Then, even then-in the midst of all the merriment-I felt once more the vile serpent rear its head in my soul. Alas, it had not died with Nikos, it had only slept. To see all those dear brothers, their faces so joyful, and to hear them praise for our keeping the same God who had given so many others over to death made my spirit writhe within me. Even as I stood with the cries of happiness resounding in my ears, I could feel the poison seeping from my wounded soul.
The pain was almost past enduring. It was all I could do to remain among them, smiling, laughing, accepting their good wishes-when all I wanted was escape. I saw Dugal go down on his knees to beg forgiveness of Libir for pushing him down on the rocks-I turned away as the bitter bile rose in my throat.
Then Abbot Fraoch was standing before us, his arms outspread in welcome, acclaiming our arrival. Behind him, grinning with pleasure at the sight of us, stood Ruadh, the abbey secnab and my own dear confessor. "Behold!" Fraoch said, his broken voice raised in a happy rasp of salutation. "The wayfarers have returned! The pilgrimage is completed. Let the Lord Christ be praised for his faithful and steadfast protection!"
There followed a burst of renewed acclaim, which the good abbot allowed to continue a while, before raising his hands for silence. "Brothers, it is right to welcome our kinsmen with praise and thanksgiving," he said. "However, I see that only four have returned where thirteen set out, and it would be a shameful thing not to ask after those whose absence demands explanation."
Brynach stepped forward and related the unhappy tidings that we were indeed the only survivors of the pilgrimage and that all the rest were dead, having exchanged the white martyrdom for that of the red. This brought murmurs of sorrow and lament from the throng-especially for the deceased monks who had set out from our own community.
Bryn then motioned for Dugal to come forward. The big monk shouldered his way to the fore and took the carefully wrapped bundle from off his back and placed it on the ground at Abbot Fraoch's feet.
"Aidan here," Dugal said with a nod in my direction, "was not content to allow our blessed Bishop Cadoc's mortal bones to remain among the godless in pagan lands. We have brought the bishop's relics home to be buried with all honour and respect."
The abbot regarded the bundled bones sorrowfully. "Ah, well," he said. "Ah, mo croi, it is a grief to me, and to us all. Christ have mercy." Raising his eyes once more, he said, "Thank you, Brother Dugal. Thank you, Brother Aidan. It was good of you to be so mindful of the sympathies of others. We are, all of us, beholden to your tender thoughtfulness."
Ha! I thought, anger flaring up within me. Shall I tell you how he died? Shall I tell you how this godly man's life was cruelly torn from him and his body thrown into the refuse pit with no more tender thought than yesterday's joint of mutton? Shall I tell you that the only reason his bones were retrieved at all was so that a band of godless barbarians could salvage their pilfered treasure? Shall I tell you the truth of God's steadfast protection?
I said none of these things, of course, but merely acknowledged the abbot's sentiments with a reverent nod.
Abbot Fraoch then said, "Vespers have been rung, and the prayers begun. Let us go to the chapel and give thanks to God for the pilgrims' safe return."
Everyone began talking at once, pelting us with questions and clamouring to be heard; we were swept up by the well-wishing throng and carried to the doors of the chapel. There I was to endure a time of prayer more onerous to me than a hundred days of slavery in the caliph's mines. At least when it was finally over the abbot allowed us to retreat to the cells which had been prepared for us.
He forbade anyone to ask any more questions of us that night, and dismissed us to our sleep. "I can see you are tired from your long journey," he said. "Go now to your rest, and we will await your tales in the morning."
Thus, I was spared having to talk any more about the tribulations we had survived. I left the church in despair, and made my way to the cells; Dugal walked beside me, pleased to be back among his friends and familiar surroundings once more. "Ah, mo croi," he sighed with contentment. "It is good. Do you not think so, Dana?"
"Yes," I replied.
"I tell you the truth," he declared, "there were times I did not think we would ever see this place again."
"Nor did I," I said, and thought: And now that we are here once more, I wonder what was so important. What were we trying to do? What did it mean?
"Are you sad, Aidan?" Dugal asked.
"No, just a little tired," I said, to avoid further conversation on the subject. "I did not foresee having to answer so many questions."
"You have been to Byzantium," Dugal observed simply, "and they have not. Sure, they are curious. You cannot blame them for that."
