Sacrifice

by Philip Freeman

  But my personal problems paled in comparison to the deaths of two innocent women and what the future held for us all.

  “Grandmother, we need to talk about what to do next.”

  I had told her about everything that had happened that morning, including a description of the symbols carved onto Saoirse’s body. As fellow druids, we could discuss all the details freely without betraying any secrets. If she had been shocked by the murder of Grainne, the sacrifice of Saoirse was even worse. We both knew what it meant and the chain of events that had now been set in motion.

  “Yes, we don’t have much time. I’ve sent word to the leading druids throughout Ireland, including Cathbad. The death of Saoirse and the symbols on her body make it clear that Grainne’s death was not an isolated incident. The druid who carried out these killings intends to perform the full cycle of sacrifices.”

  “Is there any way to know the order he intends?” I asked.

  “Yes, the sequence was always fixed, assuming that this renegade intends to follow tradition. He’s already violated it by using unwilling victims. There were six symbols on her body. He didn’t include the death of Grainne since that had been completed. He has already performed the second sacrifice with Saoirse, so that leaves five signs and five more sacrifices. The Triple Death was always the first, followed by the offering to the Morrigan. Tell me again exactly what you saw.”

  “Six symbols, Grandmother. The first, above her right breast, was the head of a crow.”

  “Yes, the Morrigan. Saoirse was a sacrifice to the goddess of war. It looks like the murderer hopes to bring about armed conflict.”

  “The second, over her left breast, was a spiral line circling inward on itself.”

  “Life. The symbol of the three mother goddesses. That will be the next sacrifice.”

  “The third was a triangle with a circle in the center.”

  She shuddered when I said this.

  “Blood. The mark of Crom Crúach. We’ve got to stop this before that sacrifice happens.”

  “The fourth was two diagonal lines coming together above a small circle.”

  “Darkness. The sign of Donn, the god of death. It always follows life.”

  “The fifth symbol was a vertical line with a single horizontal bar across the top, like a Christian cross.”

  “Light. The emblem of rebirth, holy to the goddess Brigid.”

  “The last and largest, in the center of her chest, was three lines crossing each other at the center.”

  “Fire. The sacred sign of the great god Lug. It was always the final sacrifice.”

  “I told Sister Anna that more deaths were coming so that she could take precautions. I hope I didn’t reveal too much.”

  “No, my child, it was the right thing to do. We can’t betray the secrets of the druids, but we have to protect the lives of our friends at Kildare.”

  “Grandmother, who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s the question King Dúnlaing is going to ask me tomorrow. He sent a messenger just before you arrived, saying he wants to see me at his farm in the morning.”

  “I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”

  “Don’t be too eager. It isn’t going to be a cordial meeting. Dúnlaing is furious at the druids for letting this happen. Since, for better or worse, I’m the best-known druid in the province of Leinster, I’m afraid his anger is going to be focused on me.”

  “Maybe I can mollify him. I think he’s always liked me.”

  “Yes, but liking you isn’t going to make up for two dead subjects at the hands of some deranged druid. He knows these murders threaten his power as king. He’s going to be looking for people to blame. You might become a target of his rage as well.”

  “I can bear that. But what do we tell him?”

  “We can say that the killer is a druid,” she said. “We can say that there are more sacrifices coming if we don’t stop him. None of this betrays any druid secrets.”

  “But which druid could be carrying out these murders?”

  “What do you think, Deirdre? I have my ideas, but you’ve always been a clever girl.”

  I thought for a moment.

  “My first guess would be someone from one of the fundamentalist factions. They don’t have many followers, but those they do have are committed. Ever since Patrick arrived, there have been a few druids who have seen Christianity as a threat to their way of life. There have never been any deaths or even violence, but there has been resentment building for a long time. Honestly, though, I don’t know why they would be worried. In the decades since the Gospel arrived on this island, Christianity has barely managed to survive. The monks at Armagh like to say Patrick converted thousands to the faith, but I doubt he baptized more than a few hundred during all the years of his mission. A few whole clans, like Saoirse’s family, have become Christians, but mostly it’s been a single person here and there.”

  “And of those who do convert,” Grandmother added, “the most sincere often become celibate monks and nuns. Not exactly a recipe for growth. You need children for a religion to be successful.”

  “That’s true. And there aren’t even that many monks and nuns in Ireland. Kildare has no more than a few dozen. Armagh has more than us, but not many. There are maybe a half dozen other monasteries scattered around the island, but there can’t be more than a few hundred of us—of them—in total. Maybe there are two thousand Christians in Ireland all together, but we’re not exactly growing by leaps and bounds. I don’t know how long we can survive as a faith before people give up and return to the old ways. And now, as if we weren’t failing on our own, someone is killing nuns. I don’t think that is going to help our recruitment efforts.”

  “That may be the point,” she said. “The killer may be hoping to bring Christianity to an end in one grand and horrible bloodbath.”

