Sacrifice (22 page)

G
randmother, let me do that. You're still not strong enough.”

It was a month after the death of Riona, and my grandmother and I were in her new home, making dinner for our guests.

“I can do it, Deirdre. I may not be back to my old self quite yet, but I can still make sausages.”

That morning, we had slaughtered a young sow in the yard. While my grandmother supervised, I had slit its throat and held its head while the blood flowed into a large bowl. We would use most of this later for a tasty pudding. When the pig was dead and the blood thoroughly drained, I dipped the carcass into a cauldron of boiling water to remove the hair and hung it by the
feet from the low branch of a tree. I then began butchering the animal. Within minutes, the head had been severed, the carcass split down the middle, and all the organs removed. Nothing went to waste. The bulk of the meat was salted and hung in her smokehouse over a low beech fire to cure for the coming winter, while the loops of intestines were removed and carefully washed to make sausage casings. The head meat would be used for a kind of sweet jelly, the lard rendered to eat with bread or use as a salve, and the skin set aside to fry later with beans.

We were ready to stuff the sausages, and my grandmother insisted that she was perfectly able to blow into one end of the wet intestines to inflate them and make them easier to stuff.

“All right, Grandmother, but don't do too much. Father Ailbe says you have to take it easy.”

“Ailbe is a mother hen. I think I know what I can do.”

After a minute, she was out of breath and sat down in a chair by the fire.

“Well, maybe I will let you do the rest while I catch my breath for a moment.”

My grandmother's new hut was very much like her old one, but had the fragrant smell of fresh wood and thatch. Men from all the surrounding clans had come to build it about a week after the battle, when it was clear that my grandmother would recover. Saoirse's father had brought his grown sons, and they did much of the heavy work themselves. Brion had also sent men from the western clans to labor on the project. The best craftsmen of the tribe had made her new furniture and metal utensils, while a local farmer gave her a fine milk cow. When Grandmother had returned home a couple of weeks later, she complained to me that everything was out of place, but I could tell that she was deeply moved by the generosity of everyone who had helped.

After I had washed at the well, I took most of the organ meat and a small bowl of blood back to the kitchen to make the sausages. There was a brief argument with my grandmother about whether or not to use the spleen for the sausage or cook it separately. I wanted to add it to the rest, but my grandmother liked it fried with onions and nuts. As usual, Grandmother prevailed.

Soon we would fry the sausages and serve them hot, along with leeks and other side dishes. Grandmother had even told me to bring out the jar of Spanish wine that King Dúnlaing had given her.

“They'll be here any minute, Deirdre. Set the table and get out the cups.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

There was a knock on the door, and Grandmother insisted on getting up to answer it herself.

“Ailbe, welcome. Dari, come in. Things aren't quite ready yet, but we're working on it. It seems I'm still trying to teach my granddaughter how to cook.”

Dari kissed her on the cheek, then came to give me a hand frying the sausages.

“Just like old times, eh?”

“Yes, Dari, though I'm trying to be more patient now.”

She smiled and looked up and down at me.

“I like you better in your nun's habit again. Not as flashy as the bardic robe, of course, but still stylish.”

There was another knock on the door. My grandmother answered it and welcomed in Cáma and Sinann, the two druids who had been at our interrupted dinner a few weeks earlier.

“It looks like we're all here. Deirdre, are the sausages ready yet?”

“Yes, Grandmother. Everyone can take a seat. Dari, would you pour the wine?”

I set the platter of steaming sausages on the table next to the leeks, relishes, and basket of freshly baked bread with honey butter. My mouth was already watering.

“Ailbe, would you like to say a blessing?” my grandmother asked.

“Gladly, Aoife.”

As we bowed our heads, he began.

“Master of the Universe, Creator of us all, grant us your grace over this meal. May it nourish us so that all at this table and those in our hearts may work for peace and healing. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Dari.

“Amen,” said my grandmother and the other druids.

“Amen,” I said. “Amen.”

Afterword

M
ost of what we know about the fascinating world of the ancient druids comes from descriptions (often hostile) by Greek and Roman authors, along with a few stories written by Christians in early Ireland. We know the druids were priests in much of Celtic Europe and were held in high esteem by all members of their society. Julius Caesar says their order originated in Britain and studied up to twenty years to practice their profession. The Greek philosopher Posidonius, who traveled in Gaul (modern France) in the early first century
B.C.
, says they believed in reincarnation, rendered legal judgments, carefully observed the natural world, and performed sacrifices, occasionally with human victims. He also says they could stop battles by stepping between armies. Druids could
be either male or female. In fact, of the few individual druids we know from antiquity, most are women.

The myths and legends from early medieval Ireland portray the druids as Merlin-like figures who have much in common with their counterparts in Gaul. But Irish law shows their status sadly declining over the centuries as Christianity spread across the island. Once respected leaders, they were relegated by the church to the fringes of Irish society and reduced to little more than potion-makers and objects of ridicule before they disappeared completely from our view.

For those who would like to learn more about the druids, an excellent book is Miranda Green's
The World of the Druids
, which traces them from their ancient beginnings to modern revival movements. My own
War, Women, and Druids
is a handy translation of almost everything the Greeks and Romans wrote about the religion and life of the pre-Christian Celts, while my
The World of Saint Patrick
gives the Christian point of view in early stories and documents translated from the original Latin and Old Irish, including
The Life of Saint Brigid
, the earliest story we have about any saint from Ireland.

Sacrifice
—like
Saint Brigid's Bones
before it—is based as much as possible on what we know from the literature and archaeology of ancient Ireland, but it is a work of fiction.

Many thanks to my friends and colleagues who helped me in shaping the book, especially my wife Alison, my agent Joëlle Delbourgo, and my editor Maia Larson.

SACRIFICE

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Copyright © 2015 Philip Freeman

First Pegasus Books edition October 2015

Interior design by Maria Fernandez

Ireland map courtesy of the author.

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

ISBN: 978-1-60598-889-4 (hardcover)

ISBN: 978-1-60598-890-0 (e-book)

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