Brigid of Kildare A Novel

by Terrell, Heather

• ISBN13: 9780345505125
• ISBN10: 0345505123
• Edition: 1st
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-02-09
• Publisher: Ballantine Books

Summary

Rich in historical detail, Heather Terrell's mesmerizing novel Brigid of Kildare is the story of the revolutionary Saint Brigid and the discovery of the oldest illuminated manuscript in the annals of the Church, a manuscript that contains an astonishing secret history. Fifth-century Ireland: Brigid is Ireland's first and only female priest and bishop. Followers flock to her Kildare abbey and scriptorium. Hearing accounts of Brigid's power, the Church deems her a threat and sends Decius, a Roman priest and scribe, on a secret mission to collect proof of Brigid's heresy. As Decius records the unorthodox practices of Brigid and her abbey, he becomes intrigued by her. When Brigid assigns Decius a holy task-to create the most important and sacred manuscript ever made-he finds himself at odds with his original mission and faces the most difficult decision of his life. Modern day: Alexandra Patterson, an appraiser of medieval relics, has been summoned to Kildare to examine a reliquary box believed to belong to Saint Brigid. Hidden within the sacred box is the most beautiful illuminated manuscript Alex has ever seen. But even more extraordinary is the contents of the manuscript's vellum pages, which may have dire repercussions for the Catholic Church and could very well rewrite the origins of Christianity.

Author Biography

HEATHER TERRELL is the author of The Map Thief and The Chrysalis. A lawyer with more than ten years of experience as a litigator at some of the country’s premier law firms and for Fortune 500 companies, Terrell is a graduate of Boston College and the Boston University School of Law. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her family.

Excerpts

Chapter One
Rome

a.d. 470

Brother,

I write you in the utmost haste, trusting in God that I will find a safe way to deliver this letter unto your hands. For this very eve, I must leave Rome for an island so far outside the bounds of civilization it has never merited the attention of our dear Republic: the land of the Gaels.

That the Lord has summoned me to this mission, I have no doubt. Yet, as dawn broke and I finished my prayers this morning, I would have sworn on the cross that the day would progress like every other.

I settled at my desk in the chambers of the papal secretary just as the sun's rays began their full celebration of God's good day. Capturing the clarity of the earliest light is as critical to my work as a scrivener

for the Lord as it is to your work overseeing the family land; thus I was alone in the study. I was preparing to record the edicts emanating from a recent council meeting when I heard my name.

I turned toward the sound and, to my surprise, saw a papal page in the doorway. He said, "Brother Decius, you are to follow me to an audience in the chambers of His Holiness Pope Simplicius, bishop of Rome."

The page started off down the long and winding corridors that lead to His Holiness's inner sanctum. I raced after him, wary of losing him in the labyrinthine route connecting the church's official buildings to the palace. I kept his pace, and he left me at the entryway to the pope's own chambers.

A crimson tapestry separated the sacred inner sanctum from the bustle of the rest of the palace. I approached it, and though I pulled the heavy fabric aside with reverence and care, my fingers caught on the pearls and rubies sewn into the silken embroidery. In that moment of disentanglement, I know not why, I hesitated before crossing the threshold.

My body began shaking, as it had never trembled before. Yet I knew I could show no fear. Courage is necessary-nay, mandated-for selection to one of Christ's missions. And somehow I knew that this was the purpose of my summoning.

To expel the devil's own trepidation from my heart and soul, I steeled myself with the image, oft described by you, of our father and mother stoic in the face of the barbarians. If our parents could suffer at their hands and never flinch before the final swing of the crude battle-axe, then, I told myself, I could take the simple step of entering the private chamber of Saint Peter's own representative on this earth.

Peace descended upon me, almost as though our mother and father spoke from heaven. I left the tapestry to swing in my wake and immediately knelt before His Holiness. Or so I believed.

"Rise, Brother Decius," the order sounded out.

I readied myself to confront the intimidating phalanx of aristocratic councillors that accompany His Holiness's every movement, which I had witnessed during my three prior papal audiences. Yet as I rose from my deep genuflection and lifted my eyes, a single figure greeted me. I knew the man only by sight and rumor, as he would never deign to enter the secretary's study: it was Gallienus, a priest and the most senior of the pope's councillors.

I bowed my head in respect, yet could not help but note the comfortable, nearly languorous, manner in which he leaned against the empty papal throne. "Your Eminence," I said.

"The twelfth eagle will soon fly," Gallienus said.

I did not answer at once, uncertain as to his meaning and even more unsure as to the safest response.

"Are you not familiar with the Prophecy of the Twelve Eagles, Brother Decius?" Gallienus asked.

"I am, Your Eminence." Indeed, I guess nearly every Roman citizen has heard the divination that the Republic's supremacy will last twelve centuries only, each one represented by an eagle. Even the masses must have heard it bandied about in the bars and streets of the bustling Aventine Quarter in recent times, as

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Excerpted from The Book of Kildare by Heather Terrell
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