In Praise of the Bees

by Kristin Gleeson

  ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ whispers Siúr Sodelb from her cot next to Áine. She reaches over and grasps her hand. ‘I missed your company.’ It’s the first time they have had an opportunity to exchange any words out of range of other listeners.

  ‘And I yours.’ Áine is shy about expressing how much she missed Siúr Sodelb and can only squeeze her hand to emphasize the depth of her feelings for her.

  ‘Your presence here has brought such joy,’ says Siúr Sodelb. ‘I find even more pleasure in the music we lay before God.’

  ‘There was a bard, Senán, at Raithlinn. He had a vast amount of music.’

  ‘My father had a bard. It’s from him that I learned music.’

  Áine takes this in, wondering if she too learned from a bard in her father’s household. ‘I played Senán’s harp,’ she says finally, uncertain if she should mention this small piece of herself, even to Siúr Sodelb.

  But the information comes as no surprise and that thought calms her. ‘So it’s as we thought,’ says Siúr Sodelb. ‘You know music. That’s a step forward.’

  Áine murmurs words of agreement but there is no conviction behind them. ‘Máthair Gobnait has asked Colmán, Domnall’s brother, to find out what he can about me. He’s a legal representative.’ She thinks of Bruinech. ‘Do you ever wish for a husband and children, Sodelb?’

  Sodelb gives a little sigh. ‘What I may wish for and what is possible are too different things. Besides, I’m more than content here.’ She presses Áine’s hand. ‘And you’ve made me happier still.’

  Máthair Gobnait enters at that moment. ‘Sleep is what will make you happiest now. We’ll be up again soon enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Máthair Gobnait,’ says Siúr Sodelb. ‘You’re right, of course.’

  Áine murmurs her own apologies and turns to settle back to sleep. She is still awake when Siúr Ethne returns, sometime later, creeping to her small cot. From her own cot nearby, Máthair Gobnait speaks in a low voice, the words barely discernible.

  ‘The Lord does not see sleep as a luxury, Siúr Ethne. You must get your rest the same as all the others.’

  ‘I only sought to offer a few more prayers. Some of the brothers at Ard Maigh keep vigil all night.’

  ‘That might be so, but it’s not something the Lord or we require here.’

  ‘If we’re not here to worship and pray to God, what are we here for?’

  ‘Being in the service of God can take many forms, but this is not the time or place to discuss it.’

  Máthair Gobnait’s voice is firm. Siúr Ethne offers no other comment, but Áine knows she isn’t satisfied. Siúr Ethne clearly has her own vision of God’s work, and the actions, words and thoughts such service entails. She is finding her own way to God.

  ~

  The next morning when the sisters and Máthair Gobnait sit down to break their fast Siúr Ethne declines to take anything but water. The bowl of plain porridge Siúr Feidelm spoons up is pushed away, despite Máthair Gobnait’s frown and Siúr Ethne passes the heel of bread to Siúr Mugain.

  ‘I hope you feel well enough to eat later,’ says Máthair Gobnait. ‘You wouldn’t want to faint during mass, especially in an Thiarna Epscop’s presence.’

  ‘I’m fine. I promise you I will not faint.’

  ‘Well if you do feel unwell, you may go and take your rest.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

  Silence falls on the group and hunches them over their bowls, none daring to look up and catch the eye of anyone else at this small challenge to Máthair Gobnait’s rule.

  Siúr Sodelb has told Áine about the group of Penitential manaigh scattered around the monasteries who believed following an extreme ascetic life made them closer to Christ’s suffering and His grace, and that they, and all men, are so sinful by nature they must starve and beat themselves, and spend hours on their knees in atonement. Such views seem out of place here. God is love, God is forgiveness, God is protector and comforter and all are his children, here among this community of women.

  ~

  Just as Máthair Gobnait said, Epscop Ábán baptizes Áine on the next Sunday. The thought that this rite might bring about changes gives rise to such fear in her that she nearly backs away when she is led forward to the small well just outside the oratory. She will be born anew, nestled firmly in the bosom of God, they tell her, but she can’t imagine this. She can only picture all her memories flooding back in the wake of her cleansing, her mind clear, but most certainly not pure. Someone beaten near to death as she has been must have led the most impure life.

