Sacrifice (5 page)

“I don't remember how I got here, but two days later I woke up in this monastery with the same small woman at my bedside. It was Brigid, who continued to care for me with the help of the handful of other sisters she had gathered in those early days. It took months of nursing, but eventually I was able to
walk again. My druid master never tried to find me, since he assumed I was dead, though I doubt he would have wanted me back in any case with these scars on my face and my useless arm. I stayed here with Brigid and have thanked God every day for the kindness she showed me when no one else cared.”

Tears ran down my face as she finished. She glanced at me, then turned away.

“Don't look so shocked, Sister Deirdre. My story has been repeated many times on your island. Even Patrick was a slave among your people, though against all odds he escaped and made it home. In Britain, slaves can at least work hard and buy their freedom, but according to your druids such an act would offend the gods, causing the cows of the land to be barren and the fields to yield no fruit. So yes, my child, sinner that I am, I do hate the druids and all they represent. Your precious Order ruined my life. I was a flower once, but now I am only a shadow of that happy girl.”

She continued to stare out the window.

“You may keep your druid secrets for now, Sister Deirdre,” she said at last. “Begin your investigation. But if I believe you are withholding any information from me that will help us find the killer of one of my nuns, I will expel you from this monastery forever.”

Chapter Five

I
couldn't face anyone else that evening, so I left Sister Anna's office and went immediately to the small fire temple surrounded by a tall hedge on the far side of the church.

We all called it the fire temple, even though it was formally known as the Oratory of Holy Brigid. The monastery had been founded fifty years earlier as a religious community for women and men to live out the Gospel together by serving others. But long before Kildare was a church, it had been a sacred place of gathering for the women who served an ancient Irish goddess, also named Brigid, who watched over the special concerns of women. The priestesses of the goddess kept a perpetual fire burning in her honor at this same stone temple, much as
the Vestal Virgins once did at their sanctuary in the Roman Forum before a Christian emperor extinguished it. By the time our Brigid arrived at Kildare, there was only one aged druid priestess left, who tended the sacred fire every night. Brigid promised her that the fire of the goddess would never go out if the sisters of Kildare were allowed to build their monastery there. The priestess agreed and left the fire temple in the care of Brigid, who kept her word. Though some of the bishops of Ireland had sought to extinguish the flame as a pagan abomination, Brigid proclaimed that the fire would now honor Christ as the light of the world. When she was still alive, I once asked her if she really believed this. She pulled me close and whispered that it never hurt to have a goddess on your side.

The nuns all took turns in the fire temple, for no man was ever allowed to enter that holy place. I was glad that it happened to be my night to tend the flame. I spread my blanket on the warm ground next to the fire and placed two logs from the woodpile into the hearth at the center. I loved the peace and quiet of the fire temple. It was a wonderful place to think without being disturbed. Of course, there was the night two years ago when a man burst in, shouting that he had leaped over the holy hedge while I was tending the flames, and he proceeded to blow on the fire so hard that I was afraid it might go out. It was old Finbar, a poor fellow lame in one foot who had lost his mind some time before and had come to live with us at the monastery. I finally calmed him down and got him back into bed, but the story later spread that he had been driven mad and made a cripple because he, as a man, had dared to enter the sacred precinct of the fire guarded by women.

But the night after my conversation with Sister Anna, I wasn't expecting any guests. I stirred the embers and thought about the dark events of the day.

Why would anyone, especially a druid, want to kill a kind and gentle woman like Grainne? Our people had never persecuted followers of Christ. Any missionary coming to our island hoping to become a martyr was disappointed. At worst, they would encounter polite indifference from the local people—more likely an invitation to dinner from a friendly druid who wanted to discuss the larger questions of spirituality. One disappointed zealot told me it was impossible to convert a people who were always finding points of agreement between their faith and yours.

But there was no doubt that the murderer was a druid. There was simply no one else who would have the knowledge needed to sacrifice a victim in the way Grainne had been killed. And no druid would ever divulge secret teachings to someone who was not a member of the Order, even under the most extraordinary circumstances. I knew several druids who had become devout Christians and even priests, but they would never discuss the sacred doctrines they had learned with those who had not been initiated.

I heard footsteps approaching the temple from beyond the hedge and then a knock on the wooden door. I was tempted not to answer it, but I knew who it would be. She was the one person I didn't mind talking to at that moment.

“Dari, come in. The door isn't latched.”

She entered carrying a blanket and spread it on the dirt floor of the hut beside me. She also pulled a small jug of beer and a loaf of bread from her satchel and placed them in front of us. I wasn't hungry, but it was thoughtful of her. She put her arm around me, giving me a tight hug. I reached out and squeezed her hand in return.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I knew she was going to let me speak first.

“Dari, I don't understand how this could have happened. Grainne was one of the most caring and thoughtful people I've
ever known. Do you remember that night a couple of years ago when we stayed at her hermitage on the way back to Kildare? She gave us the last of her wine and insisted we sleep on her bed while she spread out a mat on the floor for herself. And she was funny, too. I still remember the joke she told last Easter about the goose who went to visit the two swans.”

