The Iron Lance by Stephen R. Lawhead Read Free Book Online Page B

“Brothers and sisters, the day has come to declare our intentions in this holy enterprise. Whosoever would become a soldier for Christ, let them come forward now and, before this devout assembly, let them take the cross!”
    At this, Murdo braced himself against the surge as the congregation started toward the pulpit. All around him, men and women were clamoring for the cross, reaching, stretching out their hands and calling on God to hear their heartfelt vows. The canny bishop was ready for the rush which met his invitation. No fewer than a dozen senior monks appeared on the dais below the high pulpit, each with a bundle of white cloth in his arms.
    Murdo saw the bundles and, despite himself, his heart beat faster. The crosses ! He had heard about the white cloth crosses, of course, and the thought that his brothers should receive them while he must go without was almost unbearable. He watched in an agony of jealous torment as the monks proceeded to distribute the white cloth crosses to the eager throng. The commotion of voices echoed among the roof beams like the din of bells.
    When the crosses had been distributed all around, Bishop Adalbert instructed every recipient to kneel. He then led them in a vow of allegiance whereby they all swore a sacred oath never to abandon the holy pilgrimage so long as Jerusalem remained captive. His pilgrims duly forsworn, the bishop then took up his crozier and offered the benediction. “God bless you and keep you, and make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you now and forever. May victory be swift, and trials few, and may God speed your safe return. Amen.”
    â€œAmen!” shouted the newly-recruited soldiers of Christ.
    Murdo glared darkly at Torf and Skuli, who remained blissfully unaware of their younger brother’s poisonous stare as they fingered the white cloth crosses and argued with Paul over whether it was best to wear them on the front or back. The interminable service finally over, Lord Ranulf led his family out of the church. Murdo shuffled after them, head down, defeated, and collided with Paul when the family was halted just outsidethe door by a monk in a brown robe. The cleric exchanged a brief word with Ranulf, who made a courteous reply, and then turned and announced, “We have all been invited to observe the feast at the bishop’s table.”
    Murdo heard this and hope rekindled in his heart. The bishop’s board was renowned throughout the isles, and second only to the jarl’s table. Murdo allowed himself a smile at his unexpected good fortune. The bishop’s table! Such lavish bounty, such wild abundance—who could have foreseen it?
    The monk led them across the crowded courtyard, through an arched doorway, and into a sunny, cloistered square where at least ten long tables had been erected on the green. There were a good many people already gathered here and, to Murdo’s increasing dismay, more, and still more guests, were arriving by way of other doors along the cloisters.
    As no one had been given leave to sit, everyone swarmed onto the green, eagerly awaiting the summons to dine. There were so many! Had the bishop invited the entire congregation? By even the most casual estimation, Murdo reckoned he would be fortunate indeed to get so much as a gravy-soaked crust. And this, a true feast-day—in Murdo’s regard, second only to the Christ Mass at Yuletide. All the other festal days, so far as Murdo could see, were unutterably dull and tedious, requiring, as they did, mass and prayers and obscure observances of various kinds. And anyway they were not true feasts at all since no special food was ever laid on, and chores still had to be done despite spending the whole day in church, which meant that he often ended up working in the dark, a thing Murdo loathed.
    Saint John’s day, however, was different. Though he still had to go to church, that hardship was made more endurable by the fact that,