'It was a Friday, as we know, and when the scribes and Pharisees began clamouring that the execution must be completed before sun had set – for it is an abomination to the Jews for a criminal to be killed on the Sabbath-one of this young centurion's soldiers offered to break the legs of the condemned men so as to hasten their deaths.'

Emlyn, warming to his tale, began to embellish the telling, and Murdo came under the spell of the monk's voice as he had so many times aboard the ship. As the priest related the events of long ago, Murdo, tramping through the heat and dust on his way to the Holy City, began to feel the awful oppression of that black day. For the first time in his life it seemed to him more than merely a story.

'Well now,' the monk continued, 'this is the way of it: the centurion sees the Jews growing more agitated as the day wastes away. Wishing to avoid any further trouble, he agrees to end the criminals' suffering, and the order is duly given. "Break their legs," he says. The command is duly carried out, but when the soldier with the hammer comes to Jesu, he observes that Our Lord is already dead. "How can this be?" they say. "There has not been enough time." Death by crucifixion is seldom swift, you see, and it is far from painless. I have heard it said that such a death can often take several days-days of unbearable agony before the wretch succumbs and breathes his last.

"Do not touch him! He is dead already!" some declare. "No!" shout others. "He has only fainted. Revive him, and you will see!"

'The crowd begins to argue. "Did you not hear him scream his death agony? He is dead."

"No, no, he is alive still. Break his legs. Kill him!"

'The bloody execution of three men is not enough for them. They begin to fight amongst themselves. Longinus, striving to keep order, decides to settle the matter once and for all. Taking up his spear, he steps to the foot of the cross, and calls for silence. Then up thrusts the spear! Up! Up under the Blessed Saviour's ribs and into his heart. Water and blood gush from the wound. Everyone sees, and knows beyond all doubt the Son of the Living God is dead.'

The round-faced priest fell silent for a moment, and Murdo realized they had both stopped walking, and that he had been holding his breath waiting for the monk to continue. He exhaled, and the two resumed their march.

'Well, and well,' Emlyn sighed, his voice taking on a weight of sadness, 'they take Our Jesu down from the cross and lay him in the tomb lent by Joseph of Arimathea, a rich merchant of the city and a secret follower of the Christ. But the enemies of God are not finished yet. No sooner is the body wrapped in a winding shroud and taken away by the mourners than the venomous Pharisees seek audience with Governor Pilate. They rush in to the governor, saying, "This man you have killed-the ignorant people believe him to be a very great magician. Indeed, he has often been heard to boast how he will rise again from the dead."

'Does Pilate encourage their invidious intrigues? No, he does not! The governor wishes only to eat his supper in peace. "Is this so?" he replies. "Well then, we shall see what manner of man he was. Be gone! I want nothing more to do with you."

'But the Pharisees will not leave him alone. "It is not so easy as that," they say, "would that it were! No, you see, we have overheard a plot by some of this criminal's followers who are planning to steal the body from the tomb tonight. If they should succeed they would be able to boast that he has risen from the grave. Think of the trouble they could make."

"Let them do what they like," growls Pilate, growing angry at last – he has lost a night's sleep to bad dreams and a painful conscience. "Whatever they say will be shown to be a lie and that will be the end of it. They are nothing but fishermen and shepherds. You make them more than they are."

' "Oh, to be so confident and trusting," marvel the sly Pharisees. "Alas, the truth is that these are very dangerous men who will stop at nothing. What is more, they have gained the sympathy of the rabble. Think what will happen when these brigands begin spreading their falsehoods among the people. There could be riots-and worse. We are only thinking of your position, O Mighty Governor. Of course, all this could be easily avoided."

"What would you suggest?" asks Pilate, hearing the voice of the serpent hissing in his ear.

‘ "Place a cohort of your excellent soldiers around the tomb for a few days," the wicked Pharisees advise. "The outlaws would not dare try their devious tricks with Roman legionaries guarding the tomb."

'Pilate, watching his supper growing cold, extracts a promise. "If I send the soldiers, do I have your assurance that you will trouble me no more with your petty plots and conspiracies? Will you, in fact, show me the same measure of support you insist upon for yourselves?"

'The Jews pretend to be aghast at the suggestion that they have ever been anything other than loyal citizens of the empire, but they agree nevertheless, and the soldiers are sent out to guard the tomb-the same soldiers, as it happens, that conducted the crucifixion. Longinus is in command, and the centurion is there, standing guard with his men, when the earth shakes and the tomb opens wide to release its captive.

'Soon the whole world learns of the resurrection. Can anyone stop the sun from rising? Longinus, witness at the tomb, becomes a believer, and word of what he saw on that glorious morning spreads like fire through the dry tinder of the jaded legions. Whenever the centurion encounters anyone who doubts the veracity of his testimony, faithful Longinus produces the iron lance: "With this spear, I pierced his heart," he tells them. "Two days later, that same man walked out of the tomb. I was there. I saw it."

'Many years pass, and a church is erected over the site of the tomb, and Longinus' spear is placed inside the tomb for pilgrims to see and, seeing, believe in the Eternal Truth. Alas, Jerusalem fell to the Saracens,' Emlyn concluded, 'and the spear was lost in the terrible desecrations that followed.'

Murdo, enthralled by the tale, could not help asking, 'What did become of the spear?'

'Some say it was carried off into Egypt; others say it found its way to Baghdat as a trinket for the Caliph. I have even heard that it was destroyed – its iron melted down and made into a chain for Christian slaves. But no one really knew.'

'If no one knew what happened to it,' Murdo said, doubt creeping into his question, 'how did they know to look for it in Antioch?'

'Truly, no one knew,' Emlyn assured him. 'They had to be shown.'

'Who showed them?' demanded Murdo, openly suspicious once again. After all, if somebody showed the crusaders where to look, then somebody knew.

'No, no, no,' the monk protested. 'You are getting the wrong idea here. This is the way of it, you see -'

'How do you know?' Murdo said. 'None of us were there.'

'Teh!' chided the monk. 'How do I know? Have I not already told you? I talked to the priests. I also talked to men who were there -men who helped raise the siege and fought to regain the city. I listened to what they said, and now I am telling you. What is so difficult about that?'

Murdo grunted, but made no further protest.

'By your leave, O Head of Wisdom, I continue. This is the way of it: no sooner was Antioch liberated, than the enemy tried to recapture it. Sultan Kerbogha-the Seljuq chieftain of this region -gathered his armies and those of his vassal lords, and together they surrounded the city. Four days after marching through the gates in victory, our brother crusaders were trapped inside the very walls they had just freed from the enemy. Why, they had not even time enough to replenish the stores of grain and water depleted by their own long siege.