Saint Brigid's Bones (11 page)

T
hree days later, Dari and I set off through the broad grasslands south of Kildare on the way to the court of King Dúnlaing. He was not a Christian, but he had always honored Brigid when she was alive and had protected our monastery since her death. When he was a young king, he had granted her the site of Kildare and the surrounding lands at a very modest annual rent even though the nobles of his tribe had objected. I had known him all my life and had sung for him many times in his feasting hall. Once, when he had been drinking most of the night and was quite inebriated, he told me the story of how he had first met Brigid. I later heard a different version of the tale from Brigid herself.

Only a few weeks after Brigid began her work in Leinster, a young warrior from Connacht was visiting the settlement where Dúnlaing held court. He was anxious to impress the
local lord, so when he saw a red fox wander into the king's hall he quickly took out his sword and killed it, thinking he was doing the ruler a favor. The people around him shouted in anger and hauled him before the king, who was furious, since the animal was his trained pet. Dúnlaing told him that unless he could find him another fox that could do the same tricks within three days, he would be killed. When Brigid heard about the man, she took pity on him and determined to save his life—and at the same time gain the favor of the king.

Now it happened that Brigid had a talented pet fox of her own. She took him to the trees just outside the king's settlement and ordered him to stay put, then she entered the gates and fell on her knees before Dúnlaing's hut, praying loudly that he would spare the life of the poor, misguided youth. The king heard her wailing and told her to stop making such a racket unless she could produce a fox like the one he had lost. Calling loudly on God to help her, she clapped her hands three times and her fox came running in from the woods. She put him through a series of tricks—rolling over, fetching a stick, running in circles—that so pleased the king he ordered the young man freed. He then asked if there was anything he could do for a woman who was so favored by her god that wild animals obeyed her. She refused with great drama, claiming that her reward lay in heaven. But the king insisted and so it was then that Brigid asked if she might have a small bit of the king's land on which to build her monastery. Dúnlaing immediately granted her request. The king had never learned the truth about the fox, even after fifty years. Brigid had made me swear on her deathbed that he never would.

Dúnlaing wasn't at his estate on the banks of the Liffey, but instead was at the ancient hill fort of Dún Ailinne to the south. Tonight was the feast of Samain and the king wanted to celebrate it among the tombs of his ancestors.

Samain—or Hallowe'en as some Christians call it—is one of the four holiest days of the traditional Irish year, along with Imbolc at the start of February, Beltaine in May, and the great festival of the god Lug at the beginning of August. Imbolc marks the beginning of spring. It was on that day ten years earlier that Brigid had died, and so we honored her on the anniversary of her death with a grand celebration at the monastery. By coincidence or providence, there was an Irish goddess of the same name whose feast had long been celebrated on the same day. This made it an easy transition for our converts to dance around the fire on Imbolc and sing songs about holy Brigid. I admit it was a shameless appropriation of a pagan holiday on our part, but I think our Brigid would have approved. She never made a fuss over the distinctions between Christian and Irish beliefs

Samain, on the other hand, falls at the start of the dark days of winter and is the time when the barrier between the world of mortals and the realm of the spirits is thinnest. On that night, it's all too easy for someone to pass into the Otherworld without even knowing it—and may the gods help you find your way back. I had heard many stories of children disappearing in the woods on that night or errant travelers meeting strange figures dressed in white near the síd mounds. No sane person ventured out of their farmstead on that evening. Even devout Christians would cross themselves and bar the doors of their homes at sunset.

It was traditional for a tribal king to invite his nobility to a grand feast on Samain. This was called the
óenach
or gathering and was the highlight of the year for the warrior class. Everyone would wear their finest clothing and jewelry to the feast. It was a chance to show off and boast about what a good year it had been, even if it hadn't. Quite a few marriages were arranged at Samain festivals and more than one drunken hero had been killed by an equally inebriated opponent on that day.

