Saint Brigid's Bones (27 page)

My grandmother waved us over after the others had gotten up to dance.

“Well, my child, you did it.” She gave me a big hug. “The question is what will you do now? You know Cormac is here. You're going to have to tell him something.”

“That's right,” said Dari. “She's got men lined up out the gate wanting to pay her bride price. Now that she's a big hero, it's going to be hard to keep her at our humble monastery.”

“Oh, both of you leave me be. I'm going to talk to him now.”

“But what will you tell him?” asked Dari and my grandmother at the same time.

“You'll see,” I said. “Dari, would you mind bringing Cormac to the church?”

I left them and I walked to the empty sanctuary. The bones of Brigid were safely back in their place now, but Sister Anna had ordered a large iron lock placed on the chest and thick bolts to hold it to the stone floor. I said a quick prayer to Brigid, hoping that I had made the right choice.

Dari brought Cormac in. He looked more dashing than ever in his royal robes and high leather boots. Dari nodded and left. I had a feeling she and my grandmother were listening just outside the door.

“Thank you, Cormac, for coming here.” I took his hands as I spoke.

“Deirdre, congratulations about the bones. I heard that you're not revealing who took them. Are you sure you can't even tell me?”

“I'm sorry, Cormac, but I'm taking the secret to my grave.”

“Ah well, I can appreciate discretion. I also heard about your encounter with the abbot. Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I think I've made a very dangerous enemy.”

“Deirdre, you can't do anything important in this world without making a few.”

I took a deep breath before I spoke again.

“Cormac, I've done a lot of thinking about us the last few days.”

He smiled and waited.

“But I'm afraid I can't marry you. I'm going to remain here at the monastery of holy Brigid as a nun.”

He looked surprised.

“Your offer was so kind, Cormac, and so generous. You would make a fine husband. A woman would be a fool not to marry you.”

“But you're not a fool, Deirdre.”

“You must understand, Cormac, this is my home now. Here at Kildare is where I can do something good for the world—but I can only do it as a nun. As your queen I would be powerful, but it's not the kind of power that matters to me anymore. There's so much that needs to be done here. We're fighting a war for the soul of Ireland. I realized it when I saw how awful things were at Armagh. If the abbot has his way, the church in Ireland will be a tyranny that destroys hope and grinds down lives of women and men alike. I can't let him win. I've got to do everything I can to fight for Brigid's vision. I don't pretend that there aren't hard times ahead, but this is where I need to be.”

For a few moments he didn't say anything. I could hear someone playing the pipes outside.

“Well,” Cormac said at last, “I hate to lose you, but I do understand. I don't share your religion, but I don't want men like the abbot running the church either. And please remember
that you're not alone. If there is ever anything I can do for the monastery or for you, let me know.”

I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, then reached up and wrapped my arms around him. We held each other for a long time before I finally let him go.

“It's a pity, Deirdre. You would have made a wonderful queen.”

After the last of the pilgrims had finished their dinner and we had begun to clean up, the abbess called me to her hut.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Sister Anna?”

“Yes, have a seat.”

I was surprised. The abbess had always made me stand before.

“You might be interested to know I just received some unexpected news. Perhaps the recovery of the bones changed his mind, but King Bran has granted us a chance to rebuild the church at Sleaty.”

“Sister Anna, that's wonderful.”

“You may not think so once you learn I'm putting you in charge of the project.”

“Me? After all my mistakes?”

“Call it an opportunity for redemption. I've come to realize that we all need to put the past behind us.”

“Thank you. I won't let you down this time.”

“I should hope not.”

“But Sister Anna, even with the lands at Sleaty, will the monastery be able to survive?”

“It won't be easy, but with the record offerings of food and animals we gathered today, I think we should be able to continue our ministry until next autumn. Then we'll have to hope and pray that the harvest is good. As for Sleaty, I want to see
your plans for building the new church in three days—workers needed, supplies required, estimated completion time—and there will be no excuses if you are late.”

“Of course, Sister Anna. I'll have all the information for you on time.”

“See that you do. Now go. I have a great deal of work to do.”

And with that Sister Anna dismissed me. Perhaps it was just the dim light from the candle in her hut, but I would swear she was smiling as I closed the door.

B
efore going to bed that night, I walked back to the church. The remains of the feast had been cleaned up and the tables put away. The guests had all gone back to the sleeping huts or to their nearby homes. The monastery was quiet at last. Tomorrow, at noon on holy Brigid's day, Father Ailbe would offer a special mass for all who had come to Kildare, Christians and druids, nobility and commoners, rich and poor. Everyone would gather together as one to sing praises to heaven and honor the woman who had touched and healed so many lives.

