One or two boats were still setting off across the water but it was clear that ferrying operations were winding down. We passed one of the barges, half of its cargo of stone already unloaded. A gang of men were quitting work for the day, laughing and calling out to each other as they set off for their own hearths. Their garments were coated so thickly with stone dust that they looked like moving statues. We could see the abbey walls, rising sheer and uncompromising ahead of us. I increased my pace, grabbing hold of Sibert’s sleeve and dragging him with me. The monks must surely be on the point of shutting the gates for the night, if they hadn’t done so already, and if Morcar were inside then I had to get to him before I was shut out. I heard Edild’s voice in my head: if he dies, it will be because you got to him too late. The sensible inner core of me told me that wasn’t exactly what she had said but, all the same, it was the last thing I wanted to think about just then. Sibert had moved ahead of me, thrusting a way through the hurrying crowds and, with me a few paces behind, we reached a gatehouse.
