Later, when the patient is duly settled, Aed excuses himself to go check that the men have arrived and hung up the buck safely in one of the sheds. Moments later, Cuimne picks up Aed’s knife from behind the bowl of water where she’d hidden it earlier and tells the others she will go after him to return it. Before anyone can say a word, she is out the door in pursuit. She catches up with him just by a storage shed, where she can hear the voices of the other men joking and talking inside. Breathless, she grabs his arm and pulls him away from its entrance to the side.
‘Lady, you startled me,’ he says.
‘I would have a quick word with you now, Aed. In private.’ She keeps her voice low.
‘What is it?’ His tone is cautious. Private meetings alone with women of noble birth could easily cause trouble later.
‘It is nothing to alarm you. I would just like you to tell me what happened when my father died.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just tell me what you know. I understand you were out hunting with Diarmait and Óengus, but I would like to know what you’ve heard.’
He gives her a curious look. ‘Only that there was an argument and your father fell and struck his head on the hearthstone.’
‘And you have no reason to doubt that?’
‘No. When I arrived, it seemed to be the truth. There was blood on the hearth. Barrdub had to later scrub for ages to remove it. You wouldn’t want something like that to remain in plain sight for all to see when they came through the door.’ His tone is cautious and there is a touch of uneasiness, but she realizes that it could be the manner of her questions that put him on guard.
‘Did my brother see the blood on the hearthstone?’ When she’d met him at the burial, her brother had conveyed little to her other than anger that her father had died. She had heard nothing from others. It was not the type of information people shared when they offered condolences and she’d been too overcome with grief to notice anything in particular of Diarmait’s distress.
‘Your brother was so upset he saw nothing but your father, dead on the bed. He roared in anger, throwing around all sorts of accusations. We had to pry his fingers away from Ailill’s throat.’
‘And what did Ailill do?’
‘Nothing. He kept shaking his head and telling Diarmait to listen. But Diarmait wouldn’t. He continued arguing and insisting someone would pay for his father’s death.’ He pauses a moment, a silent check to see if she would have him continue. She gives a nod. ‘There were four of us holding him, trying to get him to calm down, and him like a ban sídh, screaming and wailing. And then Óengus tried to come at Ailill with his fists. The other lords held him off and they tumbled around until both Diarmait and Óengus took off. We didn’t see either of them for the rest of the day.’
‘And after my father was buried, after I left?’
This time he looks down at his feet as if to find the answers and the courage to speak them lying in the grass. ‘I-I don’t really know, Lady. He was off with Óengus and some of the men. On some wild ride or other.’
‘He was going to Óengus’s father. He told me before he left he wanted to meet me at the sacred well near the bridge at Úa Cahill so we might say farewell in private.’
He looks at her in surprise. ‘And did you meet him?’
It is her turn to look uncomfortable. ‘I-I. No,’ she says finally. ‘Well, I waited, but there was no one there, so I left.’
He nods slowly and appears to accept her story. ‘It seems your brother did show up. But I suppose you know that, now. There was some sort of fight, perhaps the men with him said things about his father’s death. In any case, it was clear there was a scuffle and he was found later, struck down by a sword. Some of your father’s men had disappeared and it was thought that they might have had a hand in it.’
‘There were no other witnesses to speak of it?’
‘No. Óengus said he rode off with a few men and they continued on their journey.’
She takes in the whole tale and finds that it is still difficult to bear. Not enough time has passed and she wonders if there will ever be enough. She collects herself, thanks Aed and returns his knife.
He takes it and nods. ‘Is there anything else you would know?’
She shakes her head and turns away, lest he see the tears that are filling her eyes. It is more than grief that causes the tears now, she knows that, but the reasons are more complex than she is able to understand at the moment. She wipes her face carefully and moves back towards the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Each day she calculates afresh how much time it takes to heal a broken ankle. She searches her mind for all the remedies, salves and brews she can remember that Siúr Feidelm explained to her that promotes the knitting of bones. It isn’t that Óengus is a bad patient. On the contrary, he sits in the chair by the fire, his foot and leg wrapped in splints, propped on the stool and praises and thanks her at every opportunity. He also grabs her and plants a kiss on her lips if no one is present. There are the occasional jibes to Lassar or Ailill, though. It is perhaps the jibes that make his ever lengthening visit seem tiresome. That and the constant mediation between him and Lassar she feels compelled to do, which at times leave her frustrated or irritable. Eventually, to her shame, she follows Ailill’s strategy and finds pressing tasks outside of the house.
‘They work you too hard at things beneath your status.’ Óengus offers this remark when she returns from allegedly helping with the bread baking. In truth she’d just stood and watched the bread bake.
Lassar grunts from her seat by the fire. ‘No one asked her to do such a thing. She did that of her own choosing.’
Óengus gives her a questioning look. ‘Leave such tasks to the others. I would have you here, near me.’
Cuimne reddens. ‘I-I can’t stay in here all day, there are numerous things I must supervise, especially with Sárnat expecting a baby.’
