Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [190]
But even more revered than these sacred objects were the two treasures that every visitor to Dublin came to see. The first was a great crucifix which, like some ancient pagan stone from earlier times, would sometimes speak. And greatest of all, was the beautiful staff that, it was said, an angel had given to Saint Patrick from Jesus Christ himself: this was the famous Bachall Iosa, the Staff of Jesus. It was kept at a shrine to the north of Dublin but was brought into Christ Church on special occasions.
And as she gazed at these marvels with awe, her father would say to her, “If ever the city is in danger, Una, we shall bring the strongbox to the cathedral monks. In their keeping it will be as safe as are these relics that you see before you.” It gave them both comfort to know that their little worldly treasure would be protected by the keepers of the true cross and the Bachall Iosa of Saint Patrick.
Every day, Una knew, her father carried the thought of that box of silver around with him in his mind like a talisman or a pilgrim’s amulet.
Thanks to his efforts, her father had an assistant now, and her mother had an English slave girl to help her in the house. Her two brothers were healthy, lively boys. There was no reason, therefore, why Una couldn’t spend three days a week at Ailred the Palmer’s hospital which, in any case, was only a few hundred yards from her own home. And before long, she was coming in on Mondays and leaving on Fridays. Since Fionnuala was required to spend Sundays with her parents, this meant that the Palmer and his wife only had to keep her under control for one day of the week which, they bravely declared, was no trouble at all.
They were such a loving couple, the tall red-haired Norseman and his quiet, grey-haired, motherly wife. Una guessed what a blow the loss of their son, Harold, must have been; she never mentioned the subject and nor did they. But once, as they were folding blankets in the hospital, the older woman smiled at her gently and said, “I also had a baby daughter, you know. She died when she was two; but if she’d lived, I think she would have been just like you.” Una had felt so touched and honoured. Sometimes she would pray that their son would return to them after all; but of course he never did.
Una loved the Hospital of Saint John the Baptist. It contained thirty inmates at present; the men in one dormitory, the women in another. Some were elderly, but not all. They cared for every kind of sickness there, except lepers whom no one would come near. There was plenty to do feeding and nursing the inmates, but above all Una loved to talk to them and listen to their stories. She was a popular figure. Fionnuala’s reputation was different. She could be funny when she chose. She would flirt harmlessly with the old men and make the women laugh. But it was not in her nature to work very hard. She might surprise and delight the inmates by suddenly appearing with a delicious fruit tart; but as often as not, in the middle of some tedious chore, Una would find that her friend had vanished, leaving her with all the work to do. And sometimes, if something had annoyed her or if she thought Una wasn’t paying enough attention to her, she would suddenly have a temper tantrum, throw down the work she was doing, and rush away to some other part of the hospital where she would sulk. On these occasions, Ailred the Palmer would shake his long red beard, and his kindly blue eyes would look sad, and he would turn to Una and say, “She is good-hearted underneath, my child, even if she does foolish things. We must all try to help her.” But Una knew very well that, though they certainly tried, it would be her own efforts which generally brought Fionnuala round.
The last few months had tried even the Palmer’s patience. And this time the problem wasn’t temper tantrums, though Fionnuala still had those. It was men.
Fionnuala had always looked at men, ever since she was a little girl. She would stare at them with her large green eyes, and they would laugh. It