Prologue

Scotland 1373


        The body floated, limbs tangled in strands of reddish dulse and yellow bladderwrack.  Salt water washed over it, then receded.  The tide left the flotsam lying on wet sand, sightless eyes staring into obscurity and fingers just grazing the large stone Celtic cross that stood halfway across the Strand.

        A hungry gull alighted, and pecked at one eye with interest.  Others joined it, eager for breakfast, and their cries rang through the salt smelling air as they fought over the carrion.  The first gull, satiated, took flight as the sky lightened and the sun began to rise.  Beating its wings against the damp air, the bird circled over the expanse of wet sand, pooled water and black rocks that now separated the tidal island of Oronsay and its gray stone Priory from the larger green hills and more mundane concerns of Colonsay.

         The sun tried to burn through the mist, but failed, leaving the body wrapped wetly in fog like a winding sheet, with the keening of the gulls for a requiem.  It wasn't until Alasdair Beag came down to dig oysters for the monks and nearly bumped into the corpse, that his brethren learned what had happened to the Prior and why it was that he had not shown his face at Matins the night before.