In Praise of the Bees

by Kristin Gleeson

  Colmán’s men gather around him as he dismounts. She can see he is dressed for travelling, his brat pinned securely around him, his woollen trews dark. A small breeze ruffles his hair and he flings back a corner of his brat and glances around. She knows she is the only one in view. Máthair Gobnait is inside the oratory, deep in conversation with Siúr Ethne, and Siúr Sodelb is helping some of the women making butter under Siúr Feidelm’s supervision. The rest of the sisters are scattered further afield.

  She rises reluctantly, knowing that the required hospitality falls to her, though for a moment she contemplates hiding. But he has already spotted her and is moving quickly in her direction. The cat remains clutched in her arms. Soon Meone becomes uncomfortable and leaps out to the ground, leaving her arms hanging open. She greets Colmán and makes an effort to keep her voice even and firm.

  She can see no suspicion or alarm in his eyes, or any indication that he might have information to impart. His manner appears more relaxed than her previous encounters with him at Raithlinn, as if he is more comfortable in his role as a legal representative than as son, brother, or husband.

  He gives her a wide smile and his eye holds a hint of a twinkle.

  ‘Dé’d Bheatha-sa,’ she says.

  ‘Is it your god now, too?’ He cocks his head slightly and touches her veil.

  She detects no malice in his voice. ‘It is. I’m baptized.’

  ‘But are you a cailech?’

  She lowers her eyes. As much as she wishes to say she is, she can’t lie. ‘No, not yet.’

  He nods, his look speculative. ‘In time then. But you are well, otherwise?’ He glances down at her legs. ‘Bones fully knit?’

  ‘Yes, I’m all but healed, now.’

  ‘And your memory? Has it returned?’

  ‘No.’ She studies his face, looking again for any sign that might reveal more of his thoughts.

  ‘You’re still Áine, then.’

  ‘I am baptized Áine and I’m a Christian and part of this community. This is where I belong now.’ She makes the statement, knowing her tone is defensive, but she can’t help herself. It’s what she wants, it’s what she needs, to be part of this community. She cannot contemplate anything else.

  Though he doesn’t challenge her statement, he still must ever rise to his legal rank of aigne. ‘You’re not worried that someone, a father, a husband might now be searching for you, worried for your safety, perhaps thinking you dead?’

  This thought hasn’t escaped her, but the fear that rises when she has contemplated it makes her feel that it is better pushed aside. She schools her expression to something approaching resolve. ‘Perhaps, though I doubt it. I’m certain it would have come to light before this, if it was so.’

  He gives a slight shrug. Cadoc emerges from the half built sleeping quarters, a mallet in his hand. Since the theft he’s been assisting the builders, while keeping Cenél under close supervision. Áine calls to Cadoc and asks him to see to the horses and direct Colmán’s men to the Tech Mor for refreshment. They have wandered closer and she can see that some of them are client lords of his father. It might be necessary to move all the sisters into one sleeping hut to make room for Colmán and those men, as well as erecting cots in the Tech Mor, especially if Epscop Ábán is coming.

  The thought reminds her of the business at hand. ‘You have arrived quickly. We only sent word yesterday.’

  ‘I was already travelling in this direction and met your messenger. There were some legal matters that needed my attention.’

  ‘I hope we have not delayed you, then.’

  He gives her a slow smile. ‘It is nothing that can’t wait.’

  Máthair Gobnait appears at the oratory door and makes her way over to him, giving him greeting. She is clearly surprised, but makes no remark on his early arrival. Áine knows she would have preferred to see Epscop Ábán before Colmán arrived, if only to get a clear impression on the bishop’s view on the proceedings. She is clear on her own direction for the community, and isn’t easily bent to a path that isn’t to her liking, but she is not foolish enough to alienate those who support her cause to the church officials in Cashel.

  After Máthair Gobnait greets Colmán she asks after Domnall.

  ‘He grows worse, I fear,’ Colmán says.

  ‘Is he in any pain?’ asks Máthair Gobnait.

  Colmán shakes his head. ‘There’s no pain, your remedies are still effective in that way, but he is noticeably weaker and his breathing more laboured.’

