The Devil in green

The reinforced gates were rust-eaten, stained and covered with foul graffiti. Mallory tried to decide whether they had been erected out of fear, or strength; to keep the outside world at bay, or to keep those inside pure. Whichever was the right answer, first impressions were not of an open religion welcoming all souls into a place of refuge from the storm of life. He'd only been there a moment and he already doubted the judgment of those in charge. Situation normal.

He could feel Miller's uncertain gaze on his back, urging him to do something to dispel the disappointment his companion was starting to feel. With a shrug, Mallory strode up and hammered on the gates. When the metallic echoes had died, a young man with a shaven head and an incongruously cherubic face peered over the stone battlements.

'Who goes?' he called, with a faint lisp.

Mallory turned back to Miller. 'Well, that's scared me off.'

'We want to join you,' Miller shouted.

The guard eyed them suspiciously, focusing particular attention on Mallory.

'We want to be knights,' Miller pressed. His voice held a faint note of panic at the possibility that after all he'd been through he still might be turned away.

'Wait there.' The guard bobbed down. Several minutes later, they heard the scrape of metal bars being drawn on the other side. The gates creaked open just wide enough for Mallory and Miller to pass through in single file. On the other side were five men armed with medieval weaponry: pikes, swords and an axe, which Mallory guessed had been taken from some local museum.

The guard stepped forwards. 'Enter with humility before God.' An implied threat lay in his words.

Mallory looked at him askance. 'Does everyone talk like that around here?'

Miller gazed back at the fortified gate uncomfortably. 'Why all that?' he asked.

'Times are hard.' It wasn't enough of an answer, but the guard turned away before Miller could ask him any more.

Mallory was intrigued by what he saw within the compound. He'd seen photos of the cathedral in the old days, had even caught the last of a TV Christmas carol service broadcast from there, seen through an alcoholic haze after a late night at the pub. The serenity of the expansive lawns that had once surrounded the cathedral was long gone. Now wooden shacks clustered tightly, some of which appeared to have been knocked up overnight, offering little protection from the elements. Mallory also spied vegetable and herb gardens, stables, a small mill and more. The grass was now little more than churned mud with large cart ruts running amongst the huts. The entire scene had an odd medieval flavour that discomfited him.

The houses appeared to consist of only a single room, two at the most, with small windows that could not have allowed much light inside. They were arranged, more or less, on a grid pattern, the cathedral's own village, although there were still a few remaining lawns around the grand building to form a barrier between the sacred and the profane.

Once they were well within the site, they could see that fortifications had been continued on all sides to create a well-defended compound. Most of the wall was original, constructed in the fourteenth century with the stone from the deserted cathedral at Old Sarum, but where gaps had appeared over the years, makeshift barriers had now been thrown up. Abandoned cars, crushed and tattered, building rubble, corrugated sheets, had all been riveted together to become remarkably sturdy. Of the original gates, three remained, all as secure as the one through which Mallory and Miller had passed.

Enclosed within the new fortifications were several imposing piles that lined the Cathedral Close, including the museums on the western edge, which appeared to have been pressed into Church use. The weight of history was palpable, from Malmesbury House, partly built by Sir Christopher Wren and where Charles II and Handel had both stayed, to the grand Mompesson House with its Queen-Anne facade, through the many stately buildings that had offered services to the Church. Beyond the houses, the enclosure ran down to the banks of the Avon past a larger cultivated area providing food for the residents.

And at the centre of it was the cathedral itself. Dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the grey stone of the gothic medieval building gleamed in the morning light, its perpendicular lines leading the eye towards the four- hundred-foot spire that spoke proudly of the Glory of Almighty God. Even in that broken world, it still had the power to inspire.

They were led through a door near the west front to an area next to the cloisters that had once held a cafe. The surly guard guided them to a windowless room containing three dining chairs and a table. He sent in some water and bread before leaving them alone for the next hour.

'What do you think?' Miller asked in an excited whisper.

Mallory tore a chunk off the bread and inspected it cautiously before chewing. 'They're worse off than I imagined.'

'What do you mean?'

'All that graffiti on the walls — looks as if they've had a falling out with the locals. And the walls themselves, what message are they sending out?'

Miller wasn't going to be deterred. 'Still, it's great to be here, finally,' he said with a blissful smile.

'You really are a glass-half-full kind of person, aren't you.' Mallory spun one of the chairs and straddled it. 'They'd better not bury us in rules and regulations. You know how it is with God people. Thou shalt not do this, thou shalt not do that. Bottom line for me: no vows of celibacy, no abstinence from the demon drink.'

