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The thought is in her mind even before she wakes at the sound of the Matins bell. It is ever the time for stray minds and unguarded emotions. And she thinks of Maél. His sweet face, his tiny fingers curled around her thumb. How much he would have grown, even now. And soon, he and his brother would become too large for the little wooden box that provided a bed for them both.
These thoughts distract her as she pulls her woollen gown over her léine, fastens the leather belt around her waist and slips on the sandals. She makes her way to the oratory, falling in behind Siúr Ethne and Máthair Gobnait as they file through the door. She takes a place on the bench next to Siúr Mugain’s comforting bulk and tries to focus on the opening prayers. It is only when they begin to sing that she feels drawn into the moment, the perfect blend of sounds echoing in her head and filling her spirit. Afterwards, she returns to bed and falls back into a deep sleep, her calm restored.
The calm lasts until the bell sounds for the next office at daybreak. This time there is no particular thought that causes her restlessness of mind and she looks to the singing once again to provide some relief. This time it is only the Beati that helps; its opening phrases so dear and beautiful, it can do nothing but soothe. She tells herself to be patient, to allow time to adjust to the life here, whose pace is so different to the one she’d been used to at home.
Later, she follows Máthair Gobnait to the hive in the hope that in the company of Máthair Gobnait and the bees her mind might find more permanent rest. The bees have come to life, thriving in the lushness of a warm spring. They surround each hive with constant activity, flying out to any likely location that might have nectar for the growing brood and then returning with their harvest.
At this moment, though, the bees are quiet, the early morning still a little cool. Máthair Gobnait, her veil and gloves in place, begins to check the hives to ensure there is plenty of food and a king bee is present. There is no wind. She wafts a smoking rush and lifts the hive carefully and completes the inspection.
‘When we’re finished here, while it’s still cool, you could finish clearing the leaves from under the platform and spread some ashes there to keep the weeds away.’ Even through the veil Cuimne can see Máthair Gobnait’s smile. ‘I suspect you, like the bees, find such a warm spring stimulating.’
‘I am restless, Máthair Ab. I think it’s that I’ve had little time for any contemplation and stillness these past few months and I need some time to adjust.’
‘Stillness. It doesn’t always come easily. Whether it’s stillness of mind, spirit or body.’ She moves on to the next hive and pauses. ‘The bees are driven by God-given natural instincts. They know when it’s time to be still and when they should be active. At the moment, the air is cool. The sun hasn’t reached the flowers and warmed us all with its heat, so they remain in the hive. When the hive is heated by the sun, they know the time for stillness is finished and they must fly off and collect the dew. Their timing is faultless in that regard. We could learn much from listening to our instincts, as they do.’
The words echo in her mind and linger there. She hears them still when she clears the leaves from under the wooden platforms, the bees still quiet in their hives. She waits for the stillness to come, the stillness of mind that seems elusive whether her body is active or sitting in prayer.
~
SHE THINKS OF THE BEES at the next office and all the following ones, even singing the praise song she’d written to honour them. The effort she makes to harmonize her stillness with the bees becomes a daily practice. Sitting in the oratory, intoning the prayers, singing the canticles and the psalms and making countless genuflections, she cultivates the stillness of body and hopes the mind will follow. In between the offices she labours at tasks, whether it is the weaving, the spinning, the sewing, or assisting Máthair Gobnait at the hives and she tries to put her whole heart in it.
Nearly a month passes when Siúr Ethne comes to her when she is working at the loom, weaving some linen cloth. She tells Cuimne she has a visitor.
‘A visitor? But who would be coming to see me?’ She thinks of Ailill and Sárnat. Perhaps they had brought the twins with them. And then she thinks of Óengus. She licks her lips nervously. After all this time she had hoped the matter was considered closed. She rises up from her seat reluctantly.
‘It’s Bruinech, Colmán’s wife.’
‘Bruinech?’
‘She’s come here in the past, when she can, to hear mass when Epscop Ábán or one of the other priests is here. And recently she was baptized. But today she asks for you. She’s waiting for you in the oratory.’
At first Cuimne is stunned to think that Bruinech would have come here, but realizes the comfort and security she found here for herself, Bruinech has found, too. She thanks Siúr Ethne and gives a moment to smoothing her gown and the veil on her head. Máthair Gobnait has allowed her to resume wearing the veil, but said that the time for her vows would come later.
