Middle of the day, they feed us. Glad nobody makes us go inside and sit down with the monks. That would be too much; couldn’t do it. Couple of fellows bring out a tray with bowls of broth, hunks of bread and wedges of cheese, and there’s a flask of good ale with it. Goes down a treat. While we eat and drink, I run through the next part with Tadhg, tell him the stages of getting the fresh thatch ready and putting it up. What he’ll be doing and what I’ll be doing. He’s a clever lad, listens well, asks good questions. Wonder if I was ever like that, eyes bright, mind clean and fresh, ready to take on the world? Or did that get beaten out of me before I even knew it was there?

Good view from up on the roof. Down over the forest one way; glimpse of Lady Geiléis’s house between the treetops. Farther off, the Tower of Thorns, though I can’t see much of it, only the top with the open window. Howling’s not so loud up here; don’t need the earplugs. I can almost forget the monster, listen to the bells and the singing and the quiet footsteps instead. The brothers have a bit of a farm, not far off. Cows. Chickens. Couple of sheep, for wool, not for the pot. Good place. I’m all wrong here. Bad luck. Bringer of trouble. Feel as if I should tell them the story, tell them the truth, so they can throw me out if they want. But here I am teaching the lad to thatch a roof, making myself useful, and I can’t tell.

Forest spreading out to the west, and a strip of road going through it; that’s the Tirconnell side of the river. Road they can’t use because the ford’s not safe. Farmhouses dotted here and there, patches of cleared ground, a few cattle. Closer at hand there’s St. Olcan’s own bell tower, and a barn, and at one end of the barn the pigeon loft. They had one at St. Erc’s too. My mind shows me broken bodies, feathers everywhere, smears of blood on the stone floor, injured birds thrashing about. I had to pick the poor sods up and wring their necks, one after another. Said a prayer for each one, same as I did for the men. Would have been a miracle if God picked up the meaning, I was crying so hard. Fly safe to heaven. Sing with the angels. Only birds. Still. Brother Galen used to say, God knows what is in your heart. That day, my heart was saying, There is no God. Said the prayers anyway. Felt like the proper thing.

“You all right?” Tadhg’s looking at me, a bite of bread and cheese halfway to his mouth.

“Fine. Thanks.” I apply myself to my own meal. “Thinking of something sad, that’s all. Who looks after the pigeons here?”

“Brother Eoan. Only they don’t fly out much, not now. Not since we stopped using the ford. See, pigeons always fly back to their home loft. So if you want to exchange messages with, say, a monastery in Tirconnell, you have to get some pigeons that were bred there, and move them here. And they take some of yours in return. Then you can send as many messages as you’ve got birds, until they’ve all gone home. Then you start again.”