The blask rood cc-2 Page 3

  'Leaving Baldwin to prepare the troops for battle, Godfrey went to the church to pray a swift and certain victory for us despite the odds against us. While Godfrey was praying, one of the priests fell into a trance and had a vision. I cannot say how it happened, but the way I heard it was that a man in white appeared to him and showed him a curtain. This White Priest told the monk to pull aside the curtain and take up what he found there. When the priest awoke, however, the curtain was gone and he was staring at a white-washed wall only.

  'No doubt it would have ended there, except Godfrey came to hear of it, and said, "A wall is sometimes called a curtain." So, he orders the wall to be taken down, and behold! There is the True Cross.'

  'God be praised,' gasped Emlyn, clasping his hands reverently.

  'It seems,' continued Torf, ignoring the abbot's outburst, 'that when the Saracens first captured the city, those churches they did not destroy, they turned into mosqs. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, they found the True Cross hanging above the altar, but even those heathen devils did not dare lay a hand on it, so they walled it up. They mixed a thick mortar and covered over the sacred relic, hiding it from view. Godfrey orders the mortar to be pulled down, and there it is: the True Cross is found. The king declares it to be a sign of God's good pleasure, and orders everyone to kneel before the holy relic and pray for victory in the coming battle.

  'This is difficult to do for the church is very small, and there are so many soldiers. So, he orders the cross to be brought out to us, and we all kneel down before it. Skuli and I find ourselves near the front ranks and we see the cross as the priests walk by; two priests, led by Godfrey's chaplain, hold it between them, and two more walk behind carrying censers of burning incense.

  'I look up as it passes by, and I see what looks to be a long piece of rough timber, slightly bowed along its length. It is perhaps half a rod long, and thick as a man's thigh. I know it is the True Cross because it is blackened with age, and its surface has been smoothed by the countless hands that have reverenced it through the years.

  'The prayers are said, and the monks are returning to the church; as they carry the cross away, someone behind cries out, "Let the cross go before us!" That is all it takes-at once everyone is up and shouting: "Let the cross go before us!"

  'Godfrey hears this and calls for order to be restored. He says, "It has pleased God to deliver this most sacred relic into our hands as a sign of his good pleasure in the restoring of his Holy City. As we have kept faith with God, so God has kept faith with us. The enemies of Christ are even now marching against us," cries Godfrey, his voice shaking with righteous rage. "I say this cross-this Black Rood-shall go before us into battle. From this day forth, it shall be the emblem of Jerusalem's defenders, so that those who raise sword against us shall know that Christ himself leads his holy army to victory against the enemies of our faith."

  'The monks begin chanting: "Rejoice, O nations, with God's people! For He will avenge the blood of his servants; He will take vengeance on his enemies, and make atonement for his land." And that is how it began…' So saying, Torf slumped back, exhausted by the effort.

  I stared at him in amazement that he should recall so much of what happened that day long ago. Brother Padraig, who had crept near to hear the tale, motioned to me to fill the bowl again. I poured the ale, and held the bowl to the sick man's lips. Torf drank and revived somewhat.

  'Rest now,' suggested Emlyn. 'We will talk again when you are feeling better.'

  A bitter smile twisted Torf-Einar's lips. 'I will never feel better than I do now,' he whispered. 'Anyway, there is little more to say. We rode out from Jerusalem the next day, and met the Arabs on the road from Ascalon two days later. They were not expecting us to attack, and had not yet formed a proper invasion force. Two knights carried the cross between them, and Godfrey led the charge. We fell upon al-Afdal's confused army and scattered them to the winds. We routed the infidel, and sent them flying back to their ships.'

  Torf drank some more, and pushed the bowl away. 'That was the first time the Black Rood went before us into battle, but it was not the last.' He shook his head, almost sadly. 'Not the last, by God.'

  'How did the Holy Cross come to be cut into pieces?' I asked.

  He turned his head to look at me, and I saw that the light of life was growing dim in his eyes. 'Godfrey did it. When the troops saw that victory was assured whenever the cross was carried into battle, they refused to fight unless it went before them.' He swallowed and closed his eyes. 'But the Turks and Saracens were relentless and the cross could not be everywhere at once.'

