Brigid of Kildare by Heather Terrell

Author:Heather Terrell [Terrell, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9780345505125
Publisher: Ballantine
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Brother,

For nine days, I fashioned and refashioned the Gospel of Matthew’s Chi-Rho cross. This magnificent Gaelic concoction, an ornately decorated composite of the Greek letters chi and rho, which abbreviate the word “Christ,” swooped across the manuscript page in a swirling mass of knots, patterns, animals, and angels. I thought it beautiful, though Aidan sought more from my handiwork.

Nine days of gilding and regilding, nine days of reworking my brushstrokes, nine days in which Aidan grew increasingly more particular and more dissatisfied with my artistry. I surmised that he exacted upon me the irritation he felt with Brigid over her request.

No matter. I spent the nine days in the prayer Aidan insisted upon, though I entreated God not just for His assistance with the Word but also for His guidance with Brigid. Thus, when Aidan gave me leave to go and I stood at the door to the scriptorium, ready to walk the short distance to Brigid’s own hut, I felt prepared to do His bidding and strong enough to resist any sibilant whispers of Satan to the contrary.

From the relative brightness of Gael’s gray midday, I entered the cavelike darkness of Brigid’s seemingly empty building. As my eyes adjusted to a space lit primarily by candles and a few small apertures, I noted that Brigid’s structure could accommodate nearly four of my huts, as well it should, given its dual purpose of work and private space. Despite the larger size, her room bore the same minimal decoration as my own, but for a few critical differences.

A scribe’s table and chair stood in the center. Brother, you can imagine my surprise. In the Roman world and even here in Cill Dara’s scriptorium, women do not scribe; the sacred role of copying the Word is reserved for men. But then, in the Roman world, women do not preside over the Mass, either.

I tried to contain my reaction while I took full measure of the room, reassembling my composure for Brigid’s arrival. Only then did I realize that she was present; she knelt before a small altar in a dim corner of the room. She faced away from me at an angle, and since I witnessed no alteration in her bearing, I assumed she was deep in prayer and unaware of my entrance.

My confidence, so bullish on the walk over, ebbed as I stared at her. Though I could see little, only her bright hair and profile, I watched as she mouthed the words of a silent prayer. Brigid seemed so serene in her worship, so tranquil in her supplications, I nearly regretted my motives. Nearly.

Her stillness gave me the opportunity to study the room further. Aside from the altar and the scribe’s table, the decoration was sparse. Only books and crosses sat on the few available surfaces, but for one oddity. A tiny sculpture, small enough to fit into the palm of a hand and familiar in subject, sat on a shelf. It depicted the Egyptian goddess Isis, positioned upon a large throne from which bison horns extended.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.