The instant censure of her neighbors annoyed her. Why must she follow like a sheep? She only visited this place.
As the singing finished, people milled around, chatting and visiting in clumps. She turned to Etromma. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Not yet, Ma. I want to go and see what’s on that table up there.”
Donn pulled his shoulders close to his body. “I want to talk to the monk. I have a question about his god.”
Several monks set up trestle tables along one side of the building and brought platters of food. This must be the Lovefeast Ita spoke of. It looked delicious after several weeks of little but dried fish and last autumn’s apples.
The press of all those people pushed in on her. The crowd grew oppressive, and she had trouble breathing. “I’m a bit dizzy. Ita, I need to go outside. I noticed a garden, and that might be just the place to clear my head. Come fetch me when you’re done.”
After hefting Aileran against her other shoulder, she exited the sturdy building. The walls had been well-constructed, at least. No uneven spots or crumbling bits showed.
The garden had been laid out in a large grid, with medicinal herbs, food herbs, and vegetables in separate sections. The surrounding edge might have ornamental flowers once spring arrived, but for now, bare bracken guarded the perimeter. This would be a lovely place in the summertime, with butterflies and bees flitting amongst the lush growth. Perhaps she would come back in the warm season to enjoy the space.
“Do you approve of our garden, then?”
Clíodhna whirled to find a monk, with dark curly hair and brown robes, regarding her with a half-smile. A dimple in one cheek gave him a roguish air, and the corners of her own mouth turned up in response. “I’m unused to so many people in an enclosed space. I needed to escape.”
“Perfectly understandable. We’re already working on a larger structure, built with stone rather than wattle and daub. Something sturdier would be much more serviceable. Did you enjoy the service?”
“Service?”
“That’s what we call this. Service has a daily dedication to God, a sermon or story, and then a final benediction of song.”
She gave a tentative smile as if she understood. Most of those words sounded strange. Could they be from the new language? Aileran chose this moment to wake. Instead of a gradual build up into alertness, though, he launched straight into an ear-splitting wail.
Clíodhna winced and bounced the child, turning to her companion. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckled. “Not to worry. I’ve a wee boy of my own, just about that age. Alas, he’s away with his mother in another land.”
“Another land? Did she not come with you?”
“No, my wife stayed with her family. She didn’t wish to travel to this dangerous frontier, you see. She preferred the luxury of Rome. We divorced as friends, but I do miss them both.”
Aileran settled down after his initial outrage and burbled in sudden contentment. Clíodhna continued bouncing him in case his upset returned.
“I’m called Clíodhna, and this volatile child is Aileran.”
He bowed deep, another half-smile on his face as he rose. The dimple reappeared, and she noticed his eyes were a delightfully deep chocolate brown. “And I am called Odhrán. I’m only recently called to God, and this is my first assignment from Palladius.”
“Assignment?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. We each get assigned to a particular area, to speak to those who live there about our God. It’s a mission of peace and information.”
Clíodhna never heard of a peaceful god. Kindly, yes. Good, of course. The Dagda was called The Good God, after all. But peaceful? The tales and legends of the gods dripped with war and betrayal. It seemed worse than real life power struggles. She bit at her lower lip.
Odhrán smiled. “No, it’s true. We are here to spread the word, nothing more. We have no mandate to force anyone to our beliefs.”
“I didn’t mean to impugn your word, Odhrán. It’s the concept of a peaceful god that I can’t quite comprehend.”
He let out a low chuckle, a gentle sound. “Fair. God himself has visited plenty of violent acts on humans. However, his son, our Lord Jesus, is a man of peace, and it’s his message we are distributing.”
“Is Odhrán a Roman name, then? It sounds local, and you speak our language well for a foreigner.”
He gave a half-smile. “I was born with a different name, but adopted one more familiar to the people here. Many of us do that. It helps us become closer to the communities we serve. I learned your language from another man of this land, several winters past.”
She’d been about to ask him more about his demigod when Etromma’s cry interrupted.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
Clíodhna’s eyes grew wide and she ran to find out what her daughter got herself into. She hurried out of the garden to the building the other priest had spoken in. Etromma stood before the entrance, an older monk gripping her upper arm. She saw no sign of Donn. Clíodhna wondered if he’d gone off in search of the girl he’d been courting.
Aileran sobbed again at being jounced. She jiggled him to quiet his fussing. “What’s this?”
The older monk, his straggly beard combed into two forks, glanced up. “The impudent girl questioned our Lord’s power!”
Clíodhna blinked twice and stood straight. “Is that all? For a healthy curiosity, you presume to hurt my daughter? How dare you lay hands upon her!”
Odhrán came up behind her, panting with exertion. “Fachtna, what have you done?”
“It isn’t me, Odhrán. This creature—”
“Fachtna! Watch your tongue. These are our hosts, and we must be respectful of them.”
Fachtna scowled, still keeping a grip on Etromma’s arm. She whimpered. “The girl