  'So, he cut it up,' I surmised.

  Torf gave the ghost of a nod. 'What else could he do? I swear that man never looked further ahead than the length of his own two feet. With everyone clamouring for a piece of the relic, Godfrey commanded that it should be cut in half.'

  'The priests let him do this?' wondered Emlyn in dismay.

  'Aye, the priests helped him do it,' said Torf, his voice growing thin and watery. 'The Patriarch of Jerusalem objected, but Godfrey convinced him in the end.'

  'You said they cut it into four parts,' I pointed out, remembering what he had told me before.

  This brought a flicker of irritation from Torf, who opened an eye and said, 'They sent one half to the church at Antioch to replace the Iron Lance which had been taken by the emperor. This was to be used by the armies in the north. The second half was kept in Jerusalem to be used in southern battles.'

  'Over the years those two pieces became four,' surmised the abbot. 'It is not difficult to see how this could happen.'

  'You said that only two remain,' I pointed out. 'What happened to the others?'

  Torf sighed heavily. The long talk was taxing his failing strength. 'One piece was given to the emperor, and the other two have fallen into the hands of the heathen infidel.' He sighed again, his voice growing softer. 'I cannot say more.'

  After awhile he drifted away. I thought he had died, but Brother Padraig pressed an ear to his chest and said, 'He sleeps.' Regarding the dying man, he added, 'I do not think he will wake again soon.'

  I rose reluctantly. In the few days I had known Torf-Einar, I had grown to like the crusty old crusader. To be honest, Gait, he had breathed an air of excitement into me. Although I had heard tales of the Great Pilgrimage all my life, it always seemed to me something that happened too long ago and far away to interest me. Torf's unexpected appearance awakened the realization that the crusade continued. In far-off lands men were fighting still; in the Holy Land great deeds were still to be done.

  Torf's arrival also awakened questions in my mind. Why did my father regard his brother's appearance with such cool dispassion? I had never known Murdo to be a callous, unfeeling man. Yet, he showed his dying brother scant consideration, or compassion-and not so much as a crumb of curiosity about his life in the East. What had passed between the two of them all those years ago?

  Was it fear I heard in his voice when I asked about the Iron Lance? Or, was it something else?

  After a brief word with Padraig, Abbot Emlyn rose to leave the hall, and I followed him out into the yard, determined to get some answers to my questions.

  THREE

  'I think your uncle will soon be standing before the Throne of Heaven,' Emlyn said when I caught up with him in the yard. 'I do not expect him to last the night. I should tell your father. He will want to know.'

  'It seems to me,' I ventured, 'that my father knows all he wants to of Torf-Einar.'

  The little round abbot regarded me with his quick eyes. 'You think he does not care for his brother,' he replied. 'But you are wrong in that, young Duncan. Murdo cares very much.'

  'He hides it well, then,' I concluded sourly.

  Emlyn stopped in his tracks and faced me. 'There is more to this than you know. Murdo has his reasons for feeling and behaving the way he does. Nor will I tell him how he should feel, or how he should act in this matter.'

  The force with which this was
said surprised me; it took Emlyn aback, too, I think, for he quickly added in a softer tone: 'The wounds were deep at the time. I think Torf's return has reopened them, and they are painful indeed.'

  Accepting his appraisal, I suggested, 'Then maybe it is time those old wounds were healed once and for all. Maybe that is why Torf has come home.'

  Abbot Emlyn began walking again. 'You could be right. Perhaps it is time we…' His voice drifted off as he turned the matter over in his mind.

  I hurried after him. 'What?' I demanded. 'Time for what?'

  He waved me off, saying, 'Leave it with me. I will speak to your father.'

  'And then?' I called after him.

  'And then we shall see what we shall see.'

  The abbot hurried away, and I found myself alone for the moment and with nothing to do-a rare enough circumstance for me. I decided to go and see if Rhona was busy, thinking maybe she would like to ride with me down to the sandy cove below the cliffs south of the bay. Rhona and I had been married for seven years, and in that time had produced three children – two boys, and a girl.

