The Black Rood Read Online Free PDF

last.” He shook his head, almost sadly. “Not the last, by God.”
    â€œHow 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.”
    â€œSo, he cut it up,” I surmised.
    Torf gave the ghost of a nod. “What else could he do? I swear that man never looked farther ahead than the length of his own two feet. With everyone clamoring for a piece of the relic, Godfrey commanded that it should be cut in half.”
    â€œThe priests let him do this?” wondered Emlyn in dismay.
    â€œAye, 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.”
    â€œYou 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 Antiochto 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.”
    â€œOver the years those two pieces became four,” surmised the abbot. “It is not difficult to see how this could happen.”
    â€œYou 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, Cait, 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
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œIt 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.”
    â€œHe hides it well, then,” I concluded sourly.
    Emlyn