  ‘I’ll have Siúr Feidelm mix up something to take back with you.’

  ‘I thank you, Máthair Ab.’

  ‘And we will, of course, pray for him.’

  Colmán gives a small smile. Áine is surprised to hear him use Máthair Gobnait’s title. Perhaps their visit to Raithlinn has softened the attitudes towards this community, as Máthair Gobnait suggested.

  ~

  Epscop Ábán arrives only after Colmán’s men are seated around the table and given cold beer and bread. They are clearly uneasy around the women, who place the loaves before them and pour the beer in their mugs. Áine steers well clear of them and sits outside, her own unease rising high among so many people. Though she can place some of them from her time at Raithlinn, it doesn’t stop her fear when any of them give her a curious glance.

  With some relief, she sees Epscop Ábán enter the faithche. He travels in a small cart, a manach beside him holding the reins. Normally he would travel by horse or, if he was traveling to Cashel where there is a main road, he would use a chariot. Here, among the rock-filled rough tracks, a chariot is impractical. The cart does little to convey the dignity of a respected bishop, but Epscop Ábán’s own solid authority dispels any contrary impression.

  Once he is helped down from the cart, Áine moves forward for his blessing and feels a sense of calm descend on her after he gives it. Máthair Gobnait is behind her then, moving forward to give her own greeting and Áine retreats to her bench. It’s there Colmán finds her a few moments later, while the others have gone inside the Tech Mor.

  ‘You will come to the discussion about the case?’ he asks her.

  She searches his face carefully, too startled to reply. This is a request that she can only greet with suspicion, for there can be no practical reason for her presence. ‘I don’t understand why you would want me there.’

  ‘Máthair Ab mentioned you seem to have some knowledge of the law. This is a tricky and complicated case, and another keen mind with some insight would be welcome.’

  She considers his words and sees that there could be truth in them. She is still wary, though. ‘I’m not sure how keen my mind is, and as you know, there is little memory there, so any knowledge of the law I might have had once, is most likely vanished.’

  He takes a seat beside her and gives her a direct look. ‘Áine,’ he says softly. ‘I have no direct information on your identity yet, but there is no doubt that you are wellborn, most likely a noblewoman of some kind. That in itself gives you some standing. Here we have a case of a theft committed by a servant against his master, who is ultimately a Christian nun and has connections to Epscop Ábán. The bishop will influence the direction and handling of the case, but I have some obligation to my profession and to my king, that the law of the land carries weight in these proceedings, despite the fact they tell me they will follow only an abbreviated form of it. You’ve been here only a short time and have some bit of objectivity. Any voice, even a woman’s, can add something to this.’

  ‘But I am not a cailech, yet. I cannot testify or give opinions.’

  He smiles at her. ‘More knowledge of the law?’

  She flushes and the fear rises again. There is too much here that is uncontrollable, and she worries about what she might unconsciously reveal. She swallows her objections when he tells her that he’s already spoken to Máthair Gobnait about it, and she agrees. The unkind thought that comes to her is fleeting, but it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

&
nbsp; ~

  They discuss the case in the Tech Mor, seated on benches that are pushed nearer the far wall, away from the blistering heat of the fire. Máthair Gobnait had suggested the oratory, but Colmán was keen to point out that, though they would be questioning all who were involved in the case, it was an informal discussion at this point, and best served in the semi-private Tech Mor.

  Áine sits on a bench next to the manach, refusing the place Colmán had indicated at his side. He has one of his men there instead, a squat, surly looking noble who frowns across at them. Máthair Gobnait and Epscop Ábán are seated together, their expressions reflecting the solemn nature of the matters at hand. Méone lies curled up on Máthair Gobnait’s lap. By the fire, Siúr Feidelm works quietly with her herbs, only one other woman at her side. These are comforting sights and Áine draws on them.

  Colmán speaks the moment everyone is settled, establishing his position with his opening remarks. ‘I think it is safe to say that we are in a situation that requires some delicacy of judgement. I want to state that I will weigh in the many elements.’

