He’ been badly treated by his fellow Picts, who had nailed him to the door of his own church with the same spikes he claimed came from the holy cross of Christ. The crucifixion had broken one arm and mangled the other, but the bishop was a hard man, a painted, former Pict warrior, and he had shaken off his wounds and was thirsting to return to Dun Pelder to reclaim his hidden treasure. “We’d hacked up some beautiful church plate, just for you and your paymasters,” he grumbled, “and I don’t know exactly where it is any more.” I knew that Candless had been surprised while he was working on the silver and had sent one of his men off to hide the plunder, which he called ‘donations from the faithful’ but the man had been killed in a skirmish without telling where it was hidden. “I’ll have to dig up half of Dun Pelder now,” the bishop grumbled, “and me with two useless arms.” “Use your teeth,”