'We might not get accepted.'

'Right,' Mallory said sarcastically. 'We're going to get accepted.'

'How can you be sure? They might think we're not… devout enough. We're supposed to be champions of God's Word.'

'So what does God want? That His Word gets out there. Do you think He really cares if it's being transmitted by some cynical money-grabbing toe-rag who doesn't believe one syllable of it?'

'Of course it matters!' Miller stared at Mallory in disbelief.

'Why? The job's still getting done. People are still being led away from the dark side to the Path of Righteousness. Or is it more ideologically pure if the unbeliever doesn't do it and they all stay damned?'

'It… matters!' Miller looked as if he was about to burst into tears again. Mallory's weary attempt to backtrack was interrupted when the door swung open, revealing a man in his late forties, balding on top, but with long, bushy grey hair. He carried with him an air of tranquillity underpinned by a good-natured, open attitude visible in his untroubled smile. He wore the long black robes of a monk.

'My name is James,' he said. 'I realise things may seem strange to you here. It's strange for all of us.'

'We want to be knights,' Miller said firmly.

'It's my job to greet the new arrivals,' James continued. 'Help them adjust to the very different life we have here, facilitate an easy transition from the world without to the one we are attempting to build here in the cathedral precinct.'

'So you're the official counsellor,' Mallory said.

James didn't appear troubled by the less than deferential tone. 'I suppose that's one way of describing my work.' The cast of his smile suggested he knew exactly what game Mallory was playing. 'Come, walk with me and I'll show you the sights, introduce you to a few people. And I'll explain why things are the way they are.'

'Getting your apologies in first?' Mallory said.

'I think it's true to say things are probably not how you expected them, how we all expected them to be. But everyone is still coming to terms with the Fall.' The euphemism for the chaos that had descended on the world made Mallory smile. James continued, 'It has necessitated a particular approach which may be… surprising at first impression.'

Mallory gestured for him to lead the way. 'I love surprises.'

James took them into the cathedral nave, crossing himself briefly as he faced the altar. Inside, the building was even bigger than Mallory had imagined. The magnificent vaulted roof soared so high over their heads it made them dizzy when they looked up, dwarfing them beneath the majesty of God as the original architects had intended. Further down the quire, a few men knelt in silent prayer.

'It will be packed at vespers,' James noted with a sweep of his hand from wall to wall.

'I haven't seen any women since I came in,' Mallory said.

'No.' James appeared uncomfortable at this observation, but he didn't give Mallory time to follow up. 'This is the last outpost of Christianity, at least in Great Britain. Within this compound you will find Anglicans, Catholics, Methodists, High Church, Low Church, representatives of the fringe evangelical movements, all worshipping side by side in a manner that could never have been anticipated at a time when the Church was thriving. Then, there were too many rivalries. Now we are all forced to work together for the common good.' He smiled benignly at Mallory. 'I'm sure there is a lesson in there somewhere.'

'The last outpost?' Miller appeared to be hearing James' words in a time-delay.

'What happened over the past year and a half shattered the Church.' James led them slowly along the nave. 'Even in our darkest moment we could never have foreseen…'He shook his head dismally.

'It obviously wasn't as strong as you thought,' Mallory said.

'The Church remains as indefatigable as always,' James parried.

'Then perhaps the people didn't live up to your expectations.'

James thought about this for a moment, but did not deny it. 'With miracles happening on every street corner all day every day, with gods… things that call themselves gods… answering the calls of anyone who petitioned them, it was understandable that there would be a period of confusion.'

Miller turned in a slow circle, dumbfounded. 'This is all that's left?'

'The congregations fragmented. Yes, some became more devout because of the upheaval they witnessed, but many lost their way.' He took a second or two to choose his words, but could find no easy way to say it. 'Including many of our ministers.'

The sun gleamed through the stained-glass windows, but without any electric lights to illuminate the loftier regions there was still an atmosphere of gloom.

'With the lines of communication shattered, the situation rapidly became untenable,' James continued. 'Belief was withering on the vine. The leaders… the remaining leaders… of the various churches held an emergency conference, a crisis meeting, at Winchester.' He had led them to the Trinity Chapel where the window glowed in blues and reds in the morning sun. Slender pillars of marble rose up on either side to support a daringly designed roof of sharply pointed arches. 'It was decided that a period of retrenchment was necessary. The Church would fortress itself if necessary, re-establish its strength before taking the Word back out to the country.'