  Máthair Gobnait takes advantage of his pause. ‘As I mentioned briefly to An Thiarna Epscop Ábán I would like this matter to be treated as quickly and quietly as possible, with little fuss, rather than wait for Lughnasadh for the judgement. The bishop agrees.’

  Colmán glances at the bishop who gives his assent. Colman remains silent for a moment, regrouping in the face of this new direction. ‘Am I to understand you would prefer a judgement made here, in the next few days?’

  Máthair Gobnait gives him a serene smile and nods.

  ‘But who will act for the plaintiff, the defendant, and who will be judge?’

  The bishop isn’t deterred by this problem. ‘There is no need for the formality of a court. We can accommodate this situation which occurred on church land, by one of its flock.’

  ‘Once those concerned are questioned, surely you can present the case. Say tomorrow,’ Máthair Gobnait says. ‘I will give my evidence, without prejudice, and act for myself. As an arbitrator and lawyer, you can help the bishop give judgement on the case.’

  Colmán’s mouth forms a grim line. Even Áine is astonished to hear such a suggestion that challenges much of the long established procedure for a Brehon court. But times are changing, and what was once clear and unwavering, is now full of grey areas. Those nobles that filled the ranks of the law profession are now found weaving their blood connections in the church. The influence of the church is not to be trifled with, a fact those in Cashel are well aware of.

  ‘As you wish,’ he says finally.

  Colmán works hard to recover his authority and directs them to start the questioning with Cadoc, so that the nature and quality of the horse can be established.

  Cadoc appears soon after, his face grim and filled with the responsibility of tending to the prisoner over the past few days. He clears his throat and gives his response after Colmán explains what his question is.

  ‘Fionn is a fine mare, so. I saw her birthed years ago back in Connacht. Her dam was special, brought from across the sea at the lord’s request. Pure white. This one, she has only a little dappling, but she’s got spirit. She’s an each of the highest quality.’

  ‘And what age is she now?’

  Cormac thinks a moment. ‘She is ten, I do believe.’

  ‘And she belongs to Máthair Ab?’

  ‘She does, so.’

  ‘And you would say she’s in good condition?’

  Cadoc lifts his chin a fraction. ‘She’s in the best condition. I do be taking her to the field every morning, brush her in the evening and examine her for any soreness of joints or hooves.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt that you do, Cadoc. I just want to establish formally how well you look after her.’

  ‘She’s in top condition alright, or she wouldn’t have been able to gallop around all night with that bastún on her back.’

  Áine smiles at his words and sees the glint of humour in Máthair Gobnait’s eyes. Colmán maintains a neutral expression, though his mouth twitches slightly.

  He thanks Cadoc. It is Siúr Sadhbh’s turn next. She describes her journey down the hillside, buckets in both hands, in a fulsome manner, her own talent for scéal worthy of a seanachaí.

  ‘It was out of the mist she appeared, galloping hard, like something from Tir na n’og, snorting, her breath coming heavy from her nostrils.’

  ‘And the man on her back?’

  ‘Ah, Cenél was clinging to her mane that tight he could have pulled the hairs off her, the cráthur.’ Her face flushes, all her practical inclinations now supplanted for a seanachaí, a role seldom employed in a place where prayers to God require no well drawn description and cows find little interest in them.

  ‘And you’re certain it was Cenél that you saw?’

  ‘It was indeed of course, for who could miss his gangly frame?’ The desire to point out matters so obvious puts a note of impatience into her tone. ‘He was the one who fell off Fionn when she came to a halt. Even Méone could testify to that.’ She gives a quick glance at the cat. He lifts his head for a moment from his place on Máthair Gobnait’s lap.

  Siúr Sadhbh’s account is complete and all the questions asked. For a brief moment, her face registers a disappointment that her narrative hasn’t been given greater time to take flight, until Máthair Gobnait rewards her with a smile.

  The questioning takes a serious turn when Findbar and Brendán come in to give their accounts. Áine leans forward slightly, listening to their words. In the time she has been here in the community she has avoided their company, and now she wonders at the nature of these men.