  Sadly, both boys died in the summer of their first year. Only you, Gait, the smallest and scrawniest infant I ever saw, survived to see your second year. It seems so long ago now, but that day the sun was high and the weather dry, and I still had it in mind to have a son one day. It seemed to me a splendid time to make a bairn, or at least to try.

  I found Rhona sitting on a stool outside the storehouse, peeling the outer skins from a bunch of onions. 'To make the dye for Caitriona's new gown,' she announced. Then, seeing my expression, Rhona laughed, and said, 'Did you think I would make you eat them for your supper?'

  'If you cooked them, I would eat them,' I replied.

  'Oh, you would…' she began. Taking the bowl from her lap, I raised her to her feet. 'And what is this you're about?'

  'It is a fine day, my love. Come out with me.'

  'I thought you had work to do at the church.'

  'The stone has not arrived yet, and father can look after the builders. I thought we might ride down to the cove.'

  She stepped closer, holding her head to one side. 'And you think I have nothing better to do than go flitting off with you all day?' I saw the hidden smile playing at her lips. 'It is well other people have plenty to do since the young lord of this manor is an idle scapegrace.'

  'Well,' I sniffed, 'if you do not wish to go, I suppose I could ask one of the serving-maids. Perhaps the one with the soft brown eyes would not spurn an invitation from Lord Murdo's handsome son.'

  'Lord Murdo's handsome son,' she said, her mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. 'I happen to know Bishop Eirik is away to Inbhir Ness on business for the abbey.'

  'Lady,' I said, drawing her close to steal a kiss, 'it was myself I was talking about, not my bookish brother.' I made to kiss her then, but she turned her face and I caught her cheek instead.

  'Not here in the yard where everyone can see!' she gasped, putting her hands on my chest and pushing me gently away.

  'Then come away with me.' I slipped my hands around her slim waist and untied the apron covering her pale green gown. 'The day is beautiful, and so are you. Let us take our pleasure while we may.'

  'Someone has been listening to the Maysingers,' she said, drawing the apron over her head. 'Very well, I will go with you, Duncan Murdosson.' She bent and picked up the bowl of onion husks. 'But I must put these away first.'

  'I will saddle the horses and meet you at the gate,' I said, stealing another kiss and hurrying away.

  The horses were quickly readied and we were soon racing over the gorse- and bracken-covered hills to the south of the estate. The lands of my father's realm are great in extent, but the soil is thin and rocky in most places; also, our vassals are not so numerous as other estates, which means that we must all work the harder to survive. That said, there are good fields and grazing land to the west, and fine fishing in the wide bay between the high, sheltering headlands.

  Banvard has prospered us well enough, and while we may not have possessed the ready wealth of more favoured realms, we nevertheless raised enough in grain and cattle to feed ourselves and our vassals, with plenty left over for gainful trade. From what my mother had told me about her youth in Orkneyjar, it seemed to me that growing up in Caithness was much the same. And, like my father, life in the wild, empty hills suited me.

  Not that we had forsaken Orkney forever. Heaven forbid it! We regularly traded at Kirkjuvagr, and Murdo often took part in the councils there. Once a year, the king held court at Orphir, and we always attended. Though we were Lords of Scotland now, in many ways those low-scattered northern islands still held us in their sway. Indeed, on a crisp day, we can see the Dark Isles across the water; like storm clouds spreading along the horizon, or like a bevy of grey seals, the islands raise their sleek heads from the surrounding sea.

  On the day that Rhona and I rode out, however, my mind was on other things. With the sun on my back, my lovely lady wife by my side, and a good horse under me, my thoughts were on the sweet joy of life itself. I felt the fresh sea air on my face and smelled the damp earth and the flower-sweet scent of green growing things, and the blood ran strong in me.

  We reached the cove, and I tethered the horses at the clifftop where they could get a little grass. Rhona and I climbed down onto the sandy beach where we settled in a sun-warmed hollow in the long sea grass. Rhona untied the bundle she had brought with her and produced a loaf of bread, a lump of cheese, and an apple-all of which I cut up with my knife and shared out between us. After our little meal, we lay back in the hollow and enjoyed the warmth of the sand and sun, and the sound of the lazy waves on the shore. Rhona came readily into my embrace and we abandoned ourselves to our loving, and afterward dozed in one another's arms.

