As the light in the cellar increased, Eleanor saw the carving more clearly. “That’s not a cross,” she observed. “It’s the left side of a sword.”
“So it is,” Thomas said, with minimal interest. “The slab’s coming.” With a grunting, straining effort, he lifted the great slab on its side and eased it upward. “Wait!” Thomas held the fork with one hand and balanced the slab with the other. “I’ll swivel this to the side. Keep back in case I drop it on your toes.”
“Dear God,” Eleanor said as Thomas balanced the slab against the wall. “It’s a grave!”
They looked down on a skeleton with a long, rusted sword at his side. The man’s legs were crossed at the ankles, and fragments of cloth were still attached to the body. What might have once been chain mail sat in a brown smudge beside the corpse.
