Brigid of Kildare (6 page)

She reaches into the last basket only to find it bare. Standing, Brigid apologizes to the few empty-handed children and then concludes the gifting ceremony with the traditional utterances of thanksgiving for the bounty of the harvest. Turning back toward her father’s retinue, she notices that a royal, one of Eaghan’s sons, stands at the edge of the commoners’ crowd. He is staring at her. His gaze does not waver when she looks into his eyes; in fact, he nods in pleasure that she has noted his interest.

They take their leave of the people and retire to the immense thatch-roofed hall at the center of Eaghan’s
rath
, the earthen enclosure around his royal structures. Brigid hears the strumming of fine harpists as they approach, and eloquent
filid
recite poems to them as they settle into their seats. Servants present gifts of finely embroidered cloth to Dubtach and his family, and parade delectable cheeses and honey cakes before them.

Brigid notes that her father seems oddly merry, a contentment that continues throughout the evening. He applauds with gusto at the performances, and shouts compliments about the meats and ales. He even asks Broicsech to dance with him, and Brigid admits to herself
that her parents make a fine, lithe pair. Watching them, she understands why her mother selected him from all her many suitors.

Dubtach’s satisfaction is contagious, and Brigid finds herself enjoying the festivities—until her mother asks her to perform a piece of poetry for the gathering. She mentally reviews her memorized poems and, nervously, selects a poem by the famous bard Amhairghin. The piece demonstrates the intellectual curiosity and strength of the Gaelic people. And herself, she hopes. It is a deviation from the courtly love poems that most young women would perform.

Brigid closes her eyes and recites the words:

She opens her eyes. The seated crowd is quiet, almost motionless. Brigid wonders whether she has performed poorly. Or perhaps she has offended with her choice, and they would have preferred a more traditional love poem. But she does not want to be perceived in such a manner, as some lovesick girl seeking a mate.

Brigid hesitates, uncertain whether to remain standing or take her seat. A loud clapping emanates from the crowd. She sees that two men stand to applaud her recitation: her father and Eaghan’s son. Heaving
a sigh of relief, Brigid returns to her seat. She grasps her cup of ale and drains it to calm her nerves. Half-hidden by her goblet, she hears her father whisper to her mother, “Odd choice, that. But she showed herself well nonetheless. She may assist us in the unification against Rome and the barbarians yet.”

Brigid sneaks a glance at Broicsech to gauge her reaction. But her mother’s face bears its usual impenetrable regality. Brigid is left to speculate about in what way her father hopes to utilize her in his efforts to designate a single king for Gael, one capable of mustering all resources to fend off the Romans or the barbarians in the coming days. Himself, preferably. The Gaels’ notorious lack of leadership unity has served them well so far—making it hard for the Romans to defeat them without the strength of many troops—but rumors abound that Gael will need a single powerful force to maintain their ongoing independence. And most chiefs bristle at the thought of uniting under the growing power of the Christian church. Brigid arrives at a singular conclusion about her usefulness.

Broicsech and Brigid return to their quarters as the men continue with their drink and games. They are both quiet as the servants help them undo their heavy ceremonial dresses and jewelry. In the stillness, Brigid carefully fashions her questions and waits for the servants to leave.

“Why did you ask me to perform this evening, Mother?”

“Isn’t the answer self-evident, Brigid? I have made certain you were trained in all the arts so that you can properly represent your family. And you have done well.”

“I think the answer is not quite so simple, Mother.”

The blade of her mother’s voice begins to sharpen. “If you knew the answer, Brigid, then why did you ask the question? Pray do inform me of this answer.”

“I think you and Father were displaying my qualities to Eaghan’s clan like cattle available for purchase.”

Broicsech’s lovely brow knits in frustration and anger. “Brigid, do you think so little of me? Do you think for one moment that I wish to thrust my only daughter—my only natural child—into the marriage ring? I have no alternative but to do so.”

