"Stephen Lawhead - Celtic Crusades 01 - The Iron Lance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

BOOK I
January 6, 1899: Edinburgh, Scotland
My name is of no importance.
It is enough to know that three nights ago I obtained to the Seventh Degree
Initiation. Perforce, and I am now a member of the Inner Temple, and therefore
privy to the secrets I am about to reveal.
Do not think for a moment that I intend to betray the trust which has been
placed in me. I would gladly die before endangering the Brotherhood or its
work. As it happens, much of what I shall set forth is already known; at
least, any reasonably intelligent reader with an ounce of curiosity and a
half-decent library can obtain it with patience and perseverance. The rest,
however, is beyond all recovery, save by the methods which have been employed
on my behalf. Those methods, like the knowledge so derived, is arcane beyond
belief.
Indeed, were I not now among the chosen few, I would not believe it myself,
nor would I be writing this at all. As to that, I have put it off long enough.
The time has come to order the confusion of my thoughts and the extraordinary,
nay fantastic, experiences of the last days. Perhaps in the writing I will
begin to reassure myself that I am not insane. The events which I shall tell
did happen, believe me.
I begin.
The summons came as it usually does - a single rap on the door of my study,
and a note bearing neither seal nor signature, nor any message save the
solitary word: Tonight.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day disengaging myself from my
various commitments and, at the appropriate time, made my way to the appointed
place of rendezvous. Forgive me if I do not divulge the location of our
meeting place. Suffice to say that it is a simple church no great distance
from the city, easily reached by hansom cab. As always, I paid the driver for
his trouble, delivered instructions for his return, and proceeded the last two
or so miles on foot. Like my fellows, I vary the route each time, as well as
the driver, so as not to arouse undue interest or suspicion.
Although the church appears nondescript - all sombre grey stone and suitably
traditional appointments - T assure you it is quite ancient, and anything but
traditional. Upon entering, I paused to pray in one of the chapel pews before
retrieving my grey robe from the rack in the vestry, and making my way down
the hidden steps behind the altar to the crypt where our more intimate
convocations take place.
The lower room smells faintly of dust and dry decay. It is dark. We rely on
candlelight alone, and that sparingly. I am not afraid; I have participated in
many such gatherings of the Brotherhood for several years now, and am well
acquainted with the various forms and functions of our group. Ordinarily, I am
one of the first to arrive. Tonight, however, I can sense the others waiting
for me as I stoop nearly double to enter the inner room. I make some small
excuse for being late, but am reassured by Genotti (I should state here that
all names encountered in this narrative have been altered to protect the
anonymity of the members of the Brotherhood) - who tells me that I am not
late, but that tonight's meeting is a special affair.
'We began our colloquy last night,' Genotti tells me. 'You were not required
until this moment.'