September 7, 1916: Edinburgh, Scotland

I read through most of the night, and all the next day. My reckoning may be faulty, for it is difficult to gauge the passage of time below ground. Without the sun to aid orientation, one loses all sense of regularity and proportion; the body quickly succumbs to its own peculiar rhythm. Hence, I ate and slept as it seemed right to me, performing any small tasks as need or whim dictated-washing, grooming, tending the fire-and the rest of the time, I read from William St Clair's old book.

When I grew tired of sitting in bed, I sat on the stool; when the stool grew uncomfortable, I took a fleece from the bed and laid it before the hearth and read by the flickering light of the fire. Eager to finish Caitriona's tale before Evans returned for me, I read the hours away – discovering in the process that without the ordinary distractions of daily life with all its clamour and clutter, without the tyranny of petty demands and humdrum obligations, the mind soon ceases its continual fretting and gnawing over the events of the day. The spirit calms and peace descends like a balm over the soul.

Feeling very much like a monk who has devoted his life to prayer and study in quiet solitude, I read the book and the bare confines of my cell ceased to exist. I was transported across the centuries to that far-off time at the embryonic beginning of our long-lived order. In short, as my understanding grew towards completion, I envisioned the form my final initiation would take and began to prepare myself accordingly.

My time of contemplation passed so peacefully that I was actually startled when I heard the door open at the end of the passage and footsteps descend the stone steps. I was ready when Evans reappeared at the entrance to my cell. And again I started a little, for he was not wearing the scarlet of the Inner Circle, nor the ordinary grey of brotherhood; he was wearing a long white robe without emblem or insignia, but belted with a wide woven band of cloth of gold.

He carried another white robe which he held up for me, saying, 'Peace and grace to you, brother.' By this I knew the formal ceremony had already begun. I returned his greeting, and he said, 'The Council of Brothers has gathered, and we await your presence.' He glanced at the book on the table. 'I trust your time here has been of profit to you.'

'It has been inspirational,' I replied, slipping into the offered robe, 'and I am grateful for it.'

'Good.' He held out to me a woven belt like his own. I passed it around my waist, and he tied it for me, arranging the knot at the side. He stepped back, regarding me with a critical eye, then nodded his approval. 'If you are ready, we will proceed.'

I replied that I was, and taking up the candle, he led me from the cell. We did not return to the Star Chamber, as I might have expected, but continued down the passage leading deeper into the underground interior. I followed and we walked without speaking until reaching a low door at the end. Evans knocked on the door. There came the long metallic scrape of a bolt being drawn, and the door was opened from inside. Evans held the candle above the lintel and indicated that I should enter. I stooped, bent my head low, and stepped inside to see Genotti standing beside the doorway, candle in hand.

My first impression- that the room appeared to have been carved out of the living stone which formed the church's foundation-turned out to be correct. This was swiftly followed by the recognition that I had been in this room before: years ago, when I was elevated to the Seventh Degree. Then, I had been blindfolded; but there could be no mistake: this was the cavernous chamber into which I was lowered on that night, when, a blind man searching in the darkness, I had found the beginning of the path which had led me to this final revelation.

I saw, in the flickering glow of candles in tall sconces around the room, the other members of the Inner Circle-De Cardou, Zaccaria and Kutch – waiting before a stone altar; they were, like Evans and Genotti, robed in white. Behind them, to one side, was the vestibule wherein I had found the Iron Lance. The sacred relic was there; I could see its slightly bowed and crooked length resting in the shelved niche carved for it in the solid rock wall, and the sight produced a feeling of intense elation which flooded through me like a warm wave of triumph.

Opposite this vestibule, there was another. Evans, who had joined Genotti, saw my glance and knew I was curious to explore and so gave his assent with a silent nod. The others stood by and watched as I moved to the semi-chamber, ascended the single step and went in to find another carved niche. My heart quickened as I saw the dark scarred length of ancient timber and knew that I beheld the Black Rood.

The heavy-grained wood was grooved and sinuous with age, its deeply patined surface smoothed by saintly veneration to a satiny lustre that shimmered dully in the gently flickering light. The truncated and much abused relic had been ornamented with simple gold bands which covered the rough-sawn ends. Humbled by its presence, I held my breath and ran my fingertips along the length of ancient wood in a caress of profound gratitude, reverence, and, yes, love.

My thoughts returned to the sunny island of Cyprus where I had encountered the tale of the relic in a copy of Duncan's handwritten manuscript in the monastery of Ayios Moni amid the pine-forested peaks of the Troodos mountains. Had it really been fifteen years since Caitlin and I had passed the winter on that sleepy island in the midst of the sun-bright sea? We had always meant to return and relive that happy time… now we never would.

I left the vestibule and returned to where the others were waiting for me. 'There is but one more secret to be revealed,' Genotti said. 'Tonight there are no blindfolds; there will be no stumbling and fumbling in the darkness. Tonight we stand and move in the glory and radiance of the Sanctus Clarus.'

'Are you ready, brother?' asked Evans.

'I am,' I replied, little knowing how unprepared I truly was for what was about to happen.

By the time they came in sight of the ridge the wind had turned raw, whipping at the horses' tails and manes, and stinging the faces of the riders. What had begun as a crisp, sun-bright day slowly sank into a dull, freezing mist, and Cait was glad of the handsome wool cloak Hasan had given her. She had offered to return it, along with the other gifts, but he would not hear of it.

'I would brave the everlasting fires of Jahennem itself,' Hasan had declared boldly, 'for the merest hope of your forgiveness, Ketmia. Leading your beloved sister to freedom will be but a token of my sincerity and contrition.'

Cait readily accepted his pledge, but Lord Rognvald was of a less forgiving mind. Despite the apparent change in Hasan, and the prince's oft-repeated pledges of fidelity, benevolence, and selfless resolve, the wary Norwegian maintained a sceptical attitude; having been burned once, he was not inclined to wholly trust the fire again. Even so, inasmuch as Prince Hasan professed to know where the outlaw Ali Waqqar could be found, he had no choice but to swallow his misgivings and allow the contrite Moor to lead them to the bandit's refuge.

During the night the horses, supplies, and weapons had been made ready, and the company departed at dawn-led by Hasan; Rognvald, Cait, and the knights came next, followed by Halhuli and three more servants leading a train of seven pack horses. They reached the first valley, crossed it, and continued on into the ragged northern hills beyond – a rough, desolate land of tumbled rock and deeply eroded ravines inhabited only by herds of tough little mountain goats and flocks of wild sheep.