“Why do you believe you have no free will in the matter of my future?” Brigid answers her. It is the first time she has dared to truly challenge her formidable mother.

“Politics and the survival of our people leave me with little choice. If you make an advantageous marriage, you may assist our future greatly. Had we other children, perhaps I could have sheltered you better.”

“Why did you bother to raise me with the belief that I would be able to choose my own path? Why did you expose me to so many callings? I would have been better off knowing little but the domestic realm if this was to be my fate.” Brigid wants—has always desired—to please her family, her oft-absent father in particular. Yet she has always hoped to achieve that goal not through marriage but through her own accomplishments in her studies, or on the battlefield.

“Do you remember the story of your birth? Born neither within nor without the house?” Broicsech references the tale Brigid knows well. Broicsech’s labor was fast and early, forcing her to bear Brigid alone on the house’s hard stone threshold.

“Yes.”

“I had to prepare you for all worlds, Brigid. For I do not know—I have never known—upon which you will settle.”

BRIGID: A LIFE

The return to the
cashel
does not bring the usual excitement of returning rulers, at least not for Brigid. For their homecoming also brings the parting ceremony for Oengus, months before originally planned. His parents, adherents of the old gods, want him back early, long before Patrick revisits Dubtach and his family. Though Brigid paints a smile upon her face during the banquets and entertainments and offers good wishes to her foster brother and his family, she feels empty and sad. Without Oengus, Brigid is alone, now more than ever.

She retreats into her studies, though this means time with Broicsech. Her mother acts as ever, yet Brigid senses the distance between them. Logically, she understands the reasons for her parents’ plan and even concedes that measures toward Gaelic unity may be necessary. Still, she cannot help but feel betrayed that her own mother would sacrifice her to that end, no matter how noble, without heed to her desires.

Never discussing their rift, they continue with the examination of the sacred manuscripts in Broicsech’s collection. Periodically, Broicsech interrupts her textual instruction with more practical training in
the divergent forms of Christianity and the battles brewing—or already brewed—between the Roman Church and its outliers. She explains to Brigid that the heresy most associated with Gael is that espoused by the late Briton Pelagius, who argued that individuals have moral responsibility over their own actions because God gave them free will. Though mother and daughter agree that Pelagius’s tenet bears a certain logic, akin to the Druidic beliefs, they agree to keep such accord private so as not to risk alienation.

Queenly duties periodically force Broicsech to break from their studies. Whenever they do stop, Brigid flees the library with a text in hand. She longs for the openness of the plains and the coolness of the early spring air to free her from her anger and sorrow, and finds solace in reading His Words outdoors in His creation.

She rediscovers the manuscript handed to her by Broicsech on the day of their departure. Sitting in a knoll by the Liffey riverbank, she opens the small book titled the Gospel of Mary the Mother. She hears the leather-bound spine crack a bit as she turns to the first page. Her eyes strain as she attempts to decipher the cramped Latin script, the ink and vellum faded with age. Yet from the first moment she makes sense of its prose, she is entranced.

As Broicsech had promised, the manuscript contains the story of a woman, a most impressive female from the world of Jesus Christ. The text contains a full account of Jesus’s mother, Mary, a narrative utterly different from any other Brigid had read with Broicsech in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Brigid learns that Mary, at the young age of three, enters the famed Temple in Jerusalem to study with the priests. It is an honor normally reserved for boys alone and, even then, for a very select few. From the start, Mary’s maturity, learning, and piety distinguish her and engender adulation among the people of Jerusalem. She bears the gift of sight and the ability to converse with the Lord’s messengers. While at the Temple, the text says, “no one was more learned in the wisdom of the law of God, more lowly in humility, more elegant in singing, more perfect in virtue. She was indeed steadfast, immovable, unchangeable, and daily advancing to perfection.”

