As it happens, Padraig is Emlyn's nephew-the son of his only sister – a thoughtful, well-meaning monk, despite the fact that he grew up in Eire. Our good abb has children of his own, of course: two daughters-one of whom lives with her husband's kinfolk south of Caithness, near Inbhir Ness. The other, Niniane, is a priest herself, as gentle and wise as her father, and who, through no fault of her own, has the very great misfortune to be married to my brother, Eirik.

Now then, it is well known that the Cele De are wonderfully wise in all things touching the healing arts. They are adept at preparing medicines of surpassing potency and virtue. Brother Padraig set to work at the hearth and in a short while had brewed an elixir which he spooned into the dying man's mouth. This he repeated at intervals through the night, and by morning-wonder of wonders-Torf-Einar was awake once more.

He was still very weak, and it was clear he would not recover. But he was resting much easier now, and the fire had left his eyes. He seemed |more at peace as I greeted him. I asked him if there was anything he would like that I could get for him.

'Nay,' he said, his voice hollow and rough, 'unless you can get me a piece of the Black Rood for my confession. Nothing else will do me any good.'

'What is this Black Rood?' I asked. 'If there is any of it nearby, I am certain my father can get it for you.'

This brought a smile to Torf's cracked lips. He shook his head weakly. 'I doubt you will find it,' he croaked. 'There are but four pieces in all the world, and two of those are lost forever.'

This rare thing intrigued me. 'But what is it, and what has it to do with your confession?'

'Never heard of the True Cross?' He regarded me hazily.

'Of course I have heard of that,' I told him. 'Everyone has heard of that.'

'One and the same, boy, one and the same. The Black Rood is just another name for the True Cross.'

This made no sense to me. 'If that is so, why is it called black?' I asked, suspicious of his explanation. 'And why is it in so many pieces?'

Torf merely smiled, and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. 'If I am to tell you that,' he replied, 'I must have a drop to wet my throat.'

Turning to Brother Padraig, who had just entered the hall and was approaching the sick man's pallet, I said, 'He is asking for ale. May I give him some?'

'A little ale might do him some good,' replied the monk. 'At least,' he shrugged, 'it will do him no harm.'

While the cleric set about making up some more of his elixir, I went to the kitchen to fetch the ale, returning with a stoup and bowl. Placing the stoup on the floor, I dipped out a bowlful, and gave it to Torf, who guzzled it down greedily. He drank another before he was ready to commence his explanation.

'So,' he said, sinking back onto his pallet, 'why is the rood called black, you ask? And I say because it is black-old and black, it is.'

'And why is it in so many pieces?'

'Because Baldwin had it divided up,' replied Torf with a dry chuckle.

I was about to ask him why this Baldwin should have done such a thing, but Abbot Emlyn entered the hall just then to see how the sick man had fared the night. I think he was expecting to see a corpse, and instead found Torf sitting up and talking with me. After a brief word with Padraig, he came and sat down beside the sickbed. 'It seems that God has blessed us with your company a little longer, my friend,' Emlyn said.

'It will not be God,' Torf replied, 'but the devil himself who drags me under.'

'Never say it,' chided Emlyn, shaking his head gently. 'You are not so far from God's blessing, my friend. Of that I am certain.'

Torf's lips curled in a vicious sneer. 'Pah! I am not afraid. I did as I pleased, and I am ready to pay the ferryman what is owed. Get you gone, priest, I won't be shriven.'

'As you say,' allowed Emlyn, 'but know that I will remain near and I will do whatever may be done to ease your passing.'

Torf frowned, and I thought he might send Emlyn away with a curse, so I spoke up quickly, saying, 'My uncle was just about to tell me how the True Cross was cut into pieces.'

'Is this so?' wondered Emlyn.

'Indeed so,' answered Torf.

'Then what I have heard is true;' said the abbot, 'the Holy Cross of Christ has been found.'

'Aye, they found it,' answered Torf, 'and I was there.' I noticed the light come up in his eyes and he seemed to rise to his tale.

'Extraordinary!' murmured Emlyn softly.

'Godfrey it was who found the cross-in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,' Torf told us. 'He had gone with his chaplain and some priests to pray. It was after the western lords had begun returning home, leaving only Godfrey, Baldwin, and Bohemond in the Holy Land to defend Jerusalem. Well, Bohemond had sailed for Constantinople with the emperor's envoy, bearing the Holy Lance into Greek captivity. Baldwin was preparing to return to Edessa, and we were all eager to go with him, for he had said he would begin apportioning the land he had promised his noblemen.'

'Some of this I know,' mused Emlyn, nodding to himself.

'Aye, well, the night before we were to leave Jerusalem, word came to us that al-Afdal, the Vizier of Egypt, had landed ships at Ascalon, and that fifty thousand Saracens were marching for Jerusalem. Rather than allow them to put the city under siege, Godfrey decided to meet them on the road before they could raise help from the defeated Turks. Taken together, Godfrey's troops and Baldwin's amounted to fewer than seven thousand, and of those only five hundred were knights. The rest were footmen.

'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!"