'We have been waiting all day,' Murdo said bluntly, accepting the clothes.

'I thought it best to wait until nightfall,' the elder priest replied, 'when I knew the beast would not be needed.'

'You stole it!'

'Borrowed it, yes,' corrected Ronan. 'As it says in the Holy Scriptures: As they approached the Mount of Olives, Jesu sent two of his disciples ahead saying, "In the village ahead, you will find a camel tied there. Untie it and bring it to me, and if anyone should ask what you are about, tell them the Lord has need of it, and he will give it to you right away." I simply obeyed the Good Lord.' The priest glanced at the sky to reckon the time. 'Still, it would be best for us if the animal was found in its place by morning.'

'But I am going to Edessa to find my brothers,' Murdo declared.

'As to that, I have had a better thought,' Ronan replied. 'For now, get you dressed while the brothers and I secure the treasure.'

The priest hurried away again, leaving Murdo to stew. He quickly shrugged off Emlyn's mantle, and pulled on the clothes Ronan had brought for him – a pair of breecs, with a wide cloth belt, and an ample siarc of a fine, lightweight material, much like the flowing robes favoured by the inhabitants of the region. There were no boots or shoes, but he could not have worn them anyway. While he dressed, the others busied themselves with loading the treasure.

The work was swiftly done, and Ronan hastened to where Murdo was wrapping the belt around his waist. 'Come, we will get you onto the camel's back.'

Murdo regarded the ramshackle creature dubiously. 'I can walk,' he insisted.

'Your stubbornness does you no credit,' Ronan said firmly. 'You will ride, and that is the end of it.'

Together Emlyn and Fionn hefted Murdo onto the front part of the yoke-shaped frame; he perched on the top, his feet dangling either side of the camel's long neck, the treasure bundles bound either side of the saddle behind him.

Stepping to the head of the camel, the senior cleric said, 'Hist! Hist!' The sleeping animal awoke, tossed its head, and stood, unfolding itself awkwardly and shaking its burden from side to side. Ronan, holding tight to the rein rope, pulled hard and the beast gave out a dreadful blaring blat. 'Hist!' said Ronan sharply. The camel blatted again, but turned and started slowly down the hill towards the trail. Murdo held tight to the wooden pommel with both hands as the animal lurched along, its ungraceful swaying threatening to throw off its reluctant passenger with every step.

They reached the trail and turned towards the city. 'Now will you tell me where we are going?' asked Murdo; he had begun to get the rhythm of the creature's jerking undulations.

'Gladly,' answered the priest. 'While searching around the city today, I learned of a monastery nearby-it is outside the walls, so it escaped pillage. I think we will find the good brothers eager to help.'

'A monastery,' grumbled Murdo. He could see the thing drifting from bad to worse. 'How can that possibly help us?'

'Catacumbae,' said Ronan.

Murdo recognized the word as Latin, but could not recall its meaning, and begged an explanation.

'Often in the East,' explained the elder monk, 'the faithful dead are buried in underground chambers. We can bury our secret there, and the good brothers will watch over it.'

Murdo remained unconvinced. Nothing was further from his mind than leaving the treasure in the care of a monastery full of thieving priests. 'And who will watch the monks so they do not steal it?'

'Have a little faith, Murdo,' answered the monk. 'All will be well.'

Murdo drew no comfort from this vague assurance, but lacked the will to argue the matter further. He settled dejectedly against the unyielding hump behind him, and watched the shadows for thieves. Soon the path met a wider way, and they continued on until the road diverged, whereupon they took the southern track and soon were passing beneath the city walls.

Outside the Jaffa Gate they passed a great smouldering mound.

The embers crackled, sending sparks upwards from the glowing pile. Even from a distance, Murdo could feel the heat on his face and hands, and in amongst the flaming coals he saw human skulls -heaped and jumbled one atop another, skulls by the hundreds, and all of them gaping at him with empty-eyed malice. He imagined the heat he felt was that of their rage at the depravity which had stolen their lives. Unable to face them, he turned his eyes away.

The furtive party proceeded along the western wall towards the cragged hump of Mount Zion rising above the Hinnom valley. Upon reaching the southwestern corner of the wall, the dirt track divided once more: the main strand led away towards Bethlehem and Hebron, and the other bent slightly to the east to begin its winding ascent of the mount.

As they approached the Holy Mountain, Murdo could see the pale glimmer of white-washed buildings gleaming in the moonlight, the largest of which had a dome surmounted by a cross. A moment later, they stopped. 'There is someone on the road,' Ronan said, his voice hushed and low. He pointed to a place where the road ahead bent to the left as it rose towards the mount. 1 think they are coming this way.'

'We should get off the road until they pass by,' Murdo said, looking around. Unfortunately, apart from a few small thorn bushes scattered about, the hillside was barren. There was no place to hide.

The priests saw this, too. 'We will have to trust to God for our protection,' Ronan concluded. 'Come, brothers, a prayer for safe passage.' The three began to pray at once, chanting softly. Murdo continued to search the hillside for a hiding place.

Meanwhile, the strangers came nearer and, seeing the wagon, hastened to meet it. Closer, Murdo saw that there were eight or ten of them-some with swords, and some with spears-and, from the way they stumbled and reeled, he guessed most of them were drunk. Murdo braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.

'You there!' shouted the nearest of the warriors. 'Stay where you are!'

Several of his fellows ran to block the path, even though the camel had already stopped.

The priests made no move, but continued to pray until the soldiers had gathered around them. 'Pax Vobiscum,' said Ronan, not unkindly. 'It is late and you are not abed,' he pointed out in ready Latin. 'Or perhaps you rise early to avoid travelling in the heat of the day.'

Some of the soldiers glanced at one another and shrugged. Others exchanged gruff words in a language Murdo did not understand. Four of the men, he saw now, carried leather bags on their backs, which they swung to the ground as soon as they stopped. By this Murdo knew the bags were heavy with plunder, and the men would not hesitate to add his treasure to their own. He looked down beside his leg, and saw the hilt of his father's sword protruding from under one of the shroud-bound bundles. One quick move and he could have it in his hand.

'Does no one among you speak Latin?' inquired Ronan.

The group muttered menacingly, shifting from foot to foot and grasping their weapons. When no one made to reply, the priest repeated the question in Gaelic. He was on the point of repeating it again, when a figure stepped forth from behind the others. 'I speak a little,' the man said, observing the priests coldly. Turning his attention to the camel, Murdo saw a man of hard countenance; suspicion flowed from him in waves, and lifted the corner of his lip in a sneer. 'What have you got there?'

Indicating the bundles, Ronan said, 'Our dear brother, Lord Ranulf of Orkney, has died from wounds received in Jerusalem.'

The man frowned. 'What about the others?'

'Lord Ranulf had three sons,' the priest explained. 'All were pilgrims like yourself. We are on our way to the Church of Saint Mary. Do you know the place?'