In Praise of the Bees by Kristin Gleeson

Author:Kristin Gleeson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval Ireland novel, Medieval historical suspense, Irish historical suspense, historical suspense
Publisher: Kristin Gleeson
Published: 2015-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

She opens her eyes and sees a dark figure bending over her, a small corona of light outlining the veil on her head.

‘Máthair Ab,’ she says.

‘At last child, you’re awake.’

She lies on her stomach and attempts to turn over, but the agony in her back stops her.

‘Remain still. You’re back is in a terrible state. You must let the salve do its work.’ Máthair Gobnait lifts a bowl and a spoon. ‘Do you feel well enough to take some broth?’

She swallows and licks her lips. Her tongue, furred and thick, seems only barely capable of it, but her stomach rumbles at the smell. She nods.

In the end she manages half of it, but the effort of lifting her head and the sharp little pains that stab her back each time she moves eventually prove too much. She thanks Máthair Gobnait, closes her eyes and tells her she’s tired. It’s true enough, but she is also reluctant to engage in any kind of conversation, to answer any of the questions that she can feel hovering around her. She needs more energy for that, and above all, she needs to think.

There is much to think about. The rage, fear and blame are almost too much to bear. To share it all would endanger more than her life this time, and the anger and frustration that is so strong it obscures the pain in her back makes her think only that she must act. The thought fills her mind before she collapses.

~

She wrinkles her nose and catches the scent of mint in the air. The salve is cool on her back and eases some of the burning pain as it finds its way into the welts and open wounds that are only just beginning to scab over on her back. The air is thick with unspoken words. Máthair Gobnait doesn’t press her though, and speaks only about her physical pain.

Áine hardly notices the pain in her back. Her thoughts are directed towards the pain that makes her heart ache, and the tears that fill her eyes are not the result of over energetic fingers, but from the memories that are all too plain to her now. These memories make her a different person and Áine is no more, and she grieves that loss, just as she grieves for the memories themselves.

Máthair Gobnait finishes and stands before her. ‘Your back is already much improved. The skin is healing well.’

‘Thank you for your help. And Siúr Feidelm’s.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She pauses a moment. ‘I’ve spoken to Siúr Ethne about the scourge. It was her scourge you used?’

‘It was.’ Her voice is faint.

‘I know some religeuse follow a path of asceticism and penance and feel the scourge is an integral part of finding God, but it’s not the way here. Such a path is dangerous because it can sometimes lead to extremes where we confuse ego with God.’

It’s a view that Áine hasn’t considered. Her own speculations of Siúr Ethne’s choices have been drawn solely on her observations and experiences.

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