She finds Bruinech sitting on the front bench, before the altar, her head bowed in prayer. Cuimne pauses at the doorway, notes the plain gown, the dark brat draped along one shoulder and the hair wrapped in a linen cloth that reveals only a simple braid hanging along her back. She moves forward as silently as she can in respect for Bruinech’s prayer. She genuflects, takes the bench behind her and offers her own short prayer.
It is at this moment that a stillness of body and mind come together. It is a peculiar stillness, a calm that leaves her cold and heavy, like the air before a rare snowstorm. Bruinech turns to her and greets her softly.
‘Thank you for meeting with me.’
‘Of course I would meet with you. How did you know that I was here?’
Bruinech gives a wan smile. ‘I have many friends here now and some of the labourers are kin to those who work at Raithlinn.’
‘And how are you? How are Colmán and the family?’
‘They are all well. Well enough.’
‘Rónnat? She is finding it difficult losing her son.’
‘We’ve all found it difficult since Domnall died.’
Cuimne pats her arm. ‘Of course you have. I’m sorry.’
‘That is, in part, why I came.’
‘Your difficulties? Are there some herbs you would like to calm nerves or help you sleep? Siúr Feidelm or Máthair Ab would be better at that, though.’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. What I need only you can provide.’
Cuimne cannot imagine what else she can do, but she offers assurances. ‘Of course, I will help in whatever way you wish.’
Bruinech looks away. ‘It’s Colmán. He has no heir, no child that will carry on the family line, no one to take on the farm and the household. No matter how much he might protest and spin out hope, a child is something I will never be able to give to him.’
‘I’m so sorry, Bruinech. But are you certain that it’s you who is barren?’
Bruinech, purses her mouth and nods. ‘Before we were married, Colmán had a child with a woman, a distant cousin. They both died of fever soon after the child was born.’
‘Are you looking for something to help you conceive?’
Bruinech waves her hand. ‘I’ve tried all that. Brews, prayers, offerings. I see now that God has chosen otherwise for me. Colmán is reluctant to agree, though, and that’s where I need your help.’
‘My help?’
‘Colmán won’t divorce me and I wouldn’t bring shame on him by saying falsely that he is impotent, or that he refuses to support me, or the other causes I’m limited to. He won’t scar my face. It’s nothing to do with the return of my coibche. The bride price finds no place in his mind. There is only one path I know he would take, if it was the truth.’
‘One path?’ Cuimne’s mind searches frantically to identify the link she provides in this tangle. It is in the back of her mind but she refuses to accept it.
‘I would have him repudiate me for another woman. You. I know he loves you, Cuimne, and for that I’m glad.’
‘Me? No, no. You have it wrong, Bruinech. If you want Colmán to have children, why not allow him to take on an adaltracht? A second wife would surely give you both the children you desire.’
Bruinech smiles sadly. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve explained this poorly. I want a divorce so that I might join this community.’ She looked around her, her face taking on a glow. ‘This is where I feel at home. This is where I feel a closeness to God and the beauty and joy of His creation and all that’s in it. I never felt this joy at Raithlinn.’ She looks at Cuimne intently. ‘But to come here, I must divorce Colmán. And he must have a new wife. You. You’re the one he has grown to love. I’ve seen that since you first entered our home. He followed you with his eyes, he lit up when you spoke. And when you left, something of him left, as well.’
‘I’m sure that you misunderstood what you saw.’
‘What I saw is the truth. And I come here now to ask you to please go to him. Say you will be his wife so that he can release me to come here and join Máthair Gobnait’s community.’
‘I-I don’t know that I can. You’re asking much of me.’
‘Am I? I wonder about that. But will you at least think about what I’ve said?’
‘I will, of course. But I can promise nothing.’
Bruinech nods. ‘I understand. But I will hope and pray that you come to the decision that can benefit all of us.’
She rises then, leaves Cuimne sitting on the bench and all the deadened calm she’d felt before vanishes, her mind stirred up like a swarm of bees.
~
SHE STANDS AMONG THE hives, watching the bees fly in and out in the heat of the midday sun. They have moved onto different areas now for the collection, the early spring flowers gone now. One of them buzzes near her ear for a moment and she listens in the hope he might pass on some secret, but he hardly pauses and when he leaves she is no wiser.
‘Cuimne.’