  “If it is one of the fanatical druids,” I said, “Finian would know—if it isn’t Finian himself.”

  She took a sip from her own wine cup.

  “That was my first thought as well. That young man is a gifted sacrificer and deeply committed to the old ways. He’s also a lightning rod for the miscreant and malcontent druids on the island. Most of them don’t have the brains to organize these killings, but Finian would.”

  “What if it isn’t Finian or his followers?” I asked. “What if someone else is pulling the strings? Maybe these murders are a political attack aimed at the king but disguised as a religious crusade. It would be a clever way to bring Dúnlaing down, by attacking his credibility to control events in his own kingdom.”

  “That would be devious. Dúnlaing has many enemies, as does any powerful king. Are you thinking about the Uí Néill?”

  “Yes. They’ve pushed our border back to the Liffey in the north. Their forces are as exhausted as ours, but if they could destroy Dúnlaing without a fight they would welcome the chance to expand their control into Leinster.”

  “And then there’s the abbot of Armagh.”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “He’s part of the Uí Néill royal family. If he could extend the political power of his people, he could also increase his own dominance. He would like nothing more than to see the monastery of Kildare in ruins. When I saw him a few months ago, he told me he’d like to kill us all.”

  “Was that before or after you held a knife to his throat?” she chuckled.

  “Before, I think. Anyway, I made a powerful enemy for us that day.”

  “But,” she said, “the Uí Néill are not the only political threat to Dúnlaing. There are plenty of kings in Leinster and Munster who would like to see him fall, including the young ruler of Glendalough.”

  “No. Cormac would never harm the nuns of Kildare. He’s as ambitious a man who ever lived, but that is a line he wouldn’t cross.”

  “I agree, but other royalty might not have such high standards, including Dúnlaing’s own sons.”

  “True, though in any case none of the kings, princes, or abbots of Ireland wo
uld have the knowledge necessary to perform these sacrifices on their own. They would have to have found a druid who was willing to desecrate and defile everything we stand for. I can’t imagine any druid would do that for the sake of money or power—or for any other reason.”

  “I can’t imagine it either,” she said, “but you never know what lies in the heart of another person.”

  We stared at the fire for a long time without speaking. It had grown dark outside and there was no moon to brighten the night.

  “Grandmother, I am going to find whoever did this. I may not be a member of the monastery anymore, but Sister Anna gave me a job to do and I intend to carry it through. The nuns of Kildare are still my sisters in my heart. This killer may not stop with the solitaries scattered around the woods. Macha could be a target next, or Garwain—or even Dari. I swear by holy Brigid and the gods of my tribe that I will destroy this man. Maybe not being a nun could even help me in the search. I’m not constrained by the rules of the monastery or the authority of Sister Anna. I’m free now to wander anywhere on this island with my standing as a druid and a bard. I can make kings answer to me if I need to.”

  “True, my child. But you still look like a nun.”

  I got up from the hearth and went to the large wooden chest at the foot of my old bed. I untied the belt around my waist and laid it on the bed, then reached over my shoulders and pulled off my rough woolen tunic. As I stood there naked, I folded my garments from the church at Kildare and put them into the chest. Then I reached to the bottom and took out one of the fine linen tunics I had stored away three years earlier and put it on, along with a broad belt of worked leather. Then I took the solid gold torque I had been given by King Dúnlaing himself as a badge of office and fixed it around my neck. Finally, I reached into the chest and pulled out the beautifully woven multicolored robe of a bard and threw it over my shoulders, then fastened it with a stylized horsehead brooch made of Spanish silver and studded with lapis lazuli.

  My grandmother came over and put her arms around me. Only my small wooden cross remained as a symbol of my life as a nun.

  “It doesn’t really match the rest of your outfit,” she said.

  I reached behind my neck and started to untie the lanyard, but then stopped. Instead, I tucked the cross inside my tunic close to my heart.

  “It’s still a part of me. I’m going to keep it on, at least for now.”

  Grandmother kissed my cheek.

  “Well, we should get some sleep,” she said. “We’ve got to face a very angry king tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  The feasting hall of King Dúnlaing on the banks of the Liffey a few miles from the monastery was the largest in all of Leinster. Like most buildings in Ireland, it was a round wattle-and-daub hut with a peaked thatched roof, but its scale was grander than any other structure I had ever seen, save for the oaken church of holy Brigid at Kildare. The two guards at the door bowed as my grandmother and I entered the single room lighted by a roaring fire in the central hearth and a hole in the peak of the roof that also allowed smoke to escape. The walls were covered with shields, swords, and the preserved heads of slain enemies. There were enough sturdy wooden tables and benches to seat at least two hundred men, but it was empty that morning except for the king, who was seated in his chair at the head table, eating breakfast.

  He rose to greet us. I had known him my whole life and had sung for him and his warriors many times at feasts in this same hall. He was a tall, straight-backed man about seventy years old with green eyes and white hair down to his shoulders. It was plain to anyone that he was no longer the young warrior who had held this kingdom together for almost fifty years. The lines in his face were now deep and his right hand would tremble when he became tired, but his mind was as sharp as ever and his spirit unfaltering.