Dún Ailinne was the perfect place for Dúnlaing to hold his Samain gathering each year. The fort itself was huge, with a grand feasting hall in the center. The old stories say that it had once been the greatest capital in Leinster, but that was in a time long past. Nowadays it was deserted except for ceremonial occasions. It lay on a low domed hill with a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. There was an earthen ring around the whole compound with a rampart wide enough to drive a chariot on. Earlier in the day, Dúnlaing's slaves had set up a dozen tables in the hall around an enormous cooking pit. All the nobles had erected their own colorful tents close by. It was an impressive sight, but the immensity of the fort made the temporary settlement seem small and vulnerable.

Dari and I came to the guest tent at the edge of the fort and dropped off our belongings. One of the slaves gave us water to wash and told us the king and nobles were already gathered for the feast. I knew the king's sons would be present and I was determined to use all my power as a bard to discover if they had taken the bones of Brigid.

I unpacked my harp and was heading out of the tent when Dari grabbed my shoulder.

“Deirdre, are you sure I should come with you? I can stay here and meet you afterwards. I'm sure the servants would bring me something to eat.”

“No, Dari, I need you there with me.”

“But I'm a commoner. I don't belong in there. You know they won't like it.”

“The king will welcome whoever I bring. As for his sons and nobles, I'd be quite happy to make them upset. Angry people make mistakes and say things they shouldn't. They might let something slip about the bones.”

“So you're using me as bait?”

“Yes, but also as an extra pair of eyes. Besides, I want you to meet the king. He's a gracious man.”

We walked through the cold night to the royal feasting hall. I could hear raucous laughter and smell meat cooking inside. With more flourish than was really necessary, I swept past the guards at the door and marched in with Dari close behind me. Everyone grew suddenly quiet. They all knew me since I had sung at the court many times. The king was sitting at the head of the largest table surrounded by his family and favorite warriors. Most of the people just seemed surprised, especially when they saw Dari, but a few scowled when they saw me approach, notably Illann and Ailill, the king's sons. My cousin Roech, who was sitting next to Illann, turned white as a sheet. Ailill jumped up from his seat and started to move towards me with anger and fear in his eyes, but his brother Illann grabbed him and pulled him back down. King Dúnlaing, however, smiled and rose to bid me welcome. The king stood tall in spite of his years and his green eyes were as bright as ever. He made room for me on the bench next to him, mindful as always of the rank and power of a bard.

“Deirdre, what an unexpected surprise. It's so good to see you again. I'm glad you could join us this evening. My chief bard is sick in bed tonight. I see you brought your harp.”

“Yes indeed, my king. It would be an honor to play for you. What better place than Dún Ailinne to sing of your glorious deeds and those of your ancestors?””

“Well, my own glory has dimmed somewhat of late, but I still enjoy the songs of a gifted bard, especially one so young and beautiful.”

I smiled at his compliment and bowed in gratitude. He was a kind old gentlemen even though it was clear the years were catching up with him.

“My lord, this is my friend, Sister Darerca. I hope she will also be welcome at your feast.”

Dúnlaing grasped Dari's right hand in both of his.

“Of course she is. Welcome, Sister Darerca. The nuns of Brigid's monastery hold a place of honor at my table.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Dari with only a hint of trembling in her voice.

We all sat down, Dari next to me, as the feast continued. A slave reached into the great bronze cauldron with a flesh hook and pulled out a pork loin that he served us along with two large mugs of beer. I was famished and greedily cut a slice of the steaming meat with my knife. Dari ate more sparingly. I knew she felt out of place. It was selfish of me to put her through this, but I promised myself I would make it up to her later.

Illann and Ailill sat on the far side of the king, though the way the tables were set up I had a good view of both. They seemed to have suddenly lost their appetites and spent most of the next few minutes discreetly but frantically whispering to each other. Illann kept shaking his head at something Ailill was saying.

