Labyrinth Read Free Page B

colour? If she undoes the ties and opens it, careful so as not to damage the dry and brittle vellum, will she remember the words echoing back down the centuries?
    I pray that at last, as my long days draw to a close, I will have the chance to put right what once I did ill, that I will at last learn the truth. The truth will set me free.
    The man sits back in his chair and puts his hands, speckled brown with age, flat on the table in front of him. The chance to know, after so very long, what happened at the end.
    It is all he wants.
    III
    Chartres
    Northern France
    Later that same day, six hundred miles to the north, another man stands in a dimly lit passageway under the streets of Chartres, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
    His palms are sweaty, his mouth is dry and he’s aware of every nerve, every muscle in his body, even the pulse in the veins at his temples. He feels self-conscious and lightheaded, although whether this is down to nerves and anticipation or the after-effects of the wine, he can’t tell. The unfamiliar white cotton robes hang heavy on his shoulders and the ropes made out of twisted hemp rest awkwardly on his bony hips. He steals a quick glance at the two figures standing in silence on either side of him, but their hoods conceal their faces. He can’t tell if they are as edgy as he or if they have been through the ritual many times before. They’re dressed the same, except their robes are gold rather than white and they have shoes on their feet. His feet are bare and the flagstones are cold.
    High above the hidden network of tunnels, the bells of the great Gothic cathedral begin to chime. He feels the men beside him stiffen. It’s the signal they’ve been waiting for. Immediately, he drops his head and tries to focus on the moment.
    “Je suis pret,” he mumbles, more to reassure himself than as a statement of fact. Neither of his companions reacts in any way.
    As the final reverberation of the bells fades to silence, the acolyte on his left steps forward and, with a stone partially concealed in the palm of his hand, strikes five times on the massive door. From inside comes the answer. “Dintrar .” Enter.
    The man half-thinks he recognises the woman’s voice, but he has no time to guess from where or from when, because already the door is opening to reveal the chamber that he has waited so long to see.
    Keeping step with one another, the three figures walk slowly forward. He’s rehearsed this and knows what to expect, knows what is required of him, although he feels a little unsteady on his feet. The room is hot after the chill of the corridor and it is dark. The only light comes from the candles arranged in the alcoves and on the altar itself, setting shadows dancing on the floor.
    Adrenalin is coursing through his body, although he feels strangely detached from the proceedings. When the door falls shut behind him, he jumps.
    The four senior attendants stand to the north, south, east and west of the chamber. He desperately wants to raise his eyes and take a better look, but he forces himself to keep his head down and his face hidden, as he has been instructed. He can sense the two rows of initiates lining the long sides of the rectangular chamber, six on each side. He can feel the heat of their bodies and hear the rise and fall of their breathing, even though nobody is moving and nobody speaks.
    He’s memorised the layout from the papers he was given and as he walks towards the sepulchre in the middle of the chamber, he’s aware of their eyes on his back. He wonders if he knows any of them. Business colleagues, other people’s wives, anybody might be a member. He can’t help a faint smile reaching his lips, as he allows himself for a moment to fantasise about the difference his acceptance into the society will make.
    He’s brought sharply back to the present when he stumbles and nearly falls over the kneeling stone at the base of the sepulchre. The chamber is smaller than he imagined from