  I awoke with my head upon my wife's breast, and the sun lowering in the west. The tide was lapping around the base of the dune; the shadow of the cliffs had reached our once-sunny hollow, and the air was growing cool. I lifted my head and kissed my lady, and she awoke with a shiver. 'We should be getting back,' I suggested, 'before they send the hounds to find us.'

  'One more kiss, my love,' said Rhona, pulling me close again.

  We dressed quickly, returned to the horses, and rode slowly back to the dun, enjoying the fiery extravagance of a setting sun which set the heavens ablaze with scarlet, purple, and gold.

  Even before reaching the road leading up to the fortress, I knew something was amiss.

  Lashing our mounts to speed, we hastened up the road, through the open gates and into the empty yard. I dismounted and helped Rhona from her saddle; letting the reins dangle, we started for the hall, and were met by Brother Padraig. I took one look at his face, and said, 'Is it over then?'

  'Your uncle died a short while ago,' he answered simply.

  I nodded. 'May God have mercy on his soul,' I whispered, and felt Rhona slip her hand into mine.

  'The lord and lady are with the body now,' Padraig informed us. 'Abbot Emlyn is saying prayers.'

  'Poor soul,' sighed Rhona. 'Was anyone with him when he died?'

  'I was at his bedside, my lady,' the monk answered. 'He did not awaken from his sleep. I thought to rouse him at sunset to give him a drink of the potion, but his spirit had flown.'

  We went in to find a veritable crowd around the dead man's bed – serving-men and maids mostly, a few vassals, and half a dozen monks in attendance with Emlyn. They were standing with their heads bowed, hands folded, as the good abbot softly intoned the prayers for the soul of the newly departed. Rhona and I came to stand behind the monks, and listened until Emlyn concluded his prayer, whereupon the brothers arranged themselves in order around the dead man's bed, raised it, and began carrying it from the hall.

  Moving to my father's side, I said, 'I am sorry he's gone. I cannot help feeling we should have done more for him.'

  Murdo shook his head. 'He wanted nothing from us in his life, but to be allowed to die in peace. As he asked, so he
was given.' He appeared about to say more, but turned away abruptly, following the monks out into the yard.

  My mother laid her hand on my sleeve as she passed by. 'There is an end to all things,' she whispered, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. 'Let this also end.'

  I wondered at her words, and would have asked her what she meant, but she moved on quickly, and Rhona came up beside me. 'It is sad,' she sighed.

  'Only a few days ago, no one cared whether he was alive or dead,' I reminded her. 'Nothing much has changed.'

  Rhona looked sideways at me. 'But everything has changed,' she said.

  Women, I think, feel these things differently. I do not pretend to understand them.

  Torf's body was taken to the nearby monastery where it was washed and wrapped in a shroud of clean linen, and prepared for burial. I had long heard it said-and now know it to be true-that the Roman Church is bereft in the face of death. The rites attending a soul's passing are solemn and severe; the Roman priests make no effort to lighten the burden of grief to be borne by the mourners. It is almost as if they view death as a punishment for the audacity of having accepted the Gifting Giver's boon of life, or as the sorry and inevitable end of sinful flesh.

  The Cele De, however, see in death a friend whom the All Wise has entrusted with delivering his children from the pain and travail of mortal existence into the eternal paradise of his gracious kingdom. When bodies and hearts become too sick or broken to go on, Brother Death comes to lead the suffering spirit away to its rightful home. Accordingly, this journey is accompanied with laments and dirges for those left behind, but with songs of praise and happiness also for the one who has gone ahead.

  While the body was being prepared for burial, Murdo determined that a grave should be dug in the corner of the churchyard. Although, as he said, Torf-Einar had not been one of the Lord's better sheep, he was still a member of the flock. I offered to help with this chore, but my father would not have it any other way but that he should dig the grave himself.