Dari laughed.

“I remember too. She was one of my favorite people in the world. She was the first person to welcome me when I came to the monastery from Ulster, just before I met you. She told me that everything was going to be all right after all the hard times I had been through. And she was right.”

Dari began to cry.

“Deirdre, why would anyone kill her? She had no enemies. She had nothing worth stealing except a cow, and the murderer left that behind. And the way she was killed. Why would someone do such terrible things to her?”

“I know, Dari, believe me, I know. It doesn't make any sense. Even in ancient times, no druid would seek out an innocent old woman for a sacrifice. It's a blasphemy against everything the druids held—and hold—dear.”

I saw a hedgehog peek its head through the door to the temple. They were strange little creatures with brown spikes covering their bodies except for their undersides and noses. This one lived in a hole by our barn. He had smelled our food and was trying to decide if it was something he might like. I tore off a piece of bread and tossed it to him. He sniffed it, looked at me as if to ask if that was all I was offering, then took it back into his den.

“How are the sisters back in the sleeping hut holding up?”

“No one is sleeping, as far as I could tell. Some were still crying when I left, some were gathered by the fire sharing stories about Grainne, and a couple were sitting on their cots just
staring at the walls. Kevin moved her body from the infirmary to the church after you left. Sister Anna and some of the elderly nuns who knew her best are holding a vigil there. Father Ailbe is with them.”

“I'm such a coward, hiding here. I should be there too.”

“It's your turn in the fire temple. I'll take your place here if you want, but everyone understands. They also know how difficult this is for you. No one blames you because you're a druid.”

“You always see the best in everyone, Dari. They may not blame me directly for Grainne's death, but I saw the way some of them looked at me in the church, especially Eithne.”

Sister Eithne had been my nemesis since my first day as a child at the monastery school.

“Eithne has always looked at you like that. She'd blame you if the sky fell down on her head. As for the others, I think they're just frightened. It all happened so suddenly. They don't know what they're mad at or who to blame. You're the resident druid at our little monastery, so naturally they look at you suspiciously. It won't last.”

Dari pulled her blond hair back behind her neck and tied it with a ribbon from her pocket. She was the same age as me, but she always managed to look younger than her thirty years. My grandmother once said she had the spirit of a woodlark and the courage of a she-wolf protecting her cubs.

“It doesn't really matter if some of them are mad at me, Dari. The problem is finding out who killed Grainne and finding out quickly. King Dúnlaing is going to be outraged by this brutal murder and see it as a blatant attack on his sovereignty. This is not some family revenge killing or an isolated raid by outlaws. It was cold and calculated and meant to strike fear into the hearts of us all. The king knows that a ruler who can't protect his own people is seen as weak in the eyes of everyone. Word
of this killing will spread across Ireland, and other kings may try to take advantage of it. The last thing we need now is a war with another tribe. We're too weak after the years of fighting with the Uí Néill. We need time to heal.”

“I hadn't thought of that. Honestly, I hadn't thought of anything except how much I'm going to miss Grainne.”

“I know, Dari. It's just that I was born into the nobility of this island and can't help but know how they think. As much as some of them may genuinely grieve at the death of Grainne, they'll all consider how this might change the game of power they play. Who gets weaker, who gets stronger, what opportunities does this open—you can bet they're already talking about it at Dúnlaing's court. By next week, they'll be debating it from Munster to Ulster.”

“Deirdre, I don't know about the politics of these things, but I've met a number of druids in my life, especially since you and I have become friends and I've gotten to know your grandmother. I know you can't talk about druid secrets, but what possible reason would a member of the Order have for killing Grainne?”

“That's just it, Dari. It doesn't make any sense. This kind of sacrifice hasn't been done for centuries. Even then, it was a rare event that was carefully debated by the whole druid community before being carried out, never an isolated action done by a lone druid or even a small group. And such a sacrifice was always meant to bring balance to the land. I'm afraid that Grainne's death is going to do just the opposite and throw everything into chaos.”

Dari stared at the fire for a while, then yawned and stretched out her arms.

“Well, I for one would like to put this day behind me and begin again tomorrow. Why don't you throw a couple more logs on the fire to keep us both warm tonight.”

“You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'll be fine alone.”

She smiled and stretched out on her blanket next to me. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the ground. I pulled her cloak over her and put more logs on the fire. Then I took my harp from its case and softly plucked the strings as I began to sing:

Where is God on a night such as this?

Where is the mercy of Christ, the love of Mary,

the watching eyes of Brigid the fair?

Where is Grainne, the gentle woman of Leinster,

who was a light in this dark, cold world?

Dear Jesus, let her leap like a lamb

freed from its ropes as she enters the gates

of your kingdom on high,

never to know suffering again.

And remember your children left here without her.

I put away the harp and curled up beside Dari, tucking my cloak around her as well. I lay awake for a long time, watching the gentle dance of the flames in the fire.

Chapter Six