She freezes at the voice, her breath caught in her throat. She stiffens her back, puts a smile on her face, turns around and moves to greet Óengus. He meets her and catches her to him in a tight embrace, pulls back and then presses a kiss on her mouth.
She puts a hand to his mouth to stop a second effort. ‘No, you mustn’t. I am a cailech now.
He releases her, confused. ‘No. No, I cannot believe that.’
‘It’s true,’ she says. ‘I am living here now and I am happy.’
‘No. I can understand that you would come here to escape Ailill and Lassar while I made the arrangements. They took longer than I thought.’ His face crumbles. ‘It was only that my father died shortly after I arrived home.’
Impulsively, she grasps his arms. ‘Oh, Óengus, I am so sorry. That must have been so difficult.’
He gathers himself and nods. He takes a ragged breath. ‘There is no doubt, it was a difficult time. It became worse when they assembled to elect the next king. I was certain they would see that I would make the best choice. But they didn’t choose me.
‘But I thought you weren’t Tánaiste.’
Anger flashes across his eyes. ‘No, I wasn’t. But I was the natural choice. I’m a skilled warrior. And I was his son.’
He states the last few words with loud force and it makes Cuimne jump. She makes calming noises and studies his face. It is drawn and tired and she can tell he has not slept for some time.
‘Come, sit down over there with me.’ She points to the bench near the Tech Mor. She can see there are only three men that have come with him and they stand uncertainly by their horses. Siúr Feidelm emerges from the Tech Mor then and ushers them inside while Aed leads the horses to the shed. Something about the second horse strikes her as familiar and after a moment she realizes it is her old horse. The one she rode when she was attacked. She looks over at Óengus, who has followed her gaze and now stares at her, his face full of alarm. His hand reaches instinctively for the sword in its leather scabbard that hangs from his chest and her eyes are drawn to his arm. The muscles tighten and she can see clearly the faint scar that marks his wrist and it is that scar that suddenly leaps out from her memory. Even if she could find the words to form the questions, she needs no other confirmation. The realization frightens her so much that her legs give way and Óengus catches her and holds her firmly.
‘It was never meant to be this way,’ he says. She tries to pull away, but his grasp is firm. He looks at her with pleading eyes, but she cannot bear it and turns her head away. ‘You must believe me. All I ever wanted was to wed you. It was perfect. Your father and mine were kings and with you at my side I would be made Tánaiste. Diarmait knew that. He promised.’
She can hear the tears in his voice that has now become a near wail. She tries to still the trembling in her body and takes a deep breath. ‘I had no knowledge of this promise,’ she says.
‘But I knew you loved me as you loved your brother and you would never object.’
‘I loved you as I loved Diarmait, like a brother.’ She tries to keep her tone quiet and calm, but the effort it takes is great. She looks beyond him, in the hope that Máthair Gobnait or someone might come and join them.
‘There is no reason why we cannot still be married,’ he says. He acts as though he hasn’t heard her. He smiles strangely. ‘I still love you and though I am not to be king, I have lands and will be able to give you a good home.’
She pats his hand and tries to be reassuring. ‘Thank you. Your offer is very flattering, and if I had not already pledged myself here, I would.’
He grips her shoulders firmly. ‘This place doesn’t matter, nor any pledge you might have given these people.’
‘But it matters to me.’ Her voice is quiet but she can’t control the quiver any longer.
His eyes darken and he gives her a little shake. ‘No. You’re the only thing I have left and I won’t let you go. ’ His grip tightens. ‘If I cannot have you, no one else can. I nearly made certain of that before, but I will finish it this time.’
The fear rushes in and grips her, but still she fights it. The little ridge of scar at her side burns. ‘I-I will say nothing of your deeds, if only you will let me live here, in peace.’
He stares at her, his face awash with various emotions, but his hands still hold her firmly. Her eyes cannot leave his and her chest heaves. She opens her mouth to utter a scream but nothing comes. He looks around him and she follows his eyes. She can see Máthair Gobnait standing near the Tech Mor. He throws her aside and strides off. She falls to her knees and watches him go.
~
SHE FINDS MÁTHAIR GOBNAIT up on the ridge, seated in her stone chair, gazing towards the valley. She listens as Máthair Gobnait seeks, counts and blesses all that is her view. Cuimne kneels on the grass beside Máthair Gobnait, puts her head on her lap and waits for the warm comforting hand to rest on top of it. For a while, she lets the silence between them wash over her, calm her enough so that she might find the right words and speak them. And when the words come, they are still a jumble.
