Byzantium

'Of course, Brother Brynach,' I said.

'Those I choose to be my friends call me Bryn,' he said, and motioned me nearer.

I put my head close to his, but before he could speak further, Brother Diarmot appeared. 'I trust our brother has extended to you the abbey's welcome,' he said stiffly. 'I would not like to think he has been remiss in his duty to you, our long-awaited visitors.'

Brynach pulled himself upright once more and the smile reappeared instantly. 'Have no fear for our sake,' he replied smoothly. 'We have been made more than welcome.'

'Indeed,' put in Gwilym, 'it is as if we had never left home.'

'I am Brother Diarmot, and I am at your service. If you are hungry, it would be my pleasure to bring you something to eat.'

'Thank you, brother,' replied Brynach. 'But no.'

'Something to drink perhaps?' pressed Diarmot. He looked at me and smiled thinly. 'I would have thought Aidan had offered, but I am happy to serve.'

'Well,' said Gwilym, 'I might be tempted with some more of that excellent ale which we drank at last night's table.'

'Of course,' said Diarmot. 'Aidan and I will bring the cups. It is the least we can do for our guests.'

'Please, allow me to help you,' said Gwilym rising quickly.

'No, no,' replied Diarmot adamantly. 'You are our guests. I could not possibly allow you to fetch your own drink. Aidan will help me.'

The stubborn Diarmot loomed over me like a threat, so I rose and followed him to the kitchen to fill a jar while he found the cups. When we returned to the board, other monks had joined the three Britons, and I did not have another chance to speak to them alone. All the rest of the day I watched and waited for an opportunity, but events did not yield the desired result.

I retired to my cell that night aching with curiosity, frustrated, and resentful of Diarmot for his ill-chanced intrusion. Before sleeping, I prayed Christ's forgiveness for disliking Diarmot, and lay for a long time wondering what Brynach had been about to tell me.

5

Climbing the hillside in the predawn darkness, we ascend like Christ, rising from the valley of death. We huddle on the hilltop, as if shivering in the grave's cold grip, awaiting resurrection's true, unfailing light. We wait in silence, faces turned to the east, whence comes the Saving Word. Away beyond the rim of the world, daylight gathers its strength, growing and growing, until at last-the powers of darkness unable to restrain it any longer-it bursts forth in a glorious life-giving blaze. Rises up the sun victorious, Sol Invictus, renewed like Christ resurrected, as shall all men be in the Last Day. As the first golden rays ignite the heavens, we draw breath and raise our voices to the Golden Throne, 'Alleluia! Hosanna! Glory to God in the Highest Heaven! Alleluia!'

Led by the Bishop of Hy with cambutta upraised, we made procession down the hill, singing the Gloria as we went. With so many guests and visitors, there was not room inside the church for everyone so, as the day was fair, the first part of the mass was conducted under the roof of Heaven. The various parts of the mass were observed: the Gradual, followed by the reading of the Gospel, and the Credo, Psalms and Offertory.

During the prayers, the visitors knelt in the yard, and then rose to form double ranks at the door for the procession of the Host and Chalice to the altar. Bishop Cadoc, aided by the abbot, continued the Service of the Sacraments at the altar. I was among those who stood outside the church, but we had no difficulty hearing. Cadoc's fine voice carried into the yard and beyond the abbey walls.

'Quanda canitus: ' the bishop called as he offered the Chalice to God, 'accepit Jesu panem…'

We knelt in the glow of the Easter morning sun as our hearts warmed to the love of God. One by one, we entered the church and proceeded to the altar where we received the sacraments from the bishop's hand, returning to our places for the benediction.

It was a fine and joyful service. When it finished, we sang until the bell rang terse, whereupon Abbot Fraoch invited all our visitors to share our feast.

'Jesu is alive!' he rasped, raising his voice above its normal whisper. 'Rejoice and be glad, my friends, for all who trust in Christ have eternal life. And as we will one day gather in Heaven's Great Hall, let us enjoy the blessings of God's rich bounty this good Easter day-a foretaste of the Feast of the Lamb.'

