I hasten to point out that the secrecy was not employed in order to create an elite-as is sadly so often the case-but for the protection of those whose lives would be endangered by the knowledge. For each initiation was accompanied by greater revelation, and therefore greater risk. While I have no wish to sound melodramatic-like some beetle-browed hack of the penny dreadfuls-it is a plain fact that the enemies of the Brotherhood are legion, and it only stands to reason one cannot betray a secret one does not possess.

My first year as a new initiate was taken up with study. I learned much about the many involvements of our Order, and the subtle ways in which we brought our influence to bear. I learned the lore and teaching of the Temple and a few of its secrets. Sadly, the very nature of the secrets we protected often meant that we were not at liberty to reveal our full powers, nor could we interfere with the natural course of events in the world at large.

We could but stand aside and watch as the manifold catastrophes of man and nature wreaked havoc great and dire upon the world. In this, I began to learn something of the heroic patience of the saints. To stand aside and watch while the worst mistakes were made again and again – and always, always to the cost of those who could least afford it – was almost more than I could take. Often was the time I sought retreat, sickened in my soul over the inhumanity rampant around me.

I watched and learned, and slowly mastered the arcane history of our clandestine Order. The years passed, and Annie and Alex grew, attended school and, eventually, flew the nest to begin families of their own. Gait and I continued in all happiness, and looked forward to grandchildren, in good time, and a leisurely life as a couple once more.

Meanwhile, I advanced in the Order, passing on from one unknown level to the next until arriving at the Sixth Degree, which I erroneously assumed was as high as one could attain. At each stage of this long journey, there were fewer companions. For example, when first inducted into the Benevolent Order, I learned there were upwards of seventy thousand members in various Temples throughout the world. Upon becoming a member of the Brotherhood, I discovered there were only seven hundred First Degree brethren; when I attained the Second Degree, that number diminished by more than two hundred, and so on. With each ascending rung of the invisible ladder, the numbers decreased accordingly. No more than thirty members ever hold a Sixth Degree membership at any time.

The reason for this is, again, protection. The fewer the number of people who know a secret, the greater the security. Until three weeks ago, however, I could never have imagined that the magnitude of the secrets guarded at the highest level increased astronomically. That is to say, what was shown me but a few nights ago in the Inner Temple has convinced me beyond all doubt of the necessity for our secrecy. In this I am utterly sincere.

How then, you might ask, is it possible for a man who believes in the righteousness of his cause, and the crucial necessity of secrecy to protect and advance it-how is it possible for that man to reveal its most confidential information? How is it possible for that man to divulge the very secrets he has sworn to protect with his life?

Allow me to reiterate: I would gladly suffer death a thousand times rather than betray the Brotherhood, or endanger the Great Work.

How then, this document? The answer is that, as the most recent initiate of the Inner Temple, and therefore the most receptive to the remarkable methods employed in the dissemination of the knowledge I have lately acquired, I have been given the task of chronicling the development of the Order from its very beginnings.

The purpose of this task is twofold. In committing to paper all that has been vouchsafed to me, I will gain greater mastery over it. Secondly, the Inner Temple has, in its wisdom, foreseen the day when the preservation of that which we hold so jealously at present will best be served not by secrecy and stealth, but by outright proclamation. One day, they say, the surest way to protect a secret will be to shout it from the housetops.

If this seems a ludicrous paradox, I can only say that the particular circumstances which make this extremity of purpose necessary, though not yet fully apprehended, are drawing inexorably nearer. Friends, we live in troubled times. The day is coming when the whole world will be tried in the crucible of war.

By God's will and by his hand, we may emerge from the fiery furnace. But if we are destroyed, then this record may be all that is left of our illustrious order, and it will fall to those who come after us to complete the Great Work we have begun.

Thus, in the very first days following my Seventh Degree initiation I began the occupation which has been urged upon me. I confess I have written in haste; my chief desire has been to capture the bright images just as they appeared to me in the white heat of the vision. Loath to let the dream fade, or allow time to cloud my memory, I have secluded myself in my study at the top of the house, and I have not stirred, save for infrequent meals. Scarcely have I rested.

Dear Caitlin fears I am losing my sanity. 'Far from it,' I tell her, 'I am rescuing sanity's last remnant.' And that is true. I do believe that if I desisted even for a day, the chaos of my thoughts would overwhelm me. So long as I work, I make sense of the strange double life I have acquired. If I lose myself in these pages, it is only so that I may find myself again. Thus, I have no choice. I dare not stop until my work is finished.

Even so, the end is in sight.

If my poor chronicle should in future find any readers, I would like it known that I have, in so far as possible, striven for the truth in every particular. Any triumph belongs to those whose story is here related. Any failure is my own.

It is the story of the Sanctus Clarus, yes, but it is also the story of the men and women who strove to keep that Holy Light burning through the ages. I ask you to remember this when weighing out our failings. We are but flesh and blood, and not angels after all.

Bohemond, Prince of Taranto and Count of Antioch, arrived in Jerusalem with two hundred knights. He wasted not a moment, but established himself in the palace recently vacated by the commander of Amir Iftikhar's bodyguard. The high-walled house, with its numerous columns and floors of polished stone, was swiftly converted to an armoury and stables. The generous courtyard and gardens were given to the prince's horses which were allowed to drink from the white marble fountains.

King Magnus quickly joined his avowed lord in the palace, and the two began scheming how best to get their hands on a healthy share of the city's newly liberated wealth. Towards this end, Bohemond let it be known through various subtle means that he would be inclined to support the claim to kingship of any noble who supported his claim to plunder.

The lords and noblemen whose sweat and labour had secured the Holy City were not pleased with the late-comer's demands, and resisted all attempts to persuade them otherwise. There were harsh words and hard feelings on each side, and rising tension among the lords as they anticipated the next day's council.

Murdo and the monks came to hear of this when they returned to the king's war band. It had taken most of the day following their midnight visit to the monastery of Saint Mary outside the walls to find their comrades; the place where they had been camped was vacant, and no one in the area had paid any attention to the movements of the long-haired Norsemen. Despite Murdo's aversion to returning to the city, they had no choice but to continue the search inside Jerusalem.