Free Brigid of Kildare by Heather Terrell

wonder.
    The next morning Alex actually made it to the bronze church doors before Sister Mary. A highlighted reproduction of a seventh-century
Life
of Saint Brigid
practically burned in her black bag, propelling her there early. She had turned to one of the several extant histories of Saint Brigid the night before as a way to take her mind off both the puzzle of the reliquary and that of her own life. Though she’d reviewed the narrative by the seventh-century cleric Cogitosus before her flight, a reread passage suddenly struck her and took on new meaning. Cogitosus mentioned that in the seventh century, the Kildare abbey church contained a reliquary holding Brigid’s body, “decorated with a variegation of gold, silver, gems, and precious stones, with gold and silver crowns hanging above them.”
    Obviously, Sister Mary’s reliquary was not that described by Cogitosus—her smallish box could not possibly hold Brigid’s body—but if a lavish shrine had existed as early as the seventh century, was it also possible that Sister Mary’s reliquary had been created in the sixth century, as she claimed? If Alex could pin the reliquary to the sixth century, she’d pull off quite a coup; the oldest known book shrine dated from the eighth century. And if the reliquary dated from the sixth century, perhaps the chalice and paten did as well.
    Alex said nothing of her hopes to Sister Mary. She didn’t want to excite her unduly if the theory proved incorrect—and she didn’t want the prickly nun to know she’d questioned her assertions about the relics’ dates in the first place. She waited patiently as Sister Mary undertook the slow process of removing the relics from the altar safe. Or so she thought.
    “Antsy today, aren’t we, Miss Patterson?”
    “Just anxious to start working. It’s a real honor to study your pieces.”
    Sister Mary nodded in agreement, but she scanned Alex warily as she did. “Well, I’ll let you get down to brass tacks.” She pulled out two keys from her crammed key chain and said, “I’ll be back a few times before nightfall. Are you all set?”
    “Absolutely.” Alex couldn’t wait for Sister Mary to leave the shrine so she could get to work.
    “All right then. I’m off.”
    Alex paused until she heard the sound of Sister Mary locking the church doors behind her. Then she set upon the reliquary, intent upon examining it with fresh eyes rather than her usual skeptical vision.Scrutinizing every design, every material, and every nuance of the exterior with her equipment, Alex determined that her theory was indeed
possible
. She would face criticism—doubters would say that the materials were too exotic, the style too inconsistent, and the Virgin Mary all wrong—but her hypothesis that they indeed hailed from the sixth century was
possible
.
    Alex finished her inspection by gingerly lifting up the reliquary’s lid to examine the inside once again. The simple interior left her no reason to rethink her theory, so she closed it. She thought about the many legendary false bottoms in her line of work. Such devices were rare, though not unheard-of, with reliquaries. After all, the designer—and the owner—wanted to protect, even hide, the precious saint’s remains above all else, especially if they bore magical properties, as so often claimed. But Alex had never come across one herself. An impulse overcame her to run her sterilized fingers along the border between the ornate lid and the simpler, wide base. Deep inside a decorative filigree knot in line with the Virgin Mary, she felt a groove. Reaching for her pliers, Alex gently pressed the little furrow with her instrument. The bottom of the reliquary flung itself open.
    Almost afraid of what she might uncover, she looked inside. Instead of a decaying finger bone or a rotting scrap of a burial shroud, a leather-bound manuscript lay within. Just as she reached for it, she heard the fast clip of footsteps across the church’s marble floor.