Mallory examined the images on the windows. The design was called Prisoners of Conscience. 'You really think you can do it?'

'If faith is undiminished, anything can be achieved.' James watched him carefully. 'And why are you here?'

Mallory didn't look at him. 'Food, shelter. Security.'

'Is that what you believe?'

'You are looking for knights?' Miller ventured hopefully.

James turned to him with a pleasant aspect. 'At the same Council of

Winchester, the decision was taken to re-establish the Knights Templar. Do you know of them?'

'A bit,' Miller said uncertainly.

'According to historical sources, most notably the Frankish historian Guillaume de Tyre, the Knights Templar were formed by nine knights under the leadership of Hugues de Payen in 1118,' James began. 'After Jerusalem fell to the Crusaders in 1099, it became a Christian city and the nine, under the name of the Poor Knights of Christ and die Temple of Solomon, vowed to devote themselves to the protection of all pilgrims travelling along the dangerous roads to the Christian shrines. They took quarters next to the temple and from then on became known as the Knights Templar.'

James led them from the Trinity Chapel into the presbytery and then into the quire, the 'church within a church' where the canons' stalls faced each other beneath the shining pipes of the organ.

'Ten years after their establishment, their fame had spread,' James continued. 'No lesser an authority than Saint Bernard, the abbot of Clairvaux, wrote a tract declaring the Templars to be the epitome and apotheosis of Christian values. They were soon officially recognised and incorporated as a religious-military order, Christ's militia, if you will, soldier-mystics, warrior-monks, combining the spirituality of the Church with a fighting ability that struck terror into Christianity's enemies.'

'Until the God-fearing royals of Europe had the Church brand them heretics,' Mallory noted wryly, 'because they had the misfortune to become too successful, right? Too rich and powerful… a challenge to the established order. Had their leader slowly roasted alive in the square of some French city… nice… had the knights hunted down and slaughtered, launched a propaganda assault to completely destroy their reputation.'

'You're obviously an educated man. But don't confuse the Church with the people who claim to administer God's Word,' James cautioned. 'Humans are fallible.'

'Pardon me for pointing it out, but you seem to have had your fair share of the fallible in your history,' Mallory countered, unmoved.

'We are all fallible.' James turned his attention to the high altar at the focal point of the cathedral. 'The decision to re-establish the Knights Templar was taken for practical reasons, and for symbolic ones. The new Knights Templar will protect our missionaries as they move out across the country. It's a dangerous land out there… worldly threats, supernatural threats, spiritual threats…'

'That's a tough job,' Mallory said. 'You'll need tough men.'

'Tough, yes. Not just physically or psychologically, but spiritually. It will be demanding, with little reward in this world.' There was pity in his smile. 'Many who wish to join will not be suitable. You need to understand that. But there will always be a role here for people willing to carry out God's Word.'

'Not many perks, though,' Mallory said.

James laughed. 'Sorry, no company cars! On the plus side, the Council decided not to continue with the strict rules under which the original Templars existed — shaven heads, beards, poverty, chastity and obedience — though we have adopted a distinctive dress for our knights so that everyone will know them when they see them coming.'

Mallory pointed to James' habit. 'You've got your own strict dress code as well.'

'Indeed. It was felt, with the various… strands… of the Church coming together, that a uniformity was necessary to bind everyone here into a single community.' He was choosing his words carefully, Mallory noted.

'You had some friction, then? A little local rivalry?'

'There was a danger of that, yes. So it was decided that we adopt elements of the Rule of Saint Benedict, which was written in the sixth century as a guide to the spiritual and administrative life of a monastery. Although we are not a monastic order — we are a chapter of canons — it was agreed that a certain level of… discipline was necessary.' He didn't appear wholly to agree with this, although he attempted to mask it with a smile. 'But you'll find out all about that later.'

As they turned to leave the quire, they were confronted by two men who had been making their way towards the altar. One of them was very old, possibly in his eighties, Mallory estimated. Hunched over his walking stick, he resembled a crane, both awkward and frail; he didn't appear to have the strength to walk any distance at all. Helping him along was a man in his late twenties with shoulder-length black hair and a long, pointed nose that reminded Mallory of some forest animal.

James knelt and formally kissed the hand of the old man. 'Our bishop,' he said, when he rose.

The old man smiled; his eyes were uncannily bright and sharp. 'Cornelius,' he amended in a rural Scottish accent. 'New arrivals?'