‘I’m so confused, Máthair Ab. I know things now compel me to take action, but I have also now promised not to, for reasons that are not honourable at all. And others ask me to take actions I’m uncertain I can.’
‘A lot of different promises and actions seem to be demanded of you.’
Silence falls again and she lets it linger around her for a few moments. ‘I am a coward,’ she says finally.
‘A coward, no. A woman who has been given many paths to choose, yes.’
‘I’m afraid, so I am a coward.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
She thinks a moment. Óengus left her without any further word, his anger evident. He’d retrieved the men from the Tech Mor with little apology and rode off as quickly as he could manage. But the threat of what he might do, and was well in his power to do, against her, lingered and haunted her at her tasks, at meals and during the offices. Days had passed and she’d seen no sign that he would come back for her, but she still feels uneasy. And her unease has led her in directions she had forced herself to turn from before.
‘I’ve tried so hard to become as the bees and work at my tasks and remain still while at prayer, but I am failing miserably. Even the singing can no longer hold my spirit still.’
‘The instincts bees follow are given by God to them and not to humans, Daughter. We have our own.’ Máthair Gobnait strokes her head a moment. ‘What do your instincts say now? What is God calling you to do?’
She gives it thought and the moments stretch. ‘I’m not sure. There is much to be said for duty and obligation, but I am not brave enough for them.’
‘Where does duty and obligation call you?
Cuimne grimaces. ‘Some would view it my obligation to return to my cousin and help bring evidence against my brother’s killer.’
‘But you would rather not do that?’
She considers this seriously, laying aside her promise to Óengus. Her brother’s death still causes her pain, but now she can imagine the argument that led to the deadly exchange between the hot-headed men. Would she be any less fearful of Óengus if he was forced to pay smachta for Diarmait’s death?
‘I would rather not do that,’ she says.
Máthair Gobnait nods. ‘And the other paths people would have you take?’
‘I-I guess there is the path I’m now on. And the part I have in supporting the settlement between Epscop Ábán and Fiacra that Ailill has so thoughtfully made for me. I will help the bishop’s plan to expand the Church and Fiacra to link into a network of increasingly influential people.’
‘You are happy about that path, of course.’
Cuimne nods and murmurs her agreement.
‘But there are other paths?’
Cuimne pauses a moment and wonders if she should speak. Her eyes fill and then the words tumble out in a low voice. ‘It is Bruinech. She would have me ask Colmán to divorce her in favour of me so that I can give him sons and she can join this community.’
The words hang in the air and Cuimne closes her eyes. They cannot be retracted but she wishes it was possible.
Máthair Gobnait finally speaks. ‘I see. I guessed Bruinech might have asked you something of the sort when I heard she’d spoken to you.’
‘You guessed?’
‘She’d talked to me recently about hoping to join the community. She expressed a genuine calling in her search for a closer link to God and a love of prayer and meditation. But she has a true concern for her husband and his welfare. It would be natural to think of you as a way for her to join us. His care and love for you is obvious.’
‘Is it?’ She knows the answer before she poses the question.
Máthair Gobnait doesn’t repeat the affirmation and asks another question instead. ‘Does Colmán know of her request?’
‘I don’t know. She didn’t say.’
‘And your vocation here? Do you still desire the life Siúr Áine would lead or has Cuimne’s the stronger draw?’
‘I-I don’t know.’ She realizes now that she has never been certain of this path. Óengus’s visit has only confused her more.
‘Epscop Ábán would never tie you here out of obligation, you know. You can still practice your faith outside our community.’
Cuimne says nothing, but tears run silently down her face.
Máthair Gobnait lifts Cuimne up to face her. ‘The woman I see before me now is strong, possessing a wonderful voice, a loving heart and a gentle soul. She is not the quiet, fearful Áine that graced our community and shadowed Siúr Sodelb. But neither is she the fierce, spirited and impulsive Cuimne that grew up motherless. Now she is something in between, but most assuredly a good woman.’
‘She is a woman torn and a little bit afraid, that much I know.’
‘She is a woman who now has great sympathy for others.’
‘Please tell me what I should do.’
Máthair Gobnait shakes her head. ‘You must make the decision yourself.’
