Saint Brigid's Bones (8 page)

“Now, aside from the dubious promise of information from young Cormac, tell me what you have found so far in your search and how you plan to proceed.”

I wasn't going to tell her about the voice of the old woman in the night unless I found something at Sleaty. It also seemed best not to mention my suspicions of Fergus until I found out more.

“Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you anything definite, though I have several ideas about who I should question. It still seems to me the primary suspects are the nobles of King Dúnlaing, especially his two sons, Illann and Ailill. They have a strong motivation for wanting to ruin us and take back the lands of Kildare for themselves. I don't think the king himself would be involved, but he's holding a Samain feast at Dún Ailinne next week and all his nobles will be there. I'd like to go and see what I can find out.”

Sister Anna nodded.

“Who else will you question?”

“I plan to visit some farmsteads southwest of Kildare before I visit the king. I'll leave tomorrow. We haven't had a chance to question everyone there yet.”

Actually I had no intention of talking to any farmers. I was using it as an excuse to revisit Sleaty and examine the ruined church.

“Who else?”

“It's possible some disgruntled druids may be behind the theft.”

Sister Anna frowned.

“The Order always respected Brigid. Our relations with them have been amicable since her death. I find it unlikely that they would be involved.”

“That's what my grandmother said.”

“A wise woman, for a druid.”

“Then there's the monastery of Armagh,” I continued. “The abbot there has been trying to undermine us for years. If he
had his way we would all be declared heretics and excommunicated. He has the backing of a few of the Irish bishops and even some support in Rome. But I can't bring myself to believe he would steal the bones of Brigid. Sister Anna, you've met the abbot a number of times. May I ask what you think of him?”

“I think that the abbot would sell his mother to a Pictish brothel if it would increase his power. I hate to think that a man who calls himself a Christian would commit such a blasphemy as to steal the bones of holy Brigid, but it is possible. Still, he would never have his own men do the deed. It would be too obvious. He would work through someone else.”

“Outlaws?”

“Possibly. They've been known to commit such acts for the right price. Or perhaps he would use someone closer to Kildare. Someone who would raise fewer suspicions.”

Just as I was about to ask Sister Anna who she had in mind, we heard the noise of horses outside. This was unusual, since the monastery owned none. Such animals were too expensive for us to feed and were kept mostly by the warrior nobility. My first thought was that it must be some of King Dúnlaing's nobles come to gloat over our misfortune.

But as we stepped out of the hut, I was surprised to see the riders were four men in monastic robes, though considerably finer than the ones we wore at Kildare. They all were tonsured in the Roman style with only the top of their heads shaved. The two largest monks wore fine swords strapped to their belts. The third was a man of average height who looked like a clerk with his ink-stained fingers. Like the large men, he wore a small silver cross about his neck on a silver chain. The fourth was a short, stout figure with delicate hands and no cross.

“Speak of the devil,” said Sister Anna softly.

The abbot of Armagh had just ridden into our monastery.

G
reetings, brothers and sisters in Christ.”

The abbot spoke in an impressively booming voice to the crowd that was gathering around.

One of the larger monks got down and helped the abbot slowly off his horse. He handed the reins to Brother Kevin without a word as if he were a stable boy. Then the abbot saw us and approached the abbess with arms outstretched.

“Sister Anna, my dear woman, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

He gripped Sister Anna's hands in his own as he talked.

“What a lovely little monastery you have here. I've been meaning to visit for so long but, as you well know, the demands of those of us who oversee the flocks of our Lord are great. Fortunately I was nearby supervising the completion of our new church at Clondalkin and I told myself I simply had to stop by.”

The abbot of Armagh was the youngest son of an Uí Néill royal family and used the conquests of his kinsmen to the advantage of his monastery. He had established daughter churches in the lands conquered from us and was now trying to spread his influence into Munster and Leinster itself.

Sister Anna looked as if one of the Indian pythons Father Ailbe talked about had just slithered through our gate and wrapped itself around her. But she was nothing if not the proper host.

“Abbot, it's a pleasure to welcome you to Kildare. Please come inside my office so that you may rest after your long journey.”

She pried herself loose from his grip and motioned him toward her door. She spoke to me quickly, telling me to bring refreshments from the kitchen. I scampered off and found the last of the buttermilk and poured it into a jar. I grabbed two clean cups and arranged a whole batch of Sister Brianna's honey cookies on our finest plate. I was determined to make as good an impression as possible on the abbot, though I hated to waste our food on him. I walked quickly back to Sister Anna's hut and knocked softly.

“Come in.”

Sister Anna was at her desk while the abbot was smiling in the chair in front of her. His clerk was standing behind him looking as if he were afraid to touch anything.

“Abbot, this is Sister Deirdre, one of the newer members of our community. If you don't mind, I would like her to stay.”

This was surprising, but I bowed to him with as much grace as I could muster. If Sister Anna was going to be polite, so could I.

“Ah yes, Sister Deirdre. It seems as if I've heard your name somewhere before. Weren't you a member of that horrible order of witches and sorcerers? I believe you were one of their singers,
weren't you? I'm so glad you've seen the light of Christ and left behind those evil ways.”

I felt the bile gathering in my throat, but before I could respond I caught the stern warning on Sister Anna's face. I measured my words carefully.

“Yes, Abbot, it is true I come from a family of druids and have been trained as a bard.”

“Of course, of course,” he said cheerfully. “I've heard you're very good with your harp. What a blessing that you now sing the praises of our Lord.”