‘But surely there are tasks you can do in here, out of the damp cold.’
Cuimne searches for a suitable reply, but Lassar is ahead of her. ‘What she really means is that she would rather be working at some lowly task than have to be in here listening to your mindless prattle all day.’
Óengus face darkens. He opens his mouth for a retort but Cuimne cuts in. ‘That’s not true, Lassar. I am glad for Óengus’ company.’
‘Then sit down and stop flitting in and out,’ Lassar snaps. Her knees are too stiff and swollen to be able to leave the warmth of the fire and her temper is clearly frayed from Óengus’s daily presence.
Cuimne is determined to prove her point and forces herself to remain inside for the rest of the day without any break and tries to be bright and attentive to Óengus’ conversation. By evening, she feels she’s earned a break and volunteers to go call the men in for the meal. Ailill is close by, just outside the hen coop, examining an egg and he calls her over.
‘How long is it before Óengus is able to mount a horse?’
She suppresses a smile. His tone is neutral, but there is no mistaking his motivation.
‘Ten days, perhaps, I’m not sure.’
The sigh is audible. ‘I see. And in this time have you thought about our discussion regarding his suitability as a husband?’
She frowns. She is not prepared to talk about this now. There are no clear answers in her head and she cannot bring herself to press Óengus’s suit or reject him out of hand. She makes an excuse and asks for more time to consider his words, adding there hadn’t been enough time.
‘Truly?’ he says.
He searches her eyes and she lowers them, fearful of what they might betray. He sighs again. ‘I see. Well, we’ll let it go for now. In the meantime, if you can do everything in your power to speed his recovery, I would be eternally grateful.’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I think we all want to see Óengus returned to health.’
She leaves him with that cryptic remark before she is tempted to say more.
; ~
In the days that follow, it becomes more apparent to her that she is trying not to think about Óengus’s suitability as a husband. The reasons behind that prevarication are even more troubling and she avoids thinking about them as well. At night she is too tired to do anything but sleep. His determined and loving manner makes her feel worse and she fears she will lose her temper altogether if she doesn’t find a way to have a day without his continual presence. Lassar, whose sharp eyes miss nothing, seems to know how she is feeling and takes delight in finding ways to keep her near Óengus. She reminds her to tend his bandages, asks her to make healing brews and to tell him tales to pass the time.
It is Sárnat who provides her with an excuse in the end, though Cuimne has no idea whether it is deliberate or not. Cuimne’s knowledge of herbs and the remedies they provide prompts Sárnat to ask her to review the household’s herbs and check that all the remedies that aid childbirth are among them. Cuimne accepts quickly, before Lassar can create a reason for her to refuse. It is a thorough process; she examines each patch in the garden and each pot inside the storage shed, questioning Sárnat or the women who cook. She uses the pretext of foraging for some needed herbs as a way to have time on her own, even though there is little hope of finding them at this time of the year. She even forgets her knife, so eager is she to escape the house. Nevertheless, she squats by a random patch just near the forest and relishes the quiet for a moment. It is in that quiet that Um la Mholadh Beacha comes to her, a soft melody in her head. She smiles at the memory and begins to hum it, letting the sounds wash over her. Before she realizes it, the words form and she is singing them. There are no bees to hear her now, but still, she can feel a response inside her. By the time she finishes, calm has descended. The bees have told her. They work as a group, live in hives. She sees that clearly now and knows she is not alone. She closes her eyes a moment and says a prayer of thanks. This time it is not to any god of Sárnat’s.
~
Arriving at the decision is easier than imparting it, though it seems the household conspires to have her convey this decision with fair speed. It is only a day or so after her forest foraging, when she is mixing a healing brew for Óengus, that everyone vanishes from the house. Even Lassar manages to be elsewhere. Cuimne sits on the seat beside him and waits until Óengus has drunk the brew she’d handed him before she broaches the subject.
‘There is something I must tell you,’ she says.
He hands her back the mug and smiles. ‘Nothing could be that serious for such a face.’ He takes her hand and tries to pull her to his lap, but she resists. Instead, she holds on to his hand and clasps her other hand over it.
‘Óengus, I’m not the Cuimne you knew before. I’ve changed.’
‘Of course you’re the same person. Why would you be any different?’ His tone is confident, reassuring.
‘I’m not, truthfully. Not since the beating, at least. Something happened then, that I haven’t told anyone in this household. But I feel I should tell you.’ She looks down at his hand, searching for the right words.
‘I’m sure it won’t be as awful as you think.’
‘It’s not that it’s awful, it’s just important.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Immediately after the beating, a farmer and his son took me to a woman who was known widely for her healing ability. She was the head of a Christian community for women. She cared for me and brought me back to health. Without that care and help, I would certainly be crippled, if not dead.’
‘And I’m sure they had your thanks. Would you like us to give them something in return for all of their help as well? That could be easily arranged.’
