"Then it is down from the cross-they cannot wait to have you away! Dragged through the streets, you were, tied in a sack! Common wrappings for the corpse of the High King of Heaven, never fine linen or soft furs.
"The rock-cut tomb becomes your home, Beloved. The solitude of the turf house is your new domain, there in the bone grove. Caesar's soldiers stand guard at the doorstone lest the murderers disturb your deathsleep.
"Do they fear you even yet? They have done you to death, Lord of All, and they stand guard, looking right and left, hands trembling. Darkness falls over the earth. How not? The Light of Life has been shut up in a grave, and the greedy night is full of demon smiles.
"Friends," the abbot whispered, his voice small in contemplation of that awful night, "the enemies of light and life held great celebration then. Their revelry resounded loud in the Halls of Heaven. And the Father God gazed down in his sore grief. 'See here, Michael!' he called to his Champion. 'They have killed my beloved son. That is bad enough, but they should not rejoice so. Can this be right, that evil should exult in the death of the Only Righteous?'
"And Michael, Servant of Light, replied, 'Lord, you know it is not right. Say the word, my king, and I shall slay them all with my fiery sword.'
"Oh, but the Ever Merciful lays a finger to his lips. And it is: 'Patience, patience, all in good time. I would not be God if disaster should find me unequal to the task. Only stand you back and watch what I shall do.'
"The High King of Heaven, his great heart breaking, gazed down into that bleak grove. A single tear from his loving eye fell into that dark tomb where lay the body of his blessed son, the Prince of Peace. That tear struck the Christ full on his battered face, and sweet life came flooding back.
"The Great King turned to his Champion and said, 'Why do you tarry, friend? You see how it is. Roll aside that stone and let my son go free!' Michael, striking like lightning to the earth, put his hand to the accursed rock and, with a flick of his finger, hurled the great millstone aside.
"Up you arose! Christ Victorious! You threw aside the sack and stood. Death, that weak, contemptible thing, lay shattered at your feet. You kicked the shards aside and strode from the tomb, brave soldiers falling on their faces, slain by the sight of such undiluted glory!"
Abbot Fraoch spread his hands wide. "A thousand welcomes, O Blessed King! A thousand welcomes, Eternal Youth! Hail and welcome, Lord of Grace, who suffered all that death could do-for Adam's willful race, you suffered, yes, and gladly died. Firstborn of Life, it was ourselves you carried from the tomb, each and every one clinging to your broad back.
"So look upon the cross and rejoice, friends. Think of it, and praise Him who has the power to raise the dead to life. Amen!"
And everyone gazed at the high cross in the fiery sunset, and cried, "Amen, Lord!"
Brothers with harps, awaiting this moment, began to play. We sang: hymns, of course, but other songs as well-ancient songs, older than any of the tribes or clans that claimed them, older than the wooded hills themselves. As night enfolded us, we sang, and heard again the age-honoured stories of our race.
We went to our rest that night satisfied in body and soul, and rose the next day to continue our celebration. Through the three days of the Easter feast, I tried to prepare myself for leaving. I saw Dugal but rarely; if I had not known him better, I would have imagined he was avoiding me.
It was late the third day by the time all the visitors had gone. At vespers, I joined my brothers for prayer for the last time. The sun had set and it was dusky within the abbey walls, but the sky was still pale blue overhead. Two bright stars gleamed low in the east. They say the sky in Byzantium is gold, Dugal had said. And the very stars are strange.
My heart writhed within me for I longed to speak a word to him. Tomorrow I would leave, and once beyond the abbey ringwall, I would never see my good friend again. The thought upset me so I determined to take the night vigil in order to set my heart at rest.
Accordingly, I went to Ruadh to request the duty. He seemed surprised at my petition. "I would think it better for both body and soul to rest," Ruadh suggested. "Therefore, I counsel a night's sound sleep."
"I thank you for the thought," I replied. "And I am certain you advise the wisest course. But it is also my last opportunity to hold vigil before the abbey altar. Therefore, I respectfully ask your permission."
"And I give it gladly," Ruadh allowed. "It is Diarmot's duty tonight, however. You must find him and inform him of the change."
"Of course," I agreed, and made to leave the secnab's lodge. "Thank you, Confessor."