  Findbar and Brendán stand before the small group, eyes cast down, feet shuffling uncomfortably under their scrutiny. When Colmán asks the questions, their answers are straightforward, with no embellishment or humour. Yes, the tools in the satchel belonged to them. Yes, Cenél took them all. They are builders only, seeing mallet, hammer, stone, wood and nails for what they are and nothing more is needed. The answers are directed at Colmán, with only a few glances over to Epscop Ábán and Máthair Gobnait.

  ‘We’ve taught him all he knows of building,’ Findbar adds. ‘And this is the thanks we get.’ He shakes his head, puzzlement clear.

  ‘Can you tell us how Cenél came to work for you?’ The question comes from Epscop Ábán. Findbar flushes, looks at the bishop and then back at Colmán, who nods.

  ‘We asked him to learn the craft when his mam died and the work was slack on my father’s farm,’ says Brendán.

  ‘Is he an ócaire, like yourselves?’ asks Colmán

  ‘No, he’s a servant. His mother served ours.’

  ‘And his father?’ Epscop Ábán adds.

  ‘A servant too, died long since,’ says Findbar.

  This time it is Epscop Ábán who thanks the two questioned and they make a hasty retreat. Colmán’s face reveals nothing of this change in procedure and calmly asks for Cenél to be presented. Máthair Gobnait mentions that it might be best to wait. It is noon, and time for the next office. The bell for the next office sounds, as if on cue, and Epscop Ábán, Máthair Gobnait and the manaigh rise in unison. Áine comes to her feet a few moments later, surprised and unnerved that so much time has passed and that the summons from the bell is almost unwelcome.

  ~

  By the time they assemble again to hear Cenél, the sun is already well past its apex. Áine can see that Colmán has passed the time deep in thought, though his men move restlessly outside the Tech Mor, making conversation and observing the workings of the community.

  Cadoc brings Cenél into the Tech Mor, holding him firmly by the arm. Cenél appears nervous, his eyes darting from Máthair Gobnait to Colmán, clearly uncertain what to expect. It is this moment that will bring clarity to the matter, or so it is hoped. Some thieves, when questioned, might tell or invent a story, or create a reason for such an action to invoke the questioner’s pity or compassion. They might even sugg
est that, given the circumstances, the questioner too might have chosen a similar path, had they been bold enough. For it was a bold act this man committed, or perhaps a desperate one, his mother and father gone, no wife in sight and few enough friends or companions to pass the day. What would he have done with the horse, an each of great value, and tools that so clearly were not his own? No tuath or dún would entertain him, without family to vouch for him.

  ‘You took the horse and the tools,’ says Colmán. His voice is firm, there is no sense of play or humour. ‘Can you explain why? Have you anything to say to defend your actions?’

  Cenél remains silent, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched. This is a man who is either sorry or upset that he was found out. He shakes his head after a moment.

  ‘You have no explanation in your defence?’

  Cenél shakes his head again.

  ‘Have you nothing to say?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

  ‘You’re sorry.’

  Cenél nods.

  Colmán gives a nearly inaudible sigh. There is little more to say and no other person to question. It’s not the evidence that is in doubt here, but the nature of how to approach its presentation and the resulting judgement.

  ‘You accept you’ll be required to pay restitution for this deed?’ Colmán says finally.

  Epscop Ábán interrupts. ‘You repent your actions?’ His eyes narrow.

  Cenél gives another nod, stealing a quick look at Epscop Ábán. The bishop shows no reaction to this acknowledgement. His hands are pushed up inside his robe, out of sight.

  Máthair Gobnait gives a nod to Cadoc to usher Cenél back to the shed. Siúr Feidelm hasn’t returned with her companion after the noon office, and Méone has left long ago on his own kind of hunt. The room is silent for a moment. Colmán’s companion leans over and whispers into his ear. Colmán frowns and nods.

  ‘I don’t think there is any more information we can gather about this case,’ he says finally. He glances for a moment at Áine before looking at Epscop Ábán. ‘I assume you would have the formal presentation tomorrow?’

  Epscop Ábán nods. ‘I don’t see why the judgement can’t be given the following day. Cenél’s guilt is apparent. He’s committed the sin of theft and thieves should be punished. But he’s confessed to the sin and the church can show a degree of mercy on that count.’