He then turned to Sister Anna with a most solemn expression.

“My dear Sister Anna, I cannot tell you how much it grieved me to hear about the loss of holy Brigid's bones. Unthinkable! I can't believe that someone would steal the bones of that blessed woman from her own church. Truly, we live in the last days if such crimes are committed in the heart of this wonderful Christian community.”

“Thank you, Abbot. Your words are a comfort to us in our time of trial.”

“Indeed, indeed,” replied the abbot. He loved to repeat his words.

He took one of the cookies from the plate and began to nibble on it. He reminded me of a very large mouse.

“And it has also come to my unworthy ears that another tragedy has befallen your monastery recently. Is it true that your efforts to establish a church in Munster on the lands of King Bran have, as they say, gone up in flames?”

He glanced at me for just an instant as he said this.

“Yes, Abbot,” Sister Anna answered, “The church at Sleaty was destroyed in an unfortunate fire.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Sister Anna. It was such a promising idea. I passed by the site only a month ago on the way to Cashel to meet with King Feidelmid. I've been trying to persuade him to
let us establish a church of our own in Munster. Your workmen at Sleaty were doing a splendid job. I know the poor souls there will be at a loss without the nuns of Kildare to minister to them. And of course, the grain from the fields there would have been a great benefit in your ministry here.”

“Yes, it would have been helpful,” Sister Anna conceded.

“Truly, truly. But perhaps your brothers at Armagh can be of service in your hour of need.”

I watched Sister Anna's eyes narrow as the abbot continued.

“Our own supplies are meager in these hard times, but in the spirit of Christian fellowship we might be able to spare some food to help see you through the winter and into the next harvest. I fear the pilgrims who normally come to the festival of holy Brigid in February might not feel, shall we say, motivated to attend and bring their offerings this year without the bones to draw them. We would also be willing to pay the rent you owe King Dúnlaing and guarantee future payments as well. We may even be able to influence King Bran to allow the construction of a new church at Sleaty.”

Sister Anna's expression didn't change.

“That is indeed most generous, Abbot.”

He took another cookie and a long draft of the buttermilk.

“Of course, we would need to insist on a few conditions.”

I could guess what was coming next.

“And what might those conditions be, Abbot?” asked Sister Anna.

“Nothing really. Mere trifles. To see that the resources we donate would be used prudently, I would need to appoint a few men to oversee their distribution. They would have to be stationed here at your monastery. I would also like to send a few priests to help in your spiritual mission. I believe Father Ailbe is the only ordained minister you have at present. May I ask where he is, by the way?”

“Father Ailbe has been visiting friends in the west,” said Sister Anna. “He's making his way back to us even now.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry I'll miss him. I hope he will be alright. So many things can happen on these wild roads. I never travel anywhere without my guards.”

I was really starting to hate this man.

The abbot took two more cookies and passed his cup to Sister Anna for a refill of buttermilk.

“Father Ailbe is a such dear man,” the abbot said. “I met him when he came to Armagh many years ago. I know he was a favorite disciple of our beloved Patrick.”

This was an outrageous lie. Father Ailbe arrived in Ireland several years before Patrick. Although the two were friends, Father Ailbe was never his disciple. If anything, Patrick looked up to him as a teacher and guide.

Sister Anna spoke before I had a chance to cause any trouble.

“Yes, I'm sure Father Ailbe will regret missing you as well. As for your kind offer of help, I'm afraid I must decline. It would be unfair of us to take bread from the hungry mouths at Armagh to fill our own bellies.”

“Ah, I understand, Sister Anna.” The abbot smiled in a most condescending way. “Well, do know that our offer remains open should you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Abbot. We are still hopeful that we will recover the bones and be able to continue our ministry on our own. In fact, I have placed Sister Deirdre here in charge of searching for them. Perhaps you might have some counsel you could offer her. Your wisdom is renowned throughout the island.”

I wondered why Sister Anna would tell him about me.

The abbot smiled again.

“Sister Deirdre seems a worthy choice to lead the investigation. My dear young lady, I wish you the very best in your
search. I'm afraid any advice I could offer you would be superfluous. I can only say that I will keep you ever in my thoughts.”

The abbot rose from his chair.

“Do you mind if I take a few of these cookies with me, Sister Anna? They are simply delicious.”

“Of course, Abbot. Sister Brianna will be so pleased that you appreciate her baking.”

The abbot handed the cookies to his clerk, who placed the entire batch, plate included, into his satchel. We then all went out the door into the muddy yard where the large brother helped the abbot back up onto his horse.

“Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, Sister Anna. I'll be heading back to Armagh now, but I hope you won't hesitate to send word if you need anything—or if you change your mind.”

“You are most gracious, Abbot.”

With a flick of his reins the abbot and his party rode swiftly out of the gate, splashing mud on those standing nearby. The crowd dispersed and returned to their work, leaving the abbess and me alone.

“Those cookies were meant for the children, Sister Anna.”

“Yes, I know. But somehow I doubt the abbot would care.”

“Now that you've seen him again, do you think he was responsible for the theft of the bones?”

“I think it is a distinct possibility.”

“Then shouldn't we confront him? We could talk to Father Ailbe when he returns and force the abbot to tell us what he knows under threat of censure from the synod of bishops.”

“No, we couldn't. The abbot is far too clever for that. The fact remains that we have no proof. Suspicion is not evidence. If he is responsible, I need you to find proof—solid proof.”