As I ate, I made small talk with the king and managed to get Dari in on the conversation. While the king regaled her with some long-ago adventure of his, I looked at the nobles around me. All the men had golden torques fastened around their necks, mostly plain but a few twisted in spirals in the old style. They also wore sturdy bronze bracelets on their arms and decorated brooches to hold their woolen cloaks tight against the chill wind that was blowing through the door. The women were elaborately outfitted with gold rings and pins, faience necklaces imported from Egypt, and amber earrings from the Baltic set in finely-worked silver. Several had silk ribbons tied in their hair. In my coarse woolen tunic with a plain wooden cross about my neck, even the slaves were better dressed than me.

When all the guests had finished dinner and the servants had cleared away the dishes, the king nodded to me and I rose with my harp. The room suddenly grew quiet. I plucked a simple tune on the strings and began to sing:

A prince has reached the lands of the dead,

the noble son of Sétnae,

he laid waste to the valleys of the Fomorians,

under the world of men.

It was a song of ancient Leinster in the days when the ancestors of Dúnlaing and all the warriors present—including my ancestors—had killed the wicked, half-human Fomorians and driven them deep into the darkness of the earth.

I sang of our forbearers, the Gáileóin, great spearmen, and how they had sailed to Ireland from Gaul centuries earlier and seized the eastern part of the island all the way to the Boyne River. I continued with verses celebrating shining Móen, fearless Bresal, and matchless Lorcc, all famous warriors, and their victories against the Ulstermen in days of old. We were the mighty people of Leinster, proud and brave, and most of the guests cheered and pounded the tables when I finished my song. The king's sons gave only polite applause.

Dúnlaing took a golden chain from around his own neck and placed it over my wooden cross as payment for a song well sung. I bowed deeply and thanked him, wondering how much barley I could trade for it next market day to help feed the people at the monastery.

It was good to remind the nobles of Leinster of their glorious ancestors and victories in war, for there had been precious little to celebrate in recent years. The battle in which my father fell thirty years earlier, fighting alongside King Dúnlaing at the Boyne River, was just the first of many disastrous encounters
of Leinster with the Uí Néill confederation of Ulster. Defeat followed defeat as they sent chariots south to drive us out of our territory. First they seized the fords of the Boyne, then the coastal lands to the east. There was a great battle for the hill of Tara, but Leinster could no longer hold them back and were forced to retreat yet again. Finally, just four years earlier at Druim Derge, we had lost the whole of the midlands to the Uí Néill up to the plains north of the Liffey. Kildare had once been deep inside Leinster territory, but now we were near the frontier.

I sat back down at Dúnlaing's side as the servants poured wine and the guests broke up into small groups to chat. Now seemed like a good time to mention the real reason for my visit.

“My lord, you are generous as always with your table and gifts, but I wonder if I might risk your anger on this special night by asking about a troubling matter?”

Dúnlaing finished off his first cup of wine and called for another.

“Of course, Deirdre, ask anything you want.”

“It's about the bones of holy Brigid.”

He looked at me curiously. I suppose he had been expecting me to ask for an extension of time to pay the annual tribute the monastery owed. Sister Anna had sent me to him twice in the past few years to make such a request, which he always had granted.

“The bones? What about them?”

“My lord, you must have heard by now that they're missing.”

He put down his wine, a look of horror on his face.

“Missing? What do you mean? Are you saying someone has taken them from the church?”

“Yes, my king, I thought you would have known.”

“Illann!” He roared for his eldest son, who jumped up from his seat and rushed to his father's side.

“Yes, my lord, how may I serve you?”

“You could start by telling me if you knew that the bones of Brigid had been stolen from Kildare.”

“Well, yes, I had heard some report about such a thing, but it seemed like such a small matter to bother you with when you were busy preparing for the Samain feast that we decided—”

“We? Do you mean others knew about this and said nothing?”

“Yes, but the matter didn't seem worthy of your attention at the time so we—”

“Silence!” he demanded with such a voice that the whole company turned and watched him rise from his seat to tower over his son. The look on his face made my blood freeze.