'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!"
'Godfrey hears this and calls for order to be restored. He says, "It has pleased God to deliver this most sacred relic into our hands as a sign of his good pleasure in the restoring of his Holy City. As we have kept faith with God, so God has kept faith with us. The enemies of Christ are even now marching against us," cries Godfrey, his voice shaking with righteous rage. "I say this cross-this Black Rood-shall go before us into battle. From this day forth, it shall be the emblem of Jerusalem's defenders, so that those who raise sword against us shall know that Christ himself leads his holy army to victory against the enemies of our faith."
'The monks begin chanting: "Rejoice, O nations, with God's people! For He will avenge the blood of his servants; He will take vengeance on his enemies, and make atonement for his land." And that is how it began…' So saying, Torf slumped back, exhausted by the effort.
I stared at him in amazement that he should recall so much of what happened that day long ago. Brother Padraig, who had crept near to hear the tale, motioned to me to fill the bowl again. I poured the ale, and held the bowl to the sick man's lips. Torf drank and revived somewhat.
'Rest now,' suggested Emlyn. 'We will talk again when you are feeling better.'
A bitter smile twisted Torf-Einar's lips. 'I will never feel better than I do now,' he whispered. 'Anyway, there is little more to say. We rode out from Jerusalem the next day, and met the Arabs on the road from Ascalon two days later. They were not expecting us to attack, and had not yet formed a proper invasion force. Two knights carried the cross between them, and Godfrey led the charge. We fell upon al-Afdal's confused army and scattered them to the winds. We routed the infidel, and sent them flying back to their ships.'
Torf drank some more, and pushed the bowl away. 'That was the first time the Black Rood went before us into battle, but it was not the last.' He shook his head, almost sadly. 'Not the last, by God.'
'How did the Holy Cross come to be cut into pieces?' I asked.
He turned his head to look at me, and I saw that the light of life was growing dim in his eyes. 'Godfrey did it. When the troops saw that victory was assured whenever the cross was carried into battle, they refused to fight unless it went before them.' He swallowed and closed his eyes. 'But the Turks and Saracens were relentless and the cross could not be everywhere at once.'
'So, he cut it up,' I surmised.
Torf gave the ghost of a nod. 'What else could he do? I swear that man never looked further ahead than the length of his own two feet. With everyone clamouring for a piece of the relic, Godfrey commanded that it should be cut in half.'
'The priests let him do this?' wondered Emlyn in dismay.
'Aye, the priests helped him do it,' said Torf, his voice growing thin and watery. 'The Patriarch of Jerusalem objected, but Godfrey convinced him in the end.'
'You said they cut it into four parts,' I pointed out, remembering what he had told me before.
This brought a flicker of irritation from Torf, who opened an eye and said, 'They sent one half to the church at Antioch to replace the Iron Lance which had been taken by the emperor. This was to be used by the armies in the north. The second half was kept in Jerusalem to be used in southern battles.'
'Over the years those two pieces became four,' surmised the abbot. 'It is not difficult to see how this could happen.'
'You said that only two remain,' I pointed out. 'What happened to the others?'
Torf sighed heavily. The long talk was taxing his failing strength. 'One piece was given to the emperor, and the other two have fallen into the hands of the heathen infidel.' He sighed again, his voice growing softer. 'I cannot say more.'
After awhile he drifted away. I thought he had died, but Brother Padraig pressed an ear to his chest and said, 'He sleeps.' Regarding the dying man, he added, 'I do not think he will wake again soon.'
I rose reluctantly. In the few days I had known Torf-Einar, I had grown to like the crusty old crusader. To be honest, Gait, he had breathed an air of excitement into me. Although I had heard tales of the Great Pilgrimage all my life, it always seemed to me something that happened too long ago and far away to interest me. Torf's unexpected appearance awakened the realization that the crusade continued. In far-off lands men were fighting still; in the Holy Land great deeds were still to be done.
Torf's arrival also awakened questions in my mind. Why did my father regard his brother's appearance with such cool dispassion? I had never known Murdo to be a callous, unfeeling man. Yet, he showed his dying brother scant consideration, or compassion-and not so much as a crumb of curiosity about his life in the East. What had passed between the two of them all those years ago?
Was it fear I heard in his voice when I asked about the Iron Lance? Or, was it something else?
After a brief word with Padraig, Abbot Emlyn rose to leave the hall, and I followed him out into the yard, determined to get some answers to my questions.
THREE
'I think your uncle will soon be standing before the Throne of Heaven,' Emlyn said when I caught up with him in the yard. 'I do not expect him to last the night. I should tell your father. He will want to know.'
'It seems to me,' I ventured, 'that my father knows all he wants to of Torf-Einar.'
The little round abbot regarded me with his quick eyes. 'You think he does not care for his brother,' he replied. 'But you are wrong in that, young Duncan. Murdo cares very much.'
'He hides it well, then,' I concluded sourly.
Emlyn stopped in his tracks and faced me. 'There is more to this than you know. Murdo has his reasons for feeling and behaving the way he does. Nor will I tell him how he should feel, or how he should act in this matter.'
The force with which this was said surprised me; it took Emlyn aback, too, I think, for he quickly added in a softer tone: 'The wounds were deep at the time. I think Torf's return has reopened them, and they are painful indeed.'
Accepting his appraisal, I suggested, 'Then maybe it is time those old wounds were healed once and for all. Maybe that is why Torf has come home.'
Abbot Emlyn began walking again. 'You could be right. Perhaps it is time we…' His voice drifted off as he turned the matter over in his mind.
I hurried after him. 'What?' I demanded. 'Time for what?'
He waved me off, saying, 'Leave it with me. I will speak to your father.'
'And then?' I called after him.
'And then we shall see what we shall see.'
The abbot hurried away, and I found myself alone for the moment and with nothing to do-a rare enough circumstance for me. I decided to go and see if Rhona was busy, thinking maybe she would like to ride with me down to the sandy cove below the cliffs south of the bay. Rhona and I had been married for seven years, and in that time had produced three children – two boys, and a girl.
Sadly, both boys died in the summer of their first year. Only you, Gait, the smallest and scrawniest infant I ever saw, survived to see your second year. It seems so long ago now, but that day the sun was high and the weather dry, and I still had it in mind to have a son one day. It seemed to me a splendid time to make a bairn, or at least to try.