  At the well, they ask her the questions and she mumbles the answers she was told to give, while Máthair Gobnait adds her own supportive statements. Áine trembles, looking around her as Epscop Ábán cups his hand and reaches down into the well and pours water over her. She closes her eyes, holds her breath and waits for the worst to happen.

  Her eyes are still closed when she feels an arm around her. She opens them and sees Máthair Gobnait leaning in to kiss her forehead. She blinks a few times, still poised and waiting, testing herself to mark any changes when they arrive. There is nothing. She feels a glow of happiness spread through her, because she can now begin her life in truth as Áine. There are no memories of another woman to clamour for attention and push her into becoming something she no longer wants. What she does want is to join this community of women and become a cailech.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It is only when Fionn emerges out of the mist, galloping toward the faithche, a rider clinging to her mane, that the women realize she’s been missing. It’s Siúr Sadhbh who sees the horse first, as she carries buckets of milk taken from the cows in the field above. Two girls struggle after her, carrying a third bucket between them, but they drop the bucket at the sight of Fionn riding towards them, the mist swirling and gathering about the horse like something from a seanachaí’s tale.

  Áine sees them when she appears in the doorway of the sleeping hut, freshly dressed in her wool gown and a veil she’s tentatively placed on her head after persuading a loan of it from Siúr Sodelb.

  Fionn draws nearer, bouncing the perilously perched man with his leather satchel slung across his back. Though fear knits his brow and flattens his mouth in a near rictus pose, Áine recognizes him as Cenél, one of the builders. The sound of hooves draws Máthair Gobnait from the oratory and Siúr Feidelm from the kitchen, a spoon in her hand. Siúr Mugain steps from the larger sleeping hut, fastening her veil with small wooden hair pins.

  ‘Siúr Mugain, will you fetch the other builders?’ says Máthair Gobnait.

  Siúr Mugain strides off, filled with righteous purpose, and disappears into the shed. Her voice can be heard, loud and firm, as she rustles the two men from their sleep.

  Fionn slows to a trot as she approaches the entrance, and passing through, greets her beloved Máthair Gobnait with a whinny, the morning dew clinging to her mane. Cenél, terrified and exhausted, slides from her before Fionn even halts, and he collapses on the ground a small distance from Máthair Gobnait. Hands on hips, she surveys the miscreant. For what else could he be, taking a night’s gallop with his mistress’s horse; a horse that is not even a lowly capall, but an each that belonged only to a noble?

  Behind Máthair Gobnait, Siúr Mugain pulls along the other two dishevelled builders, Findbar and Brendán, their eyes blinking hard against the sudden light, their faces both bewildered and resentful. Siúr Mugain takes Fionn and leads her away with the promise of food. Siúr Sadhbh and the two girls join the group that forms an assembly of a sort, an impromptu juris consult who immediately draw their own conclusions of the man that now lies shaking and fearful before them, damning himself with his pose, the satchel of tools still hanging along his back and the words of excuse that pour from his mouth.

  ‘I didn’t go far, I promise you. And I was going to return. It was that I had to go to my family, a sick brother.’

  ‘A sick brother?’ asks Findbar. ‘What sick bro
ther?’

  Cenél pales. ‘A cousin—distant.’

  ‘A cousin? Where? Who? You’ve no sick cousin.’

  ‘Why did you need tools to visit a sick cousin?’ asks Brendán.

  Máthair Gobnait holds up a hand. ‘Why didn’t you ask permission? If you needed to visit a sick relation, we would have been happy to help.’

  ‘I only heard about it late at night, and I didn’t want to wake you.’

  ‘Late at night?’ Findbar says. ‘Who told you late at night? I heard no one.’

  ‘It-it was a cousin, brother to the sick one. You were fast asleep when he came.’

  Findbar snorts. ‘This cousin told you to bring tools? What were you going to do with them, cut off a limb?’

