more casualty of the terrible war, and he wondered why Toby had even bothered going to investigate it.
Then Toby's head rose above the others again. The watchers parted for him, and he emerged with Brother Bernat cradled in his arms. The old man's face, the color of skim milk, nestled against Toby's shoulder. His lips were blue, and his eyes not merely closed but sunk back into his skull. Toby went past Hamish without a word and set off along the road with huge strides. If he was looking for a place to dig a grave, why so much hurry?
Father Guillem and Pepita scurried after, running to try and catch him. Apparently they were heading for the village, but Toby's sword was hung on Smeorach's saddle, so they had gone unarmed. Hamish detached his own blade from Liath, slung the baldric over his head, and thrust the reins at Josep.
'Look after them.'
Josep's protests that he couldn't handle the train faded away as Hamish went racing after the others.
Toby was running up the hill, setting a fearful pace in spite of his burden. The monk flapped along behind him like a giant bat, holding Pepita's hand. Glancing back, Hamish saw that the others were following, but at a leisurely pace. The don would probably make them wait outside the gates, because the horses might break legs in the ruins, even if there were no thieves lurking there.
He caught up with Father Guillem, whose face was as red as a furnace door. Pepita would obviously be weeping if she had any breath to do so. What was all the burning hurry?
'There can't possibly be a spirit up here!' Hamish panted.
The monk said, 'No,' and kept right on going.
Hamish ran past them, slipped on a patch of mud, caught his scabbard between his legs, and fell flat on his face. Cursing in a mixture of Gaelic and Catalan, he scrambled to his feet and discovered he had wrenched an ankle. He switched to Breton and Castilian and began to run again in a wild, painful hobble.
He went by the child and Father Guillem a second time. Toby had almost reached the shattered town gate, and a couple of men had appeared, watching his approach. Hamish drove himself even faster, steadying his sword with one hand so he didn't make a fool of himself again. Why were they doing this? Did the old man just want to die in a shrine, even if it had no tutelary? Was this some Franciscan custom?
Toby slowed to a fast walk and went through the gateway with the two men following and Hamish at their heels. They glanced around and then ignored Hamish, following a few paces behind Toby. They were making no move to molest him and did not seem to be armed, but Hamish decided to stay at their backs and keep an eye on them.
The road was narrow and dim in the rain, but it was not obstructed by debris and gruesome bodies as the streets of Onda had been. Although most of the buildings were unroofed and stank of burned timber, the village was inhabited, and the residents had made a start on cleaning up and rebuilding. People began emerging from alleys and doorways, men and women both, even a few ragged children. Toby seemed to know where he was leading this procession, crossing a couple of tiny plazas without hesitation and apparently heading for the stump of a tower that marked the sanctuary.
When he reached it he ran up the steps and turned around. His face was red with effort and his chest heaved. The old man in his arms was showing no signs of life, but Toby nodded approval and went into the sanctuary. There couldn't be a spirit in there, or the hob would have stopped him, so what was he doing?
Hamish followed with the crowd at his heels. The building was open to the sky, a burned shell, but the floor had been swept clear. Most of the tracery had gone from the windows, the little that remained still holding a few pathetic fragments of stained glass. Throne, candles, images, pictures had all gone. Only the carved altar on the dais at the far end survived, its cracked and blackened stonework showing traces of gilt and paint.
Toby advanced almost to the altar steps and halted, still holding Brother Bernat in his arms. The spectators gathered in silence behind him, watching intently. Hamish wished he knew what was going on, because everybody else seemed to. He went forward to see if he could help. He could hear the old man breathing in a faint rattle that made him want to cough.
Toby knelt. Hamish took off his wet cloak and spread it on the flagstones so he could lay the old man down. One of the villagers spread another cloak over him. Then they all just waited in the rain, Toby on his knees, everyone else standing. If the spirit was still present, it was ignoring them. There must be many more comfortable places to die.
More people were drifting in. Father Guillem arrived, pushing forward to the front with Pepita in tow. The child knelt and took the dying man's hand, sobbing, not saying anything. For a moment he seemed to rouse. His eyelids flickered but did not open.
'Brother,' Toby said. 'We are here. It is a good place.' His voice cracked. 'It will be all right now, Brother.'
Pepita bent close and whispered urgently. The slack mouth twitched as if he were trying to speak, or even smile. He gasped a few harsh, rattling breaths… stopped… a couple more… then a long silence. His eyelids opened slightly, showing only whites. Toby reached down and closed them. They stayed closed. The watchers sighed.
Toby stood up and looked around — at the monk, at Hamish. He nodded and pulled a wry face. There was more than rain wetting his cheeks.
'Well done, my son.' Father Guillem patted his shoulder. Surprisingly, Toby did not react angrily to this patronizing.
'Pepita?' The monk raised her and tried to scoop her up in his arms. She struggled free and went to Toby instead. He lifted her and held her. She sobbed on his shoulder.
There must be fifty people there now, but what were they all waiting for? Even Toby seemed to be expecting something.
A boy stepped forward from the crowd and walked past Hamish, moving in an oddly stiff gait and wafting a strong odor of goat. He was no more than twelve or thirteen, dirty, clad in rags, thin as canes. He climbed the steps and turned to look over the assembly with a strangely unfocused stare. There was a faint glow around him! So there
Everyone was kneeling now.
'You will be our children,' the boy said loudly. Some of the women cried out in joy. 'If we may have your love, we will cherish you in return. The man's name was Bernat. Bury him where he lies now and honor his memory. He taught us well and carried us long.'
The childish treble rang out again. 'Tobias and Guillem and Jaume, we thank you for your help and give you our blessing. Pepita, dear child, weep no more. We told you, we warned you, and we love you still. Why should you weep now that your friend's task is ended? He has completed what he gave his life to. He is with us and will always be with us.'
Pepita pulled loose from Toby's embrace and knelt down beside him, choking with her efforts not to sob. The big man put an arm around her.
'Some of you still doubt,' the boy said. 'We will give you a sign to comfort you. Eduardo, what happened to your eyes?'
'I was hit by a sword, holiness,' responded a voice from the crowd.
'Domenech, help Eduardo come forward.'
The crowd seemed to rustle. A tall young man with a bandage over his face rose up in their midst and then helped an older, white-haired man to his feet. People cleared a path for them as they shuffled to the front, the old man leading the younger by the hand.
'You may remove the wrapping, Eduardo,' the boy said. 'Can you see now?'
'Yes! Yes!' The young man threw away the cloth and fell to his knees. 'Praise to the spirit! Praise to Saint Bernat!'
Voices picked up the refrain. Hamish, like everyone else, lowered his face to the floor in acknowledgment of the miracle.
'Joaquim has some good years left in him,' the tutelary said with a dry chuckle so like Brother Bernat's that it brought a lump to Hamish's throat. 'Fetch Joaquim here. We will cure his legs and he will be keeper of our sanctuary. You may have Sancho back now, Joanna. Give him our thanks for lending us his voice.'
Hamish looked up just in time to see the glow fade from the boy and his blank expression change to one of horror as he realized where he was. He sprinted down from the dais, red-faced and bewildered, only to be grabbed in a fierce hug by a short, fat woman, probably his mother. The building buzzed with excited chatter.