Suitors seek her hand when she comes of age. In contravention of
the wishes of the priests and her family, Mary forbids them, saying, “It cannot be that I should know a man, or that a man should know me…. I, from my infancy in the Temple of God, have learned that virginity can be sufficiently dear to God. And so, because I can offer what is dear to God, I have resolved in my heart that I should not know a man at all.”

But then an angel appears before Mary, saying, “You have found grace before the Lord of all. You will conceive from His Word.” Mary resists at first, adhering to her vow of chastity. She acquiesces when the angel explains the virginal nature of the conception and the fact that Mary will bear “the Son of the Most High … who will save His people from their sins.” The angel guides Mary to accept Joseph, assuring her that he will not be a true husband and saying that since “she had found favor with God, she would conceive in her womb and bring forth a King who fills not only earth but Heaven.”

When the Temple priests hear of Mary’s pregnancy, they assume defilement by Joseph. But Mary says—“steadfastly and without trembling”—“if there be any pollution in me, or any sin, or any evil desires, or unchastity, expose me in the sight of all the people, and make me an example of punishment to all.” Before the priests, she approaches the Lord’s altar boldly, circles the altar seven times, and no sign of impurity appears upon her. Thus she convinces the people of Jerusalem of her innocence.

Brigid is moved by Mary’s endurance and strength on the long journey to Bethlehem and in the bearing of her precious child without complaint or bloodshed. Yet the account of the bond between mother and Christ child sways her most. For she learns how Jesus drives fear from Mary’s heart in moments of terror, and listens to His Mother’s guidance in times of crisis and youthful misbehavior when He will heed no one else. In one tale, His Mother comes to the youthful Jesus after He has killed a childhood rival in anger and says, “My Lord, what was it that he did to bring about his death?” When Jesus explains what happened, Mary says, “Do not so, my Lord, because all men rise up against us.” And He, “not wishing to grieve His Mother,” causes the child to rise. Again and again, he returns to her side, and she encourages
Him to strive to His Father’s calling when all others cower in fear before Him: “Jesus returns to His Mother.”

The Gospel of Mary the Mother lures her. For here is a strong woman of Jesus’s band worthy of emulation—resilient, bold at times, and learned. She is not afraid to instruct her Son—even chastise Him—when His behavior demands it, and He heeds her, recognizing her as a woman worthy of respect. Brigid returns to the text’s Words again and again, whenever her circumstances permit. And this text, this Gospel of Mary the Mother, plants a seed.

One particularly fine summer afternoon, a cry interrupts Brigid’s solitary reading by the riverbank. As the sound grows closer, she recognizes the voice as that of her mother’s personal maid, Muireen. “The queen summons you immediately,” Muireen announces. “Bishop Patrick is due to arrive.”

Brigid rises from her knoll. As she hurriedly walks back to the
rath
, she is careful to brush off the dust and grass from her cloak and smooth her hair into neat plaits. She does not want her second meeting with Bishop Patrick to commence as her first did. Too much may depend upon it.

She pushes through the gate and, from the state of the
cashel
, sees that Patrick has yet to appear. Relieved, she walks to her quarters to further refine her appearance. As she thinks on which gown to wear and with which pin to fasten it, she walks by her parents’ rooms. She is surprised to hear her father’s voice from behind the closed door; he is rarely found within the
cashel
during the busy daylight hours.

Slowing nearly to a stop, Brigid hears her father say, “Broicsech, I have made myself abundantly clear on this point. I will not play host to a mass baptismal rite for a personal aim of Patrick’s.” He pauses and then spits out, “Or whatever master he serves, the bastard Britons with their Saxon mercenaries or the Roman government with its unquenching desire to conquer our lands.”

“Dubtach, do not speak such heresy. You know that Patrick has allegiance to neither Britannia nor the Roman government. In fact, he has made enemies of both Britannia and the Roman government in
even coming to minister to us in Gael. He had to convince the Romans that we were worthy of conversion, and he made himself suspect in Britannia by desiring to minister to the Gaels at all. Patrick’s fealty is to the Roman Church—and to God in the purest sense.”