  “Aoife, Deirdre, welcome. Would you like some breakfast?”

  He was always a gracious host, but I knew his invitation was a formality today. I could see the strain and worry in his eyes. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a king and have the burdens of a whole people resting on my shoulders. Once after a feast when he had drained many cups of mead and we were sitting together alone by the fire in this very hall, he had spoken more freely to me than he ever had before, perhaps more than he had ever spoken with anyone. He said that to be a king is to be a servant, with less freedom than the lowliest slave. It was, he quickly added, a great honor to care for his people, a privilege granted to him by the gods, but there were times he would have traded it all to be a simple farmer tending a small plot of land in a quiet valley and watching the sun set in peace each evening.

  “No, thank you, my lord,” said my grandmother. “We ate some bread and cheese along the way.”

  “Sit, then,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

  We sat together on the bench to his right, the place of honor.

  “Two nuns are dead, murdered by a druid,” he began. “I have received reports on both from Sister Anna, but I want to know every detail from the two of you. You were both there when the first body was brought to the monastery. Deirdre, you were there for the second. Tell me everything now.”

  We told him.

  When we had finished, he closed his eyes. He had taken in every word, interrupting us several times to ask questions about both women. Then he opened his eyes and leaned forward toward us.

  “Aoife, I know there is no such thing as a chief druid. The members of the Order operate independently, governed only by tradition and common consent. But I also know you are the most respected druid in my kingdom and indeed all of Leinster. You probably know more about what is going on in this land than I do. I do not ask you to betray the secrets of the druids, but I want you to tell me if you have heard anything about who might be responsible for this outrage.”

  “No, my lord, I regret that I have not. As you say, there is no individual or council that governs the druids, but we are in constant communication with each other, arranging religious events, coordinating activities, seeking advice. There is scarcely a chicken sacrificed anywhere in this province that I and all my fellow druids don’t know about beforehand. But regarding these horrible events there was no word, no whisper that such a thing was coming.”

  He turned to look at me.

  “Deirdre, I heard that Sister Anna expelled you from the monastery and I’m sorry. I make it a point not to interfere in the affairs of Christians, but perhaps I can speak to her at some point in the future. For now, I have greater problems to deal with. A killer is stalking the nuns of Kildare. I have already sent word to the abbess ordering her to bring all the solitary sisters into the walls of the monastery. I was not surprised to discover that she had issued the same command herself hours earlier. I have sent a dozen of my best warriors to guard the monastery walls at all times. No one aside from the sisters and brothers and those well known to them will be allowed inside until this is over.”

  “A wise precaution,” I said. “Thank you, my lord. I will sleep better knowing that my friends are safe.”

  “Frankly, Deirdre, I would be pleased if you didn’t sleep at all. I know the abbess placed you in charge of finding the killer before she removed you from Kildare. Her commission may have expired when you stopped being a nun, but if I know you, it won’t matter. In any case, I’m giving you the same mandate by my own authority—find the man who murdered these nuns and stop him before he kills anyone else. You are a druid, and now that you’re wearing those bardic robes again, you will command even greater respect among the people of this kingdom. You have my permission to use any resources and any means necessary to accomplish this. But if you find out who is responsible, you are to tell me immediately and let me deal with him. By my authority as king, I tell you both that there will be no secret druid trial for this man. He will be dealt with by me in a very public manner. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord,” I said.

  “Good. I hope I don’t need to explain to either of
you the consequences for this kingdom if the killer is not found soon. You may have thought about how this turmoil makes us vulnerable to outside forces, but it may also tear apart our people from within. Saoirse’s father is a Christian and one of my finest warriors, in spite of your strange command to love your enemies. His clan is just one of a dozen in this kingdom, but he commands great respect, and others will follow his lead. He was here last night, threatening to personally burn down every druid grove and temple in the land if his daughter’s murderer is not found. I understand his anger. If it were my beloved child who had suffered such a fate, I would stop at nothing, not even a king’s command, to get revenge. But the western clans in my kingdom have sired many druids and are fervent patrons of the old ways. If they or their holy places are attacked, there will be clan war. It is my duty as king to hold my people together. If we begin to fight among ourselves, we might as well hand the kingdom over to the Uí Néill. I respect the religious traditions of my people, whether they follow the old ways or your Jesus, but I cannot allow our tribe to fall into civil war. Before I permit this kingdom to be divided, I will expel all the druids from my kingdom.”

  “My lord,” said my grandmother, “you can’t be serious.”

  “I have never been more serious in my life. I have no desire to abandon the ways of my fathers, but I will not side with the Order if it sacrifices innocent girls or is unable to stop one of its members from performing such deeds. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The king rose from his chair and bade us farewell, then left the feasting hall. My grandmother and I remained seated, too dismayed to stand up.