With those words, the celebration began. To accommodate all our visitors, we hauled benches and boards from the refectory and placed them in the yard. Women from the settlements helped the cooks and kitcheners bestrew these with foods of all kinds: brown bread baked into special Eastertide loaves-round, with the shape of the cross cut in the top; cold boiled eggs-symbol of life's potency and promise; salmon and pike-fresh, salted, and smoked-on wooden trenchers; mussels and oysters; ground meal and pine kernels cooked in milk with egg and honey; roast turnips in steaming heaps; huge cauldrons of lamb stew; pork and beef and mutton roasted with fennel and onions and garlic; goose in herbed sauce; hare stuffed with sweet chestnuts; cockerels stuffed with corn and sage; larks in elderberry; compotes of plums and raspberries and apples; and much else besides.

Aengus mac Fergus, lord of the realm, sent some of his men with Easter gifts: great haunches of venison and boar to grace our feast. They wasted not a moment setting the meat to roast on spits over fires in the yard. Divested of this duty, they quickly devoted themselves to the cellarer, and became his willing slaves, labouring mightily with the oaken vats of rich dark ale and sweet yellow mead. The vats were placed on tripods outside the entrance to the hall. Also, since it was Easter, crocks of wine were provided.

When all was ready, Secnab Ruadh called for silence and prayed God's good blessing on our festal meal. Then, taking up our wooden bowls, we broke our long Easter fast-partaking of those dishes each found most appealing. The day was given to the satisfaction of eating and drinking and harmonious conversation with friends and kinsmen. And all who gathered within the abbey walls were brother and sister, parent and child, one to the other.

After the pangs of hunger were well and truly banished, we played games. Urged on by the children of our guests, we engaged in contests of strength and skill: throwing the well-stone, lofting spears, hand wrestling, and the like. Some of the lord's men, warriors all, devised a horse race in which the riders must sit backwards in the saddle. This proved such an enjoyable spectacle that the race was run several times to accommodate everyone who wished to take part. The last race was the best, for many of the older children insisted on being allowed to ride. So that the younger ones would not feel aggrieved, some of the monks joined in, each taking a child before him so that no harm could befall the little one. This made for even more confusion and the resulting laughter made the valley resound. Oh, it was a splendid diversion!

All through the festivities, I remained at Dugal's side, painfully aware that the time for our parting was hard upon us; but, as I did not like unhappy thoughts to intrude on that glorious Eastertide celebration, I tried my best not to dwell on it. If Dugal held similar feelings, he gave no sign, enjoying himself to the full, going from ale vat to race to table and back again. Of the three mysterious visitors-Brynach, Gwilym, and Ddewi-I saw little. They seemed always to hover in the bishop's shadow, often engaged in close conversation with one or another of our elder brethren. Though the festivity flowed easily around them, the three, and Brynach especially, held themselves aloof-looking on, smiling, but seldom entering into the merriment.

So the day passed, and the sun began to drift low, flaming the western sky with red-gold. Our good abb summoned all the people to follow him, and we made a great procession around the cross in the yard. Once, twice, three times around, whereupon he gathered everyone in a ring around the cross and said in his grating whisper of a voice: 'Behold this cross! Sure, it is naked now, but it was not always so. I would have you remember, friends, that dire and dreadful day, when the Great King's Son took the weight of the world upon his back as he hung upon Golgotha's tree!

'Woe and shame, I say! O, Heart of my heart, your people seized you; they bound you; they struck you: green reed on firm flesh, hateful fist on ruddy cheek! Wicked thorns became a crown for the sacred head; a borrowed robe mocked the shoulders of him who bore the grievous stain of mankind's sin.

'And then, no stopping the bloodlust, they took you, piercing hands and feet with cold, cruel nails. They raised you high above the ground to die in bitter agony, your people helpless, watching.