~
SHE SHIFTS HER POSITION on the bench so that she doesn’t cast her needlework in shadow. The work is delicate, a piece of embroidery too special to risk any knots or stray stitches. It is an altar cloth, a gift of her work for Máthair Gobnait that she’s been working on for some time now.
‘Cuimne.’
She looks up and shields her eyes. ‘Colmán.’ The surprise of his appearance gives her a jolt, one made sharper by the fact he’d just been in her thoughts. She’d asked Máthair Gobnait to send word to him that she wished to see him, but she’d not expected him this soon. She feels unprepared and only hopes that she can see this conversation through with some dignity and little distress to either of them.
‘You are well?’ she asks. ‘And your family, too?’
He takes a seat beside her, his manner stiff. ‘We are all well.’ He gestures to the needlework that lies untouched in her lap. ‘And you? You seem to be thriving here.’
She looks down at the embroidery with its intricate cross design and fingers it. ‘I’ve enjoyed working on this piece. It’s for Máthair Ab, a cloth for the altar here.’
‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it and everyone will admire the fine work of the cailecha who made it.’
‘I’m not a cailech.’
‘But soon will be.’ His eyes flicker for a moment. ‘Máthair Gobnait said you wanted to see me.’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’ She falls silent, searching for the words. ‘I’m not certain you know, but Bruinech came here to speak with me not so long ago. She wanted ask something of both you and me. Something we might find difficult to give her.’
‘I see. And what is that thing or things she would ask of us?’
She opens her mouth to speak the words but fails. She sighs. ‘I’m sure you know how unhappy Bruinech has been. There is no one to blame for this and it appears the children she’d hoped for so long will never come to pass.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he says in a low voice. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘Her situation caused her to look for a different path than the one originally chosen for her.’ She looks over at him. ‘She would like to come here and join the community. Become a Christian and pledge herself to God.’
‘Become a cailech, like yourself?’
‘Not like me.’ She speaks the words without thinking, but realizes they are truer than she first thought. ‘No,’ she says more slowly. ‘Not like me at all. She is certain that she has a real calling, a real place here among the other women.’
‘And you are not certain?’
‘No. I am a Christian, but am I to practice my faith here, as a cailech?’
‘No, you aren’t going to be a cailech, or no. you’re not certain about it?’
She gives a weak smile. Colmán was ever the legal representative, clarifying statements and words. ‘She would have you grant her a divorce so that she can leave you and come here.’
‘A divorce? We spoke about that some time ago and I told her my answer then.’
‘She wants you to divorce her in favour of me.’
‘You.’
Cuimne nods. ‘She won’t leave you and become a cailech unless you are content and have children in your future. She feels that by marrying me you will have that.’
‘And what have you to say to that?’ He turns away from her, his expression unreadable.
‘She says you love me. Is this true?’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
Suddenly she is nervous. ‘I-I would need to explain some things. I am a Christian, Colmán, and nothing will change that now. I don’t know if I’m able to bear children, so Bruinech may be wrong in that. I would also like to know if there are any other alternatives you would consider.’
‘That’s an answer I would expect from a legal representative.’
‘I would say the same for you. You haven’t answered my question, either.’
‘But I am a legal representative.’
‘Not at this moment. At this moment I would have you be Colmán, son, brother and someone who might want to woo a woman.’
‘I’m not my brother.’
‘I’ve never doubted that. And should there be any doubt, I’m not Áine.’
‘Well praise the gods for that.’
‘Is this your idea of wooing?’
‘You might ask Bruinech about that.’ He blushes a moment. ‘No, don’t ask her, please. I was worse then.’
‘You mean you behaved worse than this and she still married you?’
He nods. ‘But then I made no objection to the ridiculous bride price.’
‘There’s no bride price for me.’
‘I’d pay it, anyway.’
She smiles at him. ‘I have no fine gowns either. I left them with Sárnat.’
‘You’d seldom find the time to wear them, I would see to that.’ He blushes again.
She laughs. ‘It is settled then. We will make a match.’
She is glad now they have found ease in each other’s company and for the moment she can see herself content in this arrangement. This man makes her feel safe. And there is much to be said for safety. He will support her, but she no longer has to hide behind his strength. She will contribute her own. She looks down along at the row of beachair and hears the distant hum of the bees. They have collected their dew and are making the honey and wax. The king bee is busy with his work, ensuring the continuation of the community. Cuimne knows now that these bees work together. They support each other. Each one works hard to ensure the hive remains safe and survives.
