All around the table the members of the Inner Circle declared their endorsement of the proposal, whereupon I was asked to stand. 'Brother Murray,' said the Second Principal, 'seeing no impediment to your elevation arising, I now ask you: to the best of your knowledge is there any reason why you may not advance to your initiation?'

'No, brother. I stand ready to accept the mandate of my superiors.' It is the customary answer to questions of this kind within the Brotherhood; the only difference is that now I knew the men around me to have been my superiors and not, as I had mistakenly imagined for so long, merely my peers. While I accept that my initiation was a formality which was being carried out to fulfil the dictates of our Rules of Order, I nevertheless experienced the familiar excitement of the novitiate facing the unknown.

Obviously, I did not know the form this initiation would take. Remembering my induction to the Seventh Degree, however, and the harrowing ordeal it engendered, my enthusiasm was tempered by experience. That is not to say I was afraid: I was not. I trusted the men around me implicitly. Even so, the frailty of the human frame having been much on my mind of late, I was only too aware of the limitations age had introduced. Though I was the youngest member of the Inner Circle, I was neither as energetic nor as agile as in my youth, and any qualms I felt were those which attended men of my age when contemplating even the most ordinary exertions.

Evans took me at my word, however. 'So be it,' he said. 'Let the initiation commence.'

He closed the book from which he had been reading out the Articles. 'The nature of initiation to the Final Degree requires that the candidate should remain in seclusion neither more nor less than three complete diurnal periods, the purpose of which is to allow the candidate to reflect on the commitment he is about to make, and to seek the safeguarding of his soul through making peace with his Allwise Creator.' He looked to me for an answer. 'Do you understand?'

'I understand, brother, and I am ready to proceed.'

'So be it.' Turning to the others, he said, 'We will adjourn until this hour in three nights' time when we will reconvene to undertake the initiation of our esteemed brother.'

The meeting ended then, and I received the congratulations of the others. They wished me well and departed, disappearing into the night by their various routes. In a little while Evans and I were left alone. 'I was sorry to hear of the death of your wife,' he said; our business concluded, we could speak more informally. 'It must have been a very great shock to you.'

'Yes,' I replied. Although I had no idea how the other members of the Inner Circle learned of these things, I had long ago accepted that they did. 'I am only beginning to realize the extent of my loss.'

'Time will heal,' he told me. 'I do not offer that lightly. Though many people profess the same sentiment blithely and without consideration, it is true nonetheless. Given time, the wound will heal. The scar will remain, but you will no longer feel the pain.'

I thanked him for his expression of sympathy, and said, 'As it happens, I was prepared to relate a most curious incident concerning Pemberton's death. I wanted to hear what the other members made of it.'

'Oh, indeed? Well, would you mind telling me?'

'Not at all,' I answered, and went on to explain about Pemberton's ghostly appearance at the country house, and my subsequent interview with Miss Gillespie. I reported the queer message the young woman had passed on to me. 'He spoke to the young lady; he said: "The pain is swallowed in peace, and grief in glory." That's what she thought him to say, but it makes little sense to me.'

Evans rubbed his smooth chin and his eyes became keen. He loved a good puzzle, and I was happy to share it with him and let him mull it over for as long as he liked. 'Now that is a poser,' he allowed. 'Providing, of course, that is what Pemberton said.'

'Granted,' I replied. 'What one says and what one is heard to say are not necessarily the same thing.'

'Quite.' He smiled, his round, friendly face lighting with simple good pleasure. 'I shall have a good think. Now then, let me show you to your cell.'

I had learned over the years that the little church where we met contained several underground passages leading to a number of chambers, sub-chambers, and catacombs. Thus I was not surprised to learn that the cell he mentioned was of the old-fashioned variety: a simple bare room with a straw pallet piled with fleeces for sleeping; a small table with a large old Bible bound in brittle leather, and a single, fat candle in an iron holder; a low, three-legged stool; in the corner a tiny round hearth with narrow stone chimney above; and, next to it, a supply of wood and kindling. Beside the hearth was a covered wooden stoup filled with water; a wooden ladle hung by its handle from a leather strap. Atop the stoup lay a cloth bundle. The rock walls were white-washed, and a simple wooden cross adorned the wall above the bedplace.

In all it was a clean little room, reached after a short candlelit walk along a passage which joined a flight of steps leading from the Star Chamber, which was itself below the chancel of the church. 'All the comforts of home,' Evans said, tipping his candle to the one on the table, 'but none of the distractions.'

'I've always wondered what it would be like to be a monk. Now I will find out.'

'You will enjoy your stay, Gordon.' He stepped to the doorway. 'There is food in the bundle, and you will find a latrine in the next cell along.' He bade me farewell then and left me to begin my time of preparation. I listened to his footfall recede down the passageway, and heard the door shut a moment later, and I was alone.

I occupied myself with setting a tidy little fire on the hearth. This I did as much for the light and the cheery company of the flames as the warmth provided. I unwrapped the bundle and saw that it contained three large round loaves of bread, a lump of hard cheese, a half-dozen apples, and three dried fish. Not only would I sleep like a monk, I would eat like one, too.

I tried the bed, stretching myself out on the fleeces; it was simple, but comfortable-the straw was fresh, and there was a rough woven coverlet, should I need it. I was not particularly tired, so I got up, took the candle, and had a look at the latrine-again, a simple but serviceable affair which would meet my basic requirements. Returning to the cell, I placed the candle on the table once more and took up the Bible. I perched on the edge of the bed, adjusted the candle so that I could see the pages and opened the cover -only to discover that what I had taken for a Bible was in fact a large, heavy, antique volume entitled, The Mark of the Rose.

Curiosity pricked, I turned the pages and examined the text. I am no expert in these things, but I had ploughed through enough musty, dusty old books in various legal libraries to recognize a hand-printed tome when I saw one. There was neither colophon, trademark nor printer's stamp that I could see. Judging from the antique typeface and the way the heavy pages were bound, I guessed it had been printed anywhere from the mid to late 1700s. Considering its age, the pages were in remarkably good condition-indicating, I assumed, a prolonged and conscientious effort at preservation.

I returned to the title page and found printed beneath the title the words: prepared from the manuscript of William St Clair, Earl of Orkney.

The choice of words was interesting. It did not say that William had written the manuscript, but merely implied ownership. From this, I deduced that the manuscript in question was an older document from which the book I now held had been produced.

Thoroughly intrigued, I began thumbing the pages indiscriminately, and before long began reading. My pulse raced as, one after another, I began encountering the old familiar names: Ranulf… Murdo… Ragna… Duncan… Caitriona… Sydoni… Padraig… Emlyn… and others whose lives had now become so intimately known to me that I thought of them as friends.