“You had already killed him, then—it was a man!”
“Yes.”
“I believe now a woman is better. Disturbed! Fools and numb-skulls—then dig it up and begin once more.”
“You forget—the body must still be quivering with life, if we are to read aright!”
She stamped her foot in anger.
“How were you disturbed?”
“By the fool Kevin and his monks.”
Rage kept her silent for a minute—then she burst forth.
“These Christians! These accursed Christians! Everything I set my hand to they come and spoil! Oh, when I hold Hibernia in my hands, let them look to themselves! I will burn their monasteries over their heads as the Saxons burnt our palaces! I will thrust them to the sea—I will throw them to the bears! I will cut out their tongues and give them to my dogs. I will cut their legs from under them, when they stretch their hands in prayer, I will strike at them too! Footless and handless they shall crawl in the dust before me!” In her rage she ground her teeth. Then turned quickly to the man. “When will you try again?”
“I do not know! We must wait until Beltane. I told you that long ago. We shall have more chance then of a victim!”