Murdo darted away; he ran down the narrow passage to the doorway which joined the two galleries. He ducked his head to pass through the low door, and ran back along the length of the first gallery to where Ronan was waiting at the entrance, holding a single torch.
'I am sorry,' Murdo said quickly. 'I was looking at some of the tombs.'
'Lead the way,' Ronan said. 'Our friends are anxious to return to their rest.'
At these words, Murdo glanced up and, looking behind Ronan, made out a line of monks stretching back up the steps to the crypt above. They were carrying the corpse-shaped bundles. Seeing Murdo's grimace of dismay, the elder priest bent his head towards him. 'The abbot insisted,' he whispered. 'I could not refuse. This way, we may finish before dawn.'
Straightening once more, Ronan called to those behind him. 'We are ready now. Follow on.' To Murdo he said, 'Go-I will stay here to light the passage.'
Retracing their footprints in the dust, Murdo led the line of monks to the gallery they had chosen. He did not like so many strangers entangled in his affairs, but with their help, the work of stowing the bundled treasure was quickly accomplished. When the others had been dismissed, Murdo and Ronan made certain the treasure was tucked well out of sight. Murdo then placed his father's shield below the niche to mark the place. When he was at last satisfied that nothing unusual could be seen by anyone, he allowed himself to be pulled away.
'Come along,' Ronan urged, 'it is getting on towards dawn, and we must return the camel to its owner.'
They quickly retraced their steps to the crypt and hurried out into the thin grey light of a fast-fading night. They crossed the yard, collected the camel and passed back through the gate, and it was not until they were well down the road that Emlyn noticed the smoothness and strength of Murdo's stride.
'Look at you now!' he exclaimed. 'You are running!'
Murdo had to admit that it did appear to be so; he could not explain it, but his feet no longer hurt him, and his sunburned skin was no longer painful to the touch. 'I suppose I am feeling much better,' he allowed.
'Oh, to be young again,' sighed Fionn, labouring along beside the disagreeable camel.
When they came again to the road leading past the Jaffa Gate, Fionn turned the animal westward and they began climbing towards a small cluster of farms nestled in the hills. Murdo fell into step beside the senior cleric. 'Are you truly an abbot?' he asked.
'Yes,' Ronan confirmed, 'but among our brotherhood, such distinctions are not so important that we make much of them.'
'What did you tell the priests?'
'Which priests?'
'Back there-at the monastery. They were not about to allow us to use their catacombs. But you spoke to the abbot. What did you tell them to make them change their minds?'
'The truth, Murdo,' replied Ronan. 'I simply told them the truth-that generally produces the most satisfactory result, I find.'
'You told them about the treasure?' cried Murdo, stopping in his tracks.
'Calm yourself,' the priest replied. 'Have a little faith, son. How could I have told them any such thing, when I vowed to uphold your secret? No. I simply said that these were the last remains of a very wealthy family, and that I had every confidence that you-the youngest surviving member of that noble family-would be most happy to give the monastery a handsome reward in exchange for keeping them safe until you return to take them away to your own country.' Ronan smiled. 'Was I wrong in any of this?'
Murdo shook his head at the priest's audacity. 'No,' he allowed, 'you were not wrong.'
At the first house they found a post in the yard, where they tethered the animal. They were just finishing this task when the farmer appeared in the doorway of the house. He shouted something at them, whereupon Ronan turned and spoke to him in his own language.
The man moved into the yard, clutching a stout wooden staff. Ronan spoke again, putting out his hand towards Murdo. The farmer stopped, regarded them coolly for a moment, and then answered, speaking quickly and harshly.
'What does he say?' asked Murdo.
'I have told him that we borrowed his beast, and have returned it. He does not believe me, however; he thinks we were trying to steal it.'
'Ask him if thieves pay for the things they take.' Murdo instructed.
Ronan obliged, and then said, 'He says the crusaders have taken everything else, and paid him nothing. Why should he think us better than the rest?'
Murdo reached into his belt and produced a gold coin. While the monks stood looking on, he stepped before the man and placed the coin in his open palm. 'Tell him we are not thieves.'
The man looked at the coin, but did not close his hand. He spoke to Ronan, who interpreted, saying, 'Neither is our friend here a thief. He says it is too much for the use of his camel; he cannot accept it.'
'Tell him he can keep it,' Murdo said. 'We want nothing more from him but to leave quietly.'
Ronan spoke again, and the man smiled quickly and whipped the coin out of sight. He then loosed a rapid babble of words, snatched up Murdo's hand and pressed it to his lips.
'He says that he is most grateful,' Ronan explained, 'and that if we have need of his animal again, or his house, or his barn, or anything he might possess, however large or small, we are to come to him and it will be given with immense joy.'
The sky was glowing pink in the east as they started back down the hill. Murdo, hungry, and exhausted by the events of the day, wished only to find a cool place to sleep before facing whatever trials lay ahead.
'I suppose King Magnus will wonder where we have been so long,' Emlyn said, moving up beside him.
'I suppose,' Murdo agreed. In the turmoil of all that had happened in the last days, he had forgotten about the king and his war band, of which he was a member. 'Do you think he will be angry?'
'He has been busy with his own affairs,' the priest suggested lightly. 'I expect he will not have missed us very much.'
'The farmer,' Murdo said, 'what language was he speaking?' 'Aramaic,' the cleric replied, 'a very ancient tongue. It was the speech of our Lord Christ. Many still speak it hereabouts. Does it surprise you that Ronan should know it?'
Murdo shrugged again. 'I do not know what priests are taught.'
'My friend,' Emlyn reproved gently, 'you should know by now, those who follow the True Path are not at all like other priests.'
BOOK IV
January 21, 1899: Edinburgh, Scotland
As I think on it now, I am convinced that I was chosen to replace Angus. In saying this, I do not mean to degrade my own selection, or belittle my worthiness to accede to the honour and status granted me by my initiation into the Brotherhood. I mean, simply, that if Angus had lived, in all likelihood I would never have been asked to join the Benevolent Order in the first place.
The plain truth is that Pemberton was Angus' friend, not mine. I believe the old gent had been grooming him for several years; I have no doubt that in due course, Angus would have made a tremendous contribution to the Brotherhood. I know I have missed his boundless enthusiasm, his easy nature, his wit and loyalty. But life is rarely predictable; destiny scorns even the best intentioned plans. Angus was taken, and I was left behind.
In a way, one might say Angus passed his birthright on to me through our friendship. Upon his death the Brotherhood began the search once more; because of our close affinity, I suppose, they happened to light on me as a possible successor. Or, perhaps I am mistaken, and there is more to it than that.
Be that as it may, the night of my initiation I returned home with my cape and blackened fingerbone, and knew beyond any doubt that my life had once more undergone a deep and profound change, the effects of which I could not fully imagine or anticipate, but would, in due course, discover.
Indeed, it would be years before I began to appreciate the sheer scale of the Brotherhood's interests and