It is difficult enough to form the words in the manner she thinks best, but his interruptions make it worse. She holds back the impulse to tell him to allow her to finish before he speaks. ‘No, not that. I was there for many months and got to know them so very well. I was drawn to their singing each time I heard it. I even composed a piece with one of the other women. I began to share in their worship, learned the prayers and the psalms they sang. It-it gave me a sense of calm and wellbeing I’d never before experienced.’
‘What are you saying?’ His tone is guarded now, his brows draw in a question.
She clears her throat and blurts out the words. ‘I’m saying that I asked them to baptize me. That I became a Christian and lived among them as one of the cailecha until I came here.’
‘Cailecha?’
She explains what a cailech is, and what she’d pledged, pleading for understanding with her eyes.
‘Why didn’t you say something before this? Why are you telling me now?’ His voice is cold. There is nothing of the idiot about him now.
‘I-I didn’t tell Lassar or Ailill because I knew they had no great liking for Christians. But I think Lassar eventually guessed.’
‘But why have you come home, then?’
She searches her mind for an answer and is surprised to some degree by what she says. ‘I wanted to come, to see my home one last time and to learn as much truth as I could about my brother’s death.’
‘But me, why did you lie to me?’
She lowers her head, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I didn’t lie, exactly. I just never mentioned it. But now it seems I must tell you because it’s become impossible to stay here any longer.’
‘But I still don’t understand. You know the truth now. You know your family wished us to marry. You can give back the veil and marry me.’
‘That’s just it, Óengus. I feel the truth is never going to be clear. And as a Christian and a cailech I can’t bring myself to take any kind of action. I thought to deny all that, to marry you and honour my brother’s wish, but I find I can’t. My vows are too important.’ She searches for a meaning he can understand. ‘I swore an oath, Óengus.’
‘You’re saying you want to forget our marriage? Set aside the promises your family made to me and to my family?’
She looks at him this time, so that he can see she is in earnest. ‘There can be no marriage between us. I will never marry.’
‘Not marry?’
She shakes her head. ‘It may seem strange to you, but it’s true. When you mentioned it, I thought I could come to it because it would be the best choice for the family, but I find I can’t break my oath. Please, believe me, it’s not you, Óengus, but my commitment to my faith that compels me to say this now. I can’t deny it any longer. I’ve been unable to sleep and every time I see your face so welcoming and full of love I can only feel guilt.’
He studies her, his face grim. Moments pass and she can see he is considering all her words and is relieved when eventually his face clears and he smiles.
‘You would never be held to a Christian oath, so don’t worry.’ He pulls her into his lap, his arms pinning her against him. ‘I won’t let you get away that easily. My father will arrange it.’ He holds her eyes and she can see his are steely and unwavering. ‘No one will steer us from this course, Cuimne. I promise you that.’
He releases her after a few moments and rises from the chair. ‘I’ll head away tomorrow and set things in motion.’
‘But your ankle—’
He waves his hand. ‘My ankle is well enough, I’m sure. I can hobble now with a stick, so I should be able to manage a journey on the back of a horse. My men should be able to ensure I arrive home in one piece.’
She is too surprised to do anything but nod and make a mental note to explain to the servants how to keep the splints firmly in place and to prevent his ankle from swelling on the journey. These thoughts keep her face from revealing the utter dismay she feels.
~
Her revelations have been almost as much a surprise to herself as they are to Óengus. When she was foraging, singing the piece she’d composed, something had firmed up inside of her and only became clear the moment she started speaking to Óengus. She knows her change of heart has not occurred in one flash of insight, but that it has been creeping up on her since she’d arrived and Óengus
only hastened it. That much she can admit to herself. For the rest, she feels herself a coward that she couldn’t press the matter enough with Óengus to convince him she would never marry him. Perhaps, with the strength of her sisters behind her, she will be able to, eventually. She tries to brush away the moment’s anxiety she felt when he pulled her into his lap, his arms firmly imprisoning her body, but she knows that forms part of her decision.
Though it is clear everyone knows something has changed between the two of them, no one says a word that evening, not even Lassar. Óengus remains determined in his path and keeps a cheerful voice while speaking of his need to return home, citing family matters and other obligations. Everyone says the appropriate words, but bemused looks are cast in Cuimne’s direction. Ailill asks Óengus twice if he is certain of his fitness and the first time Lassar adds that they wouldn’t wish him to tumble from his chariot. But Óengus is firm and each time they ask, he gives her a secret smile that she knows bodes ill for her. She forces herself to smile back, nonetheless. For now it’s the best she can do. She has bought some time to make her own choices and persuade Ailill of them.
In the morning, while a heavy drizzle of rain falls, Óengus is loaded onto his chariot with much effort and groaning. He is no longer the warrior hero. He sits in the chariot now, his leg propped awkwardly and his back against the chariot side. One of his men stands beside him, holding the reins. She knows his journey will be rough and uncomfortable. Taking pity on his situation, she leans down and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek. He catches her head and whispers in her ear, ‘We will be married by spring.’ Startled, she pulls up quickly and blinks, but makes no reply. He gives her a reassuring smile. The chariot moves forward with a jolt and his smile becomes a rictus of pain.
In Praise of the Bees Page 22