After the garlic, she moved on to the onions, the chervil, and each of the other herbs within her garden. When she finished, the entire enclosure seemed deeper, more lush, and most of all, more full of the joy of life.
With a sigh, Clíodhna rose, brushing the dirt from the back of her léine. Her efforts this morning would have to do. She returned to the house to rouse and feed her children. She took some time to play with the baby before they left. Once both children and animals had been fed and cleaned, they walked to the abbey in the pre-dawn light. She missed being able to greet the dawn, but she also wanted to be part of this new community.
She still rolled that word around in her mind. It sounded strange to her, along with the other words Odhrán used. Church, liturgy, sermon… she’d never encountered any of these words before. Did the Druí use them in their deeper mysteries? She had met with several Druí before, and a few Bards as well, but she’d never sat down to talk with them as she had with Odhrán. Perhaps these words applied to all religions, and because she’d never studied druidic lore, she’d not come across them before.
For a moment, she appreciated that this new religion sought to share knowledge with the lowliest of its followers, and didn’t hold all their mysteries close to a small group.
The abbey yard looked as if someone had poked a stick in an ant nest. Monks scrambled around, rushing back and forth. Several villagers waited at the edge of the frenzy, looking on the confusion with puzzled expressions. She found Ita and tapped her shoulder.
“What’s happened? Did someone get hurt?”
Clíodhna’s friend shrugged. “No, but someone important arrived in the night. They’re rushing to get things presentable for him. He might be the new leader.”
“The new Abbot? Odhrán told me he’d be here soon.”
Ita glared at her. “You talk with him a lot, don’t you? Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”
Surprised at the censure in her friend’s voice, Clíodhna stared back. “Noticed what? We’re just talking.”
“Yes, yes. But you’ve been monopolizing his time. He has other duties than entertaining you, you know.”
Clíodhna did not enjoy being the subject of gossip. Her face grew warm thinking of the village women discussing her relationship with Odhrán. She wished she hadn’t come to the abbey today. With the bustle, perhaps no one would notice if she just left. But that would mean the children wouldn’t have their lessons… and she wouldn’t have hers. The same day she’d decided about Bealtaine, too.
If she hadn’t been certain Ita loved her own husband well, Clíodhna might suspect her of jealousy, but the woman doted on her man. Why should her friend be so concerned about Odhrán’s time? He didn’t shirk his duties as a monk to be with her.
The dawn broke over the hills to the east, bathing the valley with golden light. As it did so, a bell rang. Clíodhna had never experienced a sound like this, deep and sonorous, echoing across the farmland. If anyone still slept in the village, they’d be awake now.
Ita clapped her hands. “Oh, I’d heard he brought a bell all the way from Rome! That must be it.”
The sound was pleasant enough, but so loud. Clíodhna gave thanks to Brighid that her home lay so far on the edge of the village. The bongs would still reach it from there, but they might not wake her up. Perhaps they would only ring it at dawn? She always woke before the sun rise.
The yard emptied of rushing clerics. Where had they all disappeared to? Several moments passed before anything else happened.
When the bell stopped ringing, a procession of religious men wended out from their sleeping quarters. Each monk stepped in time, one by one, perfectly spaced. Clíodhna had never seen them all together before and counted them as they walked by. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen… twenty-four in all. Behind them, a stranger in shining white and blue robes carried a standard with a strange marking. With measured steps, he walked stiff and formal. The symbol looked like a six-armed star, with a sideways loop on the top middle arm. Clíodhna hadn’t seen that before and made a mental note to ask Odhrán what it meant.
The man appeared to be just past middle-aged with long, white hair and a gray beard. He stood wiry and slim, despite his shapeless robes. He kept his eyes forward, not glancing side to side at any of the rapt on-lookers.
After he entered the church, the bell rang again, once. The villagers all milled about in confusion until one monk poked his head out and gestured for them to come in. With muddled reluctance, each villager entered. Clíodhna held back to be the last in. Aileran slept soundly against her shoulder despite the bell. Still, when Etromma reached for him, she allowed her daughter to take the baby. He didn’t wake during the transfer but snuggled into the fresh shoulder with a sweetness which made Clíodhna’s heart ache.
The entire village had arrived. The interior stuffed so full of people, Clíodhna felt crowded and wanted to step out. However, her curiosity over this new Abbot won out over her need for open space. Clíodhna waited along the back wall. Since so many attended, no room remained for sitting during this sermon.
The Abbot, for such the stranger must be, stood at the small altar, and handed his standard to another monk. That monk held it behind the Abbot, who held his arms up. Whispers and side conversations halted, all eyes to the front.
Once he’d achieved silence, he spoke. His voice, full of deep tones and rich syllables, caressed her ears, though his accent spoke of foreign birth.
