"I will go down and see what I can find," I told him, and left him reciting Holy Scripture on the edge of the ravine. I picked my way carefully down the steep slope, sliding the last few steps. I found a broken stick and began poking here and there among the refuse, potsherds, and sheep dung. There were bones aplenty-mostly those of animals, but some human.
And then, half hidden under a pile of dung and shrivelled garbage, I glimpsed a wad of sun-rotted cloth and my heart missed a beat. The cloth was the coarse weave of a monk's cloak. I scraped away the refuse to reveal a tell-tale bulge. Squatting down, I lifted away the scrap of discarded clothing to reveal the discoloured skull of Bishop Cadoc. The bone was white where the sun had scoured it, but brown where it had laid in the dirt; there were scrags of hard-baked flesh still clinging to the underside, dry and black.
Laying aside the skull, I prodded a little more and turned up a long leg bone, and a single curved rib. Here and there, I found other bones: an arm without a hand, the lumpy cradle of a pelvis, some more ribs.
"Aidan?" came a call from the edge of the ravine above. "Have you found anything?"
"Yes," I answered, and told him what I had found so far.
I do not know what I expected; Cadoc had been cut in two, the pieces carelessly heaved into the pit, and the corpse worried by dogs. No doubt, there were pieces of the good bishop scattered from one end of the ditch to the other.
"Do you want me to come down now?" Brynach called from above.
"No, brother, I think we will not find much more."
"The skull is the most needful," Brynach told me. "And the leg bones. Do you have two leg bones?"
"Just one," I replied.
"Ah, a pity," sighed Brynach. "Still, it is a handsome gesture. God is smiling even now."
I moved further down the ravine and found what appeared to be a shoulderblade. I did not take it, though, for it was gnawed rough and covered with the teeth marks-those of dogs, and smaller, sharper ones that fit a rodent's jaws. The slave guard returned while I was searching among the rocks and refuse, and I ordered him to join me, bringing the garment he had been sent to find. He came, reluctantly, dragging a long, pale yellow robe of the kind the Arabs use to repel the sun and dust when travelling.
Taking the robe, I spread it on the rocks and shifted the bones onto it. Brynach crept a little way down the slope to watch me. When I finished, he raised his hands and declaimed aloud: "When I die, bury me in the place where the man of God is buried; lay my bones beside his bones." Lowering his hands, he said, "That is from the Book of Kings. Thanks to you, Aidan, we will bear our departed brother back to his beloved soil and give him a burial proper to his station."
I made no reply, ashamed of my true purpose and wishing that I had thought of this for its own sake. I looked at the meagre offering, a pitiable reminder of a great man's existence. No doubt a more diligent search would have reclaimed more, but I was growing anxious that we had been away too long already. So, I folded the robe over the paltry assortment, gathered the ends, and carefully swung the bundle onto my back. I climbed to the top of the ravine and, with Brynach and the guard, returned to the place where I had told Harald and his men to meet us.
There was no one in sight.
I should never have let them go off by themselves," I muttered irritably. I could see the gleaming hope of freedom, so close as to hear the whir of its golden wings, beginning to recede. There was nothing to do but wait; lowering the bundle of bones to the ground, we stood in the blazing sun, shifting the powdery dust with our feet. The slave guard, already deeply suspicious, held himself a little to one side, watching every move.
"Those men are Danes," observed Brynach.
"That they are," I sighed.
"The same that took you away that night?"
"Near enough as makes no difference," I replied, hoping to save myself a lengthy explanation.
But Brynach only nodded thoughtfully. "The Arabs with you," he continued, "they were here the day Cadoc was killed. They took you away."
"True." I glanced at the British monk, hand to forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun; he seemed unconcerned that his only hope of freedom dwindled with every drop of sweat that rolled down his neck.
"Who are they?" he asked. "And who are you, that they should have saved you?"
I looked away, not wishing to offend, but unwilling to relate that too-lengthy tale just now. "It is not told in words of a moment," I replied. "Perhaps later, when I can properly explain."
He accepted this with good grace. "Truly, God moves in mysterious ways, and the musings of his heart are beyond discovery," he declared. "And that is a fact."
Then God must surely be an Arab, I thought. Or the Emperor of Byzantium's elder brother.
Brynach, having found his voice, was apparently keen to use it. "The Danes," he said, "where did they go?"
