Kneeling down, he reached into a stone-lined cavity and pulled out a long, thin bundle bound in leather which he brought to the table, and began unwrapping. Eirik and I gathered close to see what it could be, and Emlyn stepped to the table, standing with his hands clasped, a look of rapture on his round face.

Beneath the leather was a layer of fine linen, and beneath that, another. My heart beat fast as the last wrap was pulled away to reveal… a length of old, pitted iron, crooked with age and ruddy-tinted with rust. From the way both Murdo and Emlyn reverenced the object, I could see that it was a very valuable -nay, sacred-thing; but for the life of me I could not imagine what made it so. I beheld the slender rod and my heart sank. This? This is the great secret they had protected these many years?

Eirik, on the other hand, appeared dumbstruck. He gave out a gasp and went down on his knees, raising his hands and closing his eyes. He then lowered his face to the floor and lay there in an attitude of prayer. For his part, Murdo merely gazed on the object in silent wonder.

'What is it?' I asked at last.

My father glanced at Emlyn. The abbot stretched out his hand and held it flat above the thing, and said, 'Behold! The Iron Lance.'

I looked at it again. Less than a span in length, and bowed in the middle, it had an ugly stub of a blade at one end and a small hole at the other. Could this bit of scrap which I had taken for a fragment of broken hearthware-a piece of a spit for roasting meat, say – could it be the selfsame spear which had pierced the Blessed Saviour's side?

'If that is so,' I replied, 'I wonder that the emperor himself is not camped outside our walls at this very moment. Or, that the pope in Rome has not made pilgrimage to pay homage.'

'Watch your tongue, boy,' warned Murdo. 'You stand very close to blasphemy, and I will not hear it.'

Emlyn put out a conciliatory hand, and said, 'You promised to tell them everything.' Turning to me, he said, 'A simple explanation will soon set your mind at ease, Duncan. The reason we are left in peace with this inestimable treasure is that neither the pope nor the emperor – nor anyone else in Christendom-knows we possess the Holy Lance. For all the world knows, the sacred relic resides in the treasury at Constantinople.'

'That is what Torf-Einar believed,' I confirmed. 'He told me that he was there the day Prince Bohemond gave the lance to the emperor's envoy. He said he saw it with his own eyes.'

'Many people were there that day,' the abbot assured me. 'I was one of them. Oh, yes. I was standing on the quay in Jaffa harbour when Bohemond arrived. And I, too, saw him give the Sacred Lance to the emperor's envoy, Dalassenus.'

Murdo allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. 'People do not always see what they think they see,' he said and, taking up the jar, he poured out some ale then emptied the bowl. He then explained how this had come to be. That night he revealed his long-kept secret to us-as he will tell you, little Cait, when you are older.

'Why have you never spoken of this till now?' I asked when he finished.

'If you had seen half of what I saw in Jerusalem,' Murdo replied, 'you would not ask.'

'Terrible it was!' cried Abbot Emlyn. 'Like wolves loosed among lambs, they gorged themselves on the blood of the helpless. Their greed knew no restraint-and what they could not carry off, they destroyed.' The good abbot, almost shaking with disgust, bent his head and concluded sorrowfully, 'They broke their vows and disgraced themselves before God and man. They had the chance to show the world the benevolence of true Christians. Instead of presenting themselves the best of men, they behaved as the very worst.'

After a moment, he said, 'This makes the task of the Cele De all the more precious and important.'

'Perhaps,' suggested Eirik, 'that is why the White Priest is coming to make this his home.'

'No doubt,' reflected Murdo. 'No doubt syou are right about that.'

He placed his hand reverently on the Holy Lance, then picked it up and handed it to me. My fingers closed on the length of old iron; it was cold to the touch, as you might expect, and slightly heavier than it appeared. Beyond that, there was nothing at all remarkable about it. I passed the ancient weapon to Eirik, who bowed his head as he received it, and said a prayer. When he finished, we bound the sacred relic in its linen and leather wrappings, and replaced it in its hiding place beneath the floor.

That night, I could not sleep for thinking about the strangeness of the tale I had heard. All my life I had lived in that house, and never once suspected it concealed one of the holiest objects the world has ever known. What is more, I had touched it and held it in my hands. I thought about the Western noblemen, their greed and wickedness, and the insufferable arrogance of the pope, blithely sending so many thousands to their graves. As I lay sleepless, thinking these thoughts, there kindled in me a righteous rage that such faithless men should hold sway over the poor and humble in their care.

Then, as restless night gave way to placid dawn, I conceived the plan which, for better or worse, has led me to my fate.

I told no one of my plan. I wanted to live with the decision for a time to let it grow, and ripen if it would. On the whole, it is best not to rush headlong into schemes hatched in the dead of night. Daylight so often reveals the cracks that charmed night conceals, and I had no wish to be foolhardy.

Thus, I went about my work in the usual way, and no one was the wiser. Eirik resumed his circuit; Niniane joined the retinue this time, and Abbot Emlyn undertook a journey to Orkneyjar. Murdo threw himself into the building work, making himself and everyone around him busy dawn to dusk. We went about our chores amiably, but never speaking of the things he had revealed that night, or the marvellous treasure hidden in the centre of the house.

The days began to dull, and the nights to lengthen. Work on the new church slowed as, more often than not, the labourers had to finish the day's work by torchlight. Some of the masons would stay on with us through the winter to keep the worst ravages of gale and ice from undoing their efforts; others, however, were growing anxious to return to their homes in the south. They watched the skies and when Orkney's geese started flying, they flew, too.

Murdo had agreed to transport any who wished to leave to Inbhir Ness where they could get ships to take them home to Eoforwik. I went along, mostly to help with the boat on the return; while one man may sail a boat, it is easier with two, and my lord is very particular about his boat.

With Sarn Short-Finger at the tiller, we made good speed down the coast. It had been some time since I was last in Inbhir Ness, and I looked forward to getting any news I could – especially of the Holy Land. Since the weather was fair, and appeared likely to remain that way for a few days, I convinced Sarn to stay a day in the town. He agreed it would be no bad thing and, once we had seen the stone masons settled aboard a ship leaving that night, we walked along the harbour and talked to the sailors.

I found no one who had any word of the Holy Land, but the harbour master said we might pay a call at one of the drinking halls fronting the quayside. This we did, but with no better result. No one knew anything. After our second hall and third bowl of ale, Sarn asked, 'Why do you want to know about the Holy Land?'

'Have you never been curious, Sarn?'

'I was once,' he replied thoughtfully. 'I wanted to know where the badger cub went.' He held out his hand and I saw that his middle finger was shorter than the others. 'I found out, and I was never curious after that.' He was quiet for a moment, then added, 'That is why the sea is better: no badgers.'