'More recruits for the knights,' James said. 'They're growing fast. It shouldn't be long before we have a full complement.'

'Then our community here owes you our gratitude,' Cornelius said to Mallory and Miller. 'You are our future. Your bravery will not go unrewarded.'

He began his slow progress along the aisle, but his companion held back. With a surreptitious glance at the bishop, he caught James' arm and said, 'The dogs have started to gather.'

James' expression darkened. 'Surely they won't make their move yet.' He, too, glanced after the bishop. 'Surely not yet.'

'They're driven by ideology. Common sense doesn't come into it.' He moved off quickly to catch the bishop's arm.

'Who was that?' Mallory asked.

'Julian. A good man. He's the precentor, responsible for the choir, the music and a few other recently added duties, mainly to do with the services and spiritual life of the cathedral. He's one of the four Principal Persons who oversee the Chapter of Canons, our guiding body.'

James appeared briefly distracted, then, sensing Mallory's interest, shepherded them quickly away before they could ask any more questions.

James took them throughout the main body of the cathedral and its ancillary buildings; it was important, he said, for every new arrival to understand both the facts and the symbolism of their new home. 'This will be our Jerusalem,' he said. 'In England's green and pleasant land.' He detailed the history of the cathedral from its construction between 1220 and 1258 following the decision to move it from its original location at Old Sarum, through to modern times, so that by the end Mallory thought he was going to go insane if he heard another date.

'The new cathedral was entrusted to Nicholas of Ely, a master mason, who encoded many mysteries in the sacred geometry of the building, utilising the vast secret knowledge of numbers, angles and harmonics passed down through the masonic guilds of medieval times,' James commented as they stood in the south quire aisle. 'They say the great secrets of our religion were locked in the stone, but much of the knowledge has since been lost. Who knows what the length of this column, or the angle of that beam, was meant to imply? What we do know is that the building itself was seen as an act of worship. Here, God is in the detail and in the greater design.'

'Is that why you made your base here?' Mallory asked. 'What was wrong with Winchester? Or Glastonbury?'

James thought deeply before replying. 'Those places were certainly considered, as were several others. In the end, the decision was made to come to Salisbury for one very important reason.'

Mallory read his face. 'But you're not going to tell us what it is.'

James grew serious. 'We like to keep a few secrets.' He winced as if he'd said too much, and Mallory was intrigued to see him change direction, leading them now up a winding stone stairway rising from the south transept.

'We have an excellent library here,' James said rather awkwardly, as if continuing the previous conversation. 'Its most famous item is a copy of the Magna Carta, but it has long been praised by academics for its ancient manuscripts, including a page of the Old Testament in Latin from the eighth century and two Gallican psalters from the tenth century.'

'I'll have to book those out on a quiet night,' Mallory said.

'The more important books are less well known,' James continued. 'Within, there are sacred texts the outside world has never been allowed to see since the cathedral was established. Indeed, part of its reason for existing was as guardian and protector of old truths — or lies, depending on your point of view.'

'Surely the great Church wasn't afraid of a few words on paper?' Mallory said. 'Or was it that these things were too dangerous for the common man to find out?'

James laughed quietly. 'I'm just a lowly member here. But I've heard it said that the potency arises not from any individual volume, each of which presents one particular view, but in the totality. Each is a fragment that together reveal a large secret.'

Miller appeared troubled at this. 'Religious secrets?' he asked anxiously.

'Not wholly,' James replied. 'The library also contains a collection of the earliest scientific, mathematical and medical books, including William Harvey's De Motu Cordis, which identified the circulation of the blood for the first time. They were bequeathed by Seth Ward, who became bishop in 1667. But before that he'd been Professor of Astronomy at Oxford and a founding member of the Royal Society.'

'I thought scientists and the religious were always at each other's throats,' Mallory said.

'Apparently not in the old days.' James' smile was enigmatic.

At the top of the stairs they were confronted by two men installing large locks in the door that led to the library; through the opening they could see the stacks of ancient books and smell the warm atmosphere of dusty paper. The workers were being overseen by a man in his late fifties, overweight beneath his black robes, with a balding pate and a goatee beard. His eyes were dark and piercing and instantly fell on the new faces.

'Good morning, Stefan,' James said brightly. 'What have we here?'

'The library is now off limits, on the orders of the bishop.' Stefan tried to return James' smile, but it was an awkward attempt that looked out of place on his face. The shadows under his eyes suggested a saturnine nature, and he quickly returned to a gloomy countenance.