  Máthair Gobnait points to the satchel. ‘Findbar, perhaps you should check which tools are in there.’

  Cenél cowers as Findbar leans over and pulls the satchel from Cenél’s shoulder, giving his head a smack in the process. ‘Fool,’ he mutters.

  Cenél flushes. ‘I would have been long gone if not for the horse. How much a fool then, eh?’

  Findbar shakes his head and searches the satchel, squatting on the ground next to Cenél. A fine soft rain has begun to fall, forming droplets on his brown curls and thick beard.

  ‘All of our tools are here,’ he says. ‘All of them.’ He repeats the phrase, his voice hard. It’s clear to him there is nothing innocent about Cenél’s night ride.

  ‘Do any belong to Cenél?’ asks Áine. All eyes turn to her, but the veil she wears gives her courage and she returns their looks calmly.

  ‘No,’ Findbar says. ‘They all belong to my brother and me.’

  ‘Ah, now, he must be brought before the court for theft,’ Siúr Sadhbh says. ‘Sure, that’s only right.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ says Máthair Gobnait. ‘But I would like to confer with Epscop Ábán in this too.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we ask a representative of the law to come, Máthair Ab?’ says Áine. The words slip out of her mouth before she realizes the law representative in this tuath unnerves her and is determined to discover her past.

  ‘Colmán?’ Máthair Gobnait pauses, as if considering her question. It might be that she stalls for time, confronted with a situation in which a horse and tools were stolen, yet returned before they were missed. The horse is not an ordinary capall, belonging only to an ócaire, and taken less than the distance of nine bridges that means only a small fine is paid. But the horse has returned and the tools back in the owner’s possession, so there really is no permanent loss. Though it is clearly a matter for a wise law representative, the offence happened at Máthair Gobnait’s community and is therefore against the church, and these days the church is increasingly interested in addressing its own matters. There is the further consideration that Colmán is not one of the Érainn people, he was Eóganacht, and though the people here are part of his tuath, the dún is in distant Raithlinn. Máthair Gobnait’s decision now could affect the future of the community and should not to be taken lightly.

  Áine sees this and also understands without question that in ordinary circumstances the cáin governing a crime like this would be specific and exacting, weighing out the subtle elements of a particular situation against past practice. The certainty of her knowledge startles her, for it is a fine point known usually to those nobly born. She glances around at the others, searching for signs that someone else possesses this information besides Máthair Gobnait, and finds no such indication. Áine holds her breath and awaits the decision.

  Máthair Gobnait gives her a speculative look. ‘Yes, you’re right. It would be best if we ask Colmán to come.’

  She turns and asks Siúr Mugain to take Cenél and put him under Cadoc’s watchful eye until the matter is resolved. ‘If you have no objection,’ she says to Findbar and Brendán, ‘and your tools are still fit to use, I would like you to continue with your work in the meantime.’

  ‘They are and thanks, Máthair Ab,’ says Findbar, bowing to her and unable to meet her eye. He gathers up the satchel. ‘It’s my thinking the horse is the one responsible for the recovery of all that was stolen. There’s nothing favourable to be said about Cenél.’

  His words are muttered, but Áine hears him and suppresses a smile at such an astute remark. Máthair Gobnait only nods. ‘We’ll consider everything when the time comes, rest assured.’

  The group breaks up soon after, Findbar and Brendán retreating to the safety of the cowshed to restore their dignity and vent their spleen. Siúr Sadhbh and Siúr Feidelm usher the wide-eyed girls with the full pails of milk to Siúr Feidelm’s kitchen to use for the morning meal, leaving only Áine and Máthair Gobnait to make their way together to the oratory in silence, Máthair Gobnait deep in thought.

  ~

  By evening, the fine misty rain has cleared, leaving only a scattering of clouds blown by a gentle wind that dries the grass and rocks and gives the air a fresh scent. It is such a fine evening, that all who are able stretch their legs or sit outside, eager to enjoy the remaining sunlit hours, the chores finished for the day. Máthair Gobnait is one of those who takes advantage of the dry evening and climbs the hill to its summit, walks along the ridge, and finds her usual comfortable perch among the boulders that have flung themselves about the land so generously.

