"Neither," replied Gwilym happily. "Our home is Ty Gwyn, but lately we have spent some years at Menevia and Bangor-ys-Coed."

"Indeed," I replied. "I did not know the book was also being readied there."

"It was not," answered Brynach. "We learned of the book too late to be of material service in that part of the enterprise."

Again, my senses pricked to the suggestion of an alternate purpose for the journey-a purpose which many seemed to know. "You seem well apprised of these matters," I suggested. "Am I right in thinking that you are among those chosen for the travelling party?"

"We are, yes," Brynach affirmed.

"But you are not scribes," I blurted in surprise. "Forgive me, that did not sound as I meant it. I mean no disrespect."

"Be at ease, brother," tutted Gwilym. "Truth is a constant delight to those that love her; such beauty holds no power to offend."

"The truth is," Brynach confided, "we are not scribes. And yet, the Great King, in his infinite wisdom, has seen fit to include us in your exalted company. I hope you will accept us also." He made a little bow of his head, and put an amiable hand on the tall man's shoulder. "Gwilym, here, is an artisan for whom gold and precious stones were especially created." The monk inclined his head in easy acknowledgement of the compliment.

Brynach turned to the black-haired youth. "Ah, and this stripling you see before you is a leighean of rare and extraordinary gifts."

"My family have been physicians for seven generations," Ddewi explained, speaking for the first time. "And I am the seventh son of my father, who was also a seventh son." His voice and manner were quiet, hinting at unseen depths.

"Alas," said Brynach, "I myself claim no such talents or abilities enjoyed by my brothers here. My sole occupation has ever been study, and now I find I am no longer fit for anything else."

Although his modesty was genuine, I doubted that he would have been chosen if he were as humble as he professed. Before I could enquire of him further, however, he said, "Now then, Aidan, they tell me you are the finest scribe Kells can boast-"

"And not only scribe, but scholar too," put in Gwilym.

"Kells does indeed maintain many fine scribes," I allowed, "and it is true that I am one of them-albeit, the youngest and least experienced of all. My own contribution to the book is but small when compared to that of Brocmal and Libir and some others."

"But your pen has touched the blessed book," Gwilym said. "Your hands have laboured over it. I wish I could say as much."

Brynach nodded as if this were his life's highest ambition. All three glanced at one another; a sign must have passed between them, for the monk leaned near, as if to confide a secret. "May I tell you something?" he asked.

"Of course, Brother Brynach," I said.

"Those I choose to be my friends call me Bryn," he said, and motioned me nearer.

I put my head close to his, but before he could speak further, Brother Diarmot appeared. "I trust our brother has extended to you the abbey's welcome," he said stiffly. "I would not like to think he has been remiss in his duty to you, our long-awaited visitors."

Brynach pulled himself upright once more and the smile reappeared instantly. "Have no fear for our sake," he replied smoothly. "We have been made more than welcome."

"Indeed," put in Gwilym, "it is as if we had never left home."

"I am Brother Diarmot, and I am at your service. If you are hungry, it would be my pleasure to bring you something to eat."

"Thank you, brother," replied Brynach. "But no."

"Something to drink perhaps?" pressed Diarmot. He looked at me and smiled thinly. "I would have thought Aidan had offered, but I am happy to serve."

"Well," said Gwilym, "I might be tempted with some more of that excellent ale which we drank at last night's table."

"Of course," said Diarmot. "Aidan and I will bring the cups. It is the least we can do for our guests."

"Please, allow me to help you," said Gwilym rising quickly.

"No, no," replied Diarmot adamantly. "You are our guests. I could not possibly allow you to fetch your own drink. Aidan will help me."

The stubborn Diarmot loomed over me like a threat, so I rose and followed him to the kitchen to fill a jar while he found the cups. When we returned to the board, other monks had joined the three Britons, and I did not have another chance to speak to them alone. All the rest of the day I watched and waited for an opportunity, but events did not yield the desired result.

I retired to my cell that night aching with curiosity, frustrated, and resentful of Diarmot for his ill-chanced intrusion. Before sleeping, I prayed Christ's forgiveness for disliking Diarmot, and lay for a long time wondering what Brynach had been about to tell me.

Climbing the hillside in the predawn darkness, we ascend like Christ, rising from the valley of death. We huddle on the hilltop, as if shivering in the grave's cold grip, awaiting resurrection's true, unfailing light. We wait in silence, faces turned to the east, whence comes the Saving Word. Away beyond the rim of the world, daylight gathers its strength, growing and growing, until at last-the powers of darkness unable to restrain it any longer-it bursts forth in a glorious life-giving blaze. Rises up the sun victorious, Sol Invictus, renewed like Christ resurrected, as shall all men be in the Last Day. As the first golden rays ignite the heavens, we draw breath and raise our voices to the Golden Throne, "Alleluia! Hosanna! Glory to God in the Highest Heaven! Alleluia!"

Led by the Bishop of Hy with cambutta upraised, we made procession down the hill, singing the Gloria as we went. With so many guests and visitors, there was not room inside the church for everyone so, as the day was fair, the first part of the mass was conducted under the roof of Heaven. The various parts of the mass were observed: the Gradual, followed by the reading of the Gospel, and the Credo, Psalms and Offertory.

During the prayers, the visitors knelt in the yard, and then rose to form double ranks at the door for the procession of the Host and Chalice to the altar. Bishop Cadoc, aided by the abbot, continued the Service of the Sacraments at the altar. I was among those who stood outside the church, but we had no difficulty hearing. Cadoc's fine voice carried into the yard and beyond the abbey walls.

"Quanda canitus:" the bishop called as he offered the Chalice to God, "accepit Jesu panem…"

We knelt in the glow of the Easter morning sun as our hearts warmed to the love of God. One by one, we entered the church and proceeded to the altar where we received the sacraments from the bishop's hand, returning to our places for the benediction.

It was a fine and joyful service. When it finished, we sang until the bell rang terse, whereupon Abbot Fraoch invited all our visitors to share our feast.

"Jesu is alive!" he rasped, raising his voice above its normal whisper. "Rejoice and be glad, my friends, for all who trust in Christ have eternal life. And as we will one day gather in Heaven's Great Hall, let us enjoy the blessings of God's rich bounty this good Easter day-a foretaste of the Feast of the Lamb."

With those words, the celebration began. To accommodate all our visitors, we hauled benches and boards from the refectory and placed them in the yard. Women from the settlements helped the cooks and kitcheners bestrew these with foods of all kinds: brown bread baked into special Eastertide loaves-round, with the shape of the cross cut in the top; cold boiled eggs-symbol of life's potency and promise; salmon and pike-fresh, salted, and smoked-on wooden trenchers; mussels and oysters; ground meal and pine kernels cooked in milk with egg and honey; roast turnips in steaming heaps; huge cauldrons of lamb stew; pork and beef and mutton roasted with fennel and onions and garlic; goose in herbed sauce; hare stuffed with sweet chestnuts; cockerels stuffed with corn and sage; larks in elderberry; compotes of plums and raspberries and apples; and much else besides.