Insurrection: Renegade [02] by Robyn Young Read Free Book Online Page B

frustratingly twisting course and these past months in Ireland he had felt further from that purpose than ever. Often he had doubted his decision to pursue the relic, fearing it would lead him nowhere. Now was the moment when his choice would be proven right or wrong.
    Murtough led the way through a fringe of reeds towards the largest of the island’s ruins, a church formed of the same ghost-grey stones that littered the shoreline. Birds startled from the undergrowth as the men moved towards the building, which was encircled by a low, tumbled-down wall, tufted with grass. Beyond were remains of other buildings, most of them timber, which had all but rotted away over the long years since the place was inhabited. Bushes and weeds had worked their way into the remnants, nature reclaiming its territory. On the western end of the island, Robert caught sight of a domed structure that looked like a giant stone beehive.
    ‘St Finan’s cell,’ came Murtough’s voice in the hush. He had stopped at the church wall and was following Robert’s gaze. ‘He lived here centuries before Malachy built the monastery. This island may be small, but it has a long and hallowed history.’
    Robert imagined Malachy and his brethren living here; the wild solitude of their existence. It was a good place for men who wanted to escape the world.
    Edward moved up beside him, leaving Niall and the other two monks to bring up the rear. ‘If it is here, brother, what next?’
    Murtough had moved ahead through a gap in the wall, picking his way through the undergrowth towards several slabs of stone that protruded from the grass. He was out of earshot, but Robert kept his reply low. ‘We take it to Scotland, as planned.’
    ‘And then?’ Edward prompted.
    Before Robert could reply, Murtough’s voice cut across them. ‘Here.’
    Heading to him, the men gathered around a lichen-stained grave slab, lying horizontally on top of four stone lintels embedded in the soil. It was decorated with an ornately carved cross, the spirals of knot-work entwined with beasts and birds. Murtough’s brethren bent to help him as he crouched and placed his hands on the slab’s sides. Niall added his strength to theirs and, between them, the four men pushed it from the top of the grave. Stone ground on stone. In the dark hollow that appeared beneath, lined with the lintel slabs, Robert saw a grinning skull, laced with hair. The flesh had long been ravaged, the clothing reduced to threads. As his eyes drifted down the skeleton’s length, he realised there was something lying alongside the corpse, wrapped in cloth.
    Relief was plain in Murtough’s scarred face. ‘Praise God,’ he muttered, sitting back on his heels.
    Robert reached in and grasped it, feeling a solid shape within the folds of material. The cloth had once been white, but after almost two years in the grave it was green with mould. A fat earthworm twisted from the folds. The monks were sombre as they watched him take the staff, but made no move to stop him. This was his burden now. Carefully, he laid it on the grave slab and pulled back the soiled covering. In the bloody dawn, the gold and gems that encrusted the staff’s sheath glittered. Robert felt a hot rush of triumph. The final relic named in the Last Prophecy – the one King Edward needed to fulfil his vision of a kingdom united beneath him – was in his hands.
    As Robert stared at the golden crosier, Murtough’s question back in Donough’s hall came to him.
    And what about you, Earl Robert? Do you believe in Merlin’s prophecy?
    He had spent two years in Edward’s company, one of the Knights of the Dragon, whose purpose was to aid the king in retrieving the relics. While many of those who had once been his friends accepted the truth of Merlin’s prophecy and were determined to prevent the ruin of Britain foreseen in it, he himself had not been able to believe. No matter the rewards, the glory and camaraderie he had found in the king’s