  Áine accompanies Máthair Gobnait at her request, Áine’s legs now strong enough to bear the complaints of her calf muscles as she mounts the hill. At the top, she settles herself on a dry spot next to Máthair Gobnait, her breath coming in bursts. While she recovers, she gazes beyond the immediate small fields, their downward slope meeting the trees that meander down to the river’s edge and resume on the other side. A farmer from elsewhere would read this landscape with little envy and perhaps pity, but Áine knows now the valley and hillside with its rain-soaked soil and whose single most productive crop is rock, has its own value to the people of this area. Uisneach and the sacred well are only two manifestations of this value.

  She shifts her gaze slightly and sees in the slopes of An Dhá Chích Danann rising up in the distance and she gives a small cry at the sight. It at once comforts her and unnerves her. She realizes she knows the place. These sacred mountains, the home of the mother goddess, are now witness to her presence here with Máthair Gobnait. Two mothers, protective of their own. She turns away quickly and looks at Máthair Gobnait. She has made her choice of protector.

  Máthair Gobnait points, distracting Áine from her thoughts. ‘Are my eyes failing, or is someone clearing that area there?’

  Áine squints in the direction indicated. It does appear as though trees have been felled across the river, near the bank and some stones are piled on one another. ‘I think you’re right, Máthair Ab.’

  Máthair Gobnait sits back and frowns. ‘I wonder what that signifies. Uí Blathnaic spoke nothing of this to me when we were there. Did you hear of anything?’

  Áine shakes her head. ‘Nothing was said to me.’

  Máthair Gobnait regards the area intently as if it might reveal more. Silence falls between them, heavy for only a moment, then slipping into something more benign.

  ‘You have knowledge of the law?’ Máthair Gobnait says, eventually.

  Áine assembles her thoughts, tests the fear that is always lurking and finds no answers there. ‘It seems I do,’ she says in the end. Part of her would like to help, to offer the benefit of her understanding to enable Máthair Gobnait to make the best decisions for the community. ‘I know nothing more than that.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t know what the law would decide in this case?’

  Áine shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Máthair Gobnait nods. There is little more to say on the subject and it’s clear Máthair Gobnait understands that it’s one more piece of Áine’s former life come to light. Not every noble woman would have knowledge of any point of the law, Máthair Gobnait tells her. It’s a revelation that Áine would rather not have, and she is uneasy about what it suggests.


  Máthair Gobnait touches Áine’s veil. ‘I see you’ve covered your head.’

  Áine lowers her eyes and blushes. ‘I-I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed one from Siúr Sodelb.’

  ‘I don’t mind, but others might find your commitment too sudden and hurried. Not everyone is suited to the path the women here follow. Haste, they might feel, does not indicate certainty and makes light of their own commitment.’

  The delicate and charitable phrasing does nothing to disguise the person behind these sentiments. Áine feels a moment’s anger and fear that Siúr Ethne might prevent her from becoming a cailech, a sister to the others.

  ‘My intentions and heart are sincere, Máthair Ab.’

  ‘I have no doubt of that, Daughter. But it’s for you to convince God and Siúr Ethne that you have a true calling to the Lord’s service.’

  Áine stares out across the valley to the assembled stones that are starting to form the foundations of a small dún, until they dissolve under the weight of tears that fill her eyes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Colmán appears the next morning, before midday, surprising everyone. When Áine sees him coming up the slope, his companions trailing after him, she thinks for a minute that he’s been conjured out of the air, summoned from the Otherworld. She’s sitting on the bench in front of the Tech Mor, mending a léine, and stabs her finger when she hears him hailing his arrival. Méone winds himself through her legs and meows softly. Áine tugs her veil forward, ensuring her hair is well covered, sets aside her sewing and picks up the cat. The rumble of his answering purr almost corresponds to the pace of her heart.