[COMPLETED] The Vixen and The Thief

Chapter 23

From the dozen or so brothers, one man came forwards. Little trace of age was there on his narrow face, the longer hair of the tonsure hanging over his brow. But it was his eyes that Conn noticed. Those eyes that showed his age and steadied Conn's quavering voice. 

"Cabhair," cried Conn beseechingly, his face screwed up beneath the mud mask. "Cabhair, in ainm Dé. An Beitheach, he would have my sister."

The man, the Abbott he must have been, did not speak for some moments, glancing at the tabernacle and at the two filthy figures. Then he extended a hand, his face softening. "Come,"he said.

 Out of the chapel he lead them and across the warm greeness, into another long stone building. It was bare of furnishings, save a long wooden table, benches and a carved crucifix on the wall over all.

He gestured them to sit, which they did, their clothes squelching. Then he waited for them to speak.

Conn was trying to find a way of explaining themselves without having to say too much on why he had been in An Beitheach's stronghold to begin with. But he could not.

While he was prevaricating, Beibhinn spoke for him.

"Thank you Father," she said, he voice now steady, "I am Beibhinn, daughter of Maolmurragh Ó Bhriain of Cnoic Ceallaigh." 

The Abbott nodded. To Conn it appeared that he knew the family. Oh dear

"And this is Conn, the son of Tadgh Ó Clearaigh, foster son to my family. We are fleeing the men of An Beitheach who had us both imprisoned." At this moment Beibhinn glanced back over her shoulder, fear seeming to strike her again.

"Fear not," said the monk, his long narrow face bending into a frown, "Even if they find a path through the bog they have no right to touch you here." he paused, and he smiled, "All who dwell here belong only to God." Beibhinn smiled too, relief sliding over her face.

"Go raibh míle maith agaibh," she said, and then, to Conn's horror, began to explain everything.

"An Beitheach imprisoned my brother Ruadhan," she said, "I believe to hold as a hostage lest my family and those near us try to detroy his grip. In trying to raise a force to free him, my uncle and other kin came under - the treachery of others." she hesitated, "The O hAermhirghín and - and his - a white woman - Ailbhe." 

Conn shivered abruptly, without a cause.

"I was given to An Beitheach as a hostage myself. It was Conn who aided me in my escape. For two days we have been journeying to the lands of The Ó Chinnéide. Though now it would appear that An Beitheach has caught up with us."

The Abbot's gentle face had grown ever grimmer as he listened, and a glimpse of a strong will could be seen. 

Now surely, Conn thought, he  must ask the question of how I came to be in An Beitheach's fort, and know that I am one of them. He swallowed, searching for some words to lessen his guilt.

But the Abbott never asked a question himself. "We shall send word to The Ó Chinnnéide, " he said, "Until then, you may remain within our protection."

****

Another sinking path led from the monastery island to a smaller green patch with a single stone dwelling - the house for guests. Here Beibhinn settled herself in the sun with bread and vegetable soup in a bowl. Conn however, returned to the Gobán Saor to eat with the monks.

"What are the ways to the monastery?" he asked, as they left Beibhinn alone.

The eyes of the stocky man who guided him twinkled with merriment. "Other than the way you found?"

"Yes."

"Only one. Below the church is a way marked by white stones. Though it changes frequently. Depends on the rain. Joins a proper track some way along."

Conn nodded. They were almost at the refectory. He could smell food. "Did you know of the road we came?" he asked.

"Yes," the monk nodded, "But then, I used to work often in the bog before joining here. You were blessed not to have drowned," he added.

I know that myself, Conn thought, with a tiny flicker of triumph.

****

Conn sat in the back of the chapel, no longer hungry, listening to the monks at their last prayers of the day.

The final sun of summer's evening fell through the open doorway, drawing a streak of gold up the grey aisle.

Conn yawned. I could stay here for some time. he thought.  Not forever. He knew that soon a life so ordered would chafe him. But for the time being... Peaceful. Peaceful, it was.

The candle before the tabernacle flickered in a breath of warm air, its light winking off the little carved door. The steady voices of the monks rose and fell.

Conn shifted on the bench, feeling out of place.

Who was he, to come here and receive such kindness? Beibhinnn, she was different, she deserved it. Yes. But what had he ever done?

Abandoned his foster family, run from duty, joined with the man whom all decent folk feared. And then....what things had followed ought not to even be recalled in such a place as this monastery.

Conn sighed. He could change his clothes, but he would still be dirty.

The bench beneath him was hard and cold. He moved forwards onto his knees, leaning on the one in front, the dim gleam of the tabernacle holding his eye.

If he could but turn back the time and change it. But what was done - it could never be erased. The dried mud on his face flaked off beneath his fingers and he picked it off in discs, dropping it onto the floor.

There was one way out...

The thought made him feel sick.

He could not do it. No. He could not.

All that he had done.. Conn sighed once more.

Slowly the monks began to file from the chapel. One by one they passed, the Abbot last.

Conn watched them leaving.

Now. Now.

He glanced once more at the tabernacle, the crucifix above the altar, his face set in resolution.

Hurrying after the Abbott he tugged his sleeve.

He turned. Conn took a great breath.

"Brother -" he stammered, legs shaky, " - er - Father - do - can - do you hear confessions?"