I went into the church and knelt before Brigid's bones. I offered her a prayer of thanksgiving, not just for the recovery of her bones, but for so many blessings—my friends, my family, my community of sisters and brothers—all of us imperfect, all of us still seeking answers.

As I was praying, a young woman pulled at my sleeve. It was Caitlin's sister asking me and Father Ailbe to come to their
hut to be with them at the end, for they didn't expect her to last through the night. I quickly went to the nun's quarters to get my harp so that the last sounds she would hear in this life would be sweet music and her mother's soft goodbye. Then I went to Father Ailbe's hut and woke him. I was still angry at him for what he had put me through, for what he had put the whole monastery through, but I knew he hadn't done anything for his own sake. It was all for the love of a child. I held his hand as we walked down the road to Caitlin's farm.

By the time we arrived, her family was gathered around her bedside kneeling in prayer. She was no longer conscious even for short times. Her skin was cold to the touch and her breathing labored and irregular. Father Ailbe was barely able to find a pulse. We all knew her small heart was almost ready to stop. I began to play a peaceful tune, as much for her family as for Caitlin.

We waited there for hours, with her sisters and brothers eventually falling asleep around her. Her father sat on a stool next to her bed. He looked more shocked than saddened, as if he couldn't believe God was taking his little girl away. Her mother remained on the bed beside her, kissing her gently and whispering words of love.

Sometime after midnight Father Ailbe put his ear to her chest to check her breathing. It had became so shallow that I wondered if she was still with us, but then I saw her chest rise slightly and knew she had not yet let go.

The first rays of dawn on holy Brigid's day were piercing the eastern sky when I finally began to drift into sleep. The fire in the hearth had died away with no one tending it. The girl's father was snoring softly by the bed. Only her mother and Father Ailbe kept the vigil.

It was then that I heard a small voice.

“Mama? Why are you crying?”

I opened my eyes and saw Caitlin sitting up in her bed rubbing her eyes as if she had just woken up from a long slumber. She looked tired, but her cheeks were rosy red and her eyes—those beautiful eyes—were bright and shining.

“Mama, I'm hungry.”

Her mother gasped and cried out. Her father fell off his stool and the rest of the family jumped up. In an instant they were all gathered around her on the bed shouting and laughing and weeping. Father Ailbe rushed to Caitlin's side and took her hand. Her pulse was strong and her skin was warm once again. The confused little girl just sat there wondering why everyone was hugging her and making such a fuss. At last one of her sisters brought her a bowl of broth that she quickly devoured.

Then, tears running down her face, Caitlin's mother lifted her eyes to heaven with a look of joy I will never again see on this earth and prayed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, dear God. Thank you for saving my little girl. It's a miracle! A miracle!”

And of course, it was.

J
ust a short train ride west of Dublin among the rich grasslands of eastern Ireland lies the modern town of Kildare. At its center on a small hill is the restored Norman cathedral of Saint Brigid, built on the foundation of a much older church dating back to the fifth century. Visitors can still imagine the busy life of the nuns who once lived there. Brigid's bones rested next to the altar of the church until Viking raids several centuries after her death destroyed the holy place and scattered her remains—though some claim the bones were removed before the attack. Her skull was said to have been rescued and eventually moved to a church near Lisbon in Portugal, where even today local people honor her.

Whatever the fate of the mortal remains of Brigid, the legacy of this remarkable woman remains. Reliable facts about her life are few, but what we can glean from medieval stories is a
picture of a woman of extraordinary ability and dedication. In a world of men, Brigid stood as a great leader in her own right. How much her legend was influenced by the Irish goddess of the same name is open for debate, though pre-Christian elements are certainly present in the stories about her.

As much as possible, I have used ancient Irish sources and surviving Christian material of the period to create an authentic picture of life in the early sixth century. Pilgrims can still visit the places where Deirdre travelled, such as the beautiful valley of Glendalough, and just south of Kildare, the holy well of Brigid, one of the most peaceful places I know.

If you would like to learn more about the world of Saint Brigid and the next book in the Sister Deirdre series, please visit my website at
philipfreemanbooks.com
.

M
any thanks to the many friends, students, and colleagues who helped me tell this story. John Paine and his careful editorial eye were invaluable in putting the book together. Joëlle Delbourgo as always has been the best of literary agents. My gratitude as well to Maia Larson and the wonderful people at Pegasus Books. In Dublin, the librarians and curators of the National Library and National Museum of Ireland were indispensible.