brigid glanced quickly at Bram. He had been insulted yet again. She retrieved their own outer garments.

Bram fingered the sleeve of his cloak. “In Ireland, sir, we consider it the gravest insult to be refused hospitality.”

The bishop thrust his shoulders like a rooster. “I’ve shown it. I gave you broth, and I’m escorting you out. Please, dear druid, don’t waste my time by coming back.”

Bram gazed at the floor a moment then lifted his eyes toward the bishop. “I would not ask this of a poor man.”

Brigid wondered at what Bram said. She hadn’t seen any riches, but then the druid was acquainted with the bishop and she wasn’t.

Bram held out his hand to the holy man, but the bishop did not offer to assist him. Bram pointed at the wall cross. “I do not wish to see yer blood shed, sir. Not the way that god of yours was.”

Brigid made the sign of the cross on her chest, as did the bishop. Apparently her mother’s master knew something of the Savior.

Bram turned back to the door where the bishop was waiting. “That’s why I came, it is. To warn ye.”

The bishop held onto his large gut again. “I need no warning, druid.”

Bram nodded. “Brigid, hang his cloak back up for him. We do not require escort.”

Brigid took the thick black garment, slung it on a hook near the window and hurried out the door ahead of the druid. What the exchange meant, she wasn’t sure. She was still hungry and chilled, but she would not require the druid to remain with such an inhospitable host and she was eager to reunite with her mother.

Bram and the bishop hustled after her. “How’d ye do that?” Bram asked.