'Oh?' James said, puzzled. 'I can't understand that. The library is a vital resource for everyone here.'

'Nevertheless, the decision has been made. Requests for specific books can be presented to the librarian who will put them to the new library committee for consideration.'

'That sounds like an unwieldy process. How often does the committee meet?'

'We haven't yet reached agreement on all the details, but as chairman of the committee I will certainly do my best to expedite matters.'

James nodded and smiled, but as he moved Mallory and Miller on, he was plainly uncomfortable with what he had heard.

'Looks as if your back-to-basics approach is gathering speed.' Mallory couldn't resist prodding. 'What next — services in Latin?'

'I think I'll raise this with the bishop myself,' James said. 'Those books are so important in these days when knowledge is at a premium. The people here need-' He waved a hand to dismiss his thoughts, though they obviously lay heavily on him.

'Stefan's another big-shot?' Mallory said.

'He's the chancellor. He looks after the education of everyone here. Like all the Principal Persons, he was instrumental in bringing the Church to Salisbury.'

As they exited the cathedral, it was as if some tremendous gravity was reluctantly releasing them. Outside, there was an ethereal quality to the bright morning sunlight. James took them into the sprawling mass of houses, now fully alive with men of all ages cutting wood, feeding cattle and chickens and cleaning out pigsties. 'This is where we house all those who have come to us since we established our new base,' James noted. 'As you can see, we've just about reached the limits of occupation. Quite what we're going to do from here is open to debate, though we are loathe to allow our own to live beyond the walls for fear of victimisation.'

'Is there much of that?' Miller asked apprehensively.

'Not a great deal, though there have been several severe incidents. There are some that see us as a threat, others who feel our time is done. In the light of all that has happened, it appears everyone has their own peculiar belief system to try to make sense of the upheaval. I think they feel let down by the Church because we did not explain the events, or care for them in their hour of need, or simply because they feel what we offer has no relevance to the difficult times we all live in. What need a hidden, mysterious God when solid, physical gods have walked amongst us? Obviously the answers to that question are easy for us to voice, but who has the time or inclination for theological argument? The only way we can win them back is by playing a long game, by letting the Word filter out organically. And that is where the knights come into the equation.'

Finally, James took them to an area at the rear of the former Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum where the knights were sequestered. Several men were learning the art of sword-fighting, while others attacked scarecrows with halberds. All faces were intense and deeply introspective, the movements fluid and powerful. Distinctive uniforms marked them out: black shirts bearing the Templar cross in red against a white square on the breast and right shoulder, hard-wearing black trousers, heavy-duty boots and black belts.

There was another cadre of knights removed from the core group who duelled with each other with a frightening ferocity, at times lithe, then vicious, their speed and dazzling turns and dives revealing skills that set them apart. Their uniforms were also slightly different, with a blue stripe gleaming on the left shoulder.

The commander stood off to one side, watching the activity, his authority apparent in his rigid bearing. Up close, Blaine had a face that registered such little emotion that at times he resembled a wax dummy. He was in his mid-forties, his black hair badly dyed. Hard muscles filled out a uniform carrying the red Templar cross more prominently on the front. His heavy brows cast a shadow around his eyes so that he appeared on the verge of sickness, yet there was a street-hardness about him that gave a commanding presence.

He remained impassive when James introduced him as Blaine. 'It won't be a free ride here,' he said, with a Belfast accent. 'We had a couple in who thought they'd get fed and watered without having to give anything back. They didn't last the week.'

'We'll do what's expected of us,' Mallory said.

'You see that you do… if you want to stay here. You're getting a shot at something people would give their right arm for. There's not much of value out there anymore. But in the next few years you'll see that being a knight will be a mark of respect. The country will come to love you. But you have to earn it.'

'What do we need to do?' Miller asked. The knights had adopted a routine akin to tai chi, with measured, graceful movements, the weapons whipping rapidly around their bodies a hair's-breadth from causing them harm. Their movements looked easy yet unbelievably difficult at the same time. 'How long did it take them to learn that?' Miller continued, agog.

Blaine's gaze flickered lazily towards James. 'You're sure you want to give them a shot?'

'I always go on first impressions. Besides, if we are here for anything, it is to offer hope, to take in those who come to us… for whatever reason… and give them a chance.'

Blaine grunted in a way that implied his complete disagreement with everything James had said, yet without seeming the slightest bit disrespectful. He turned back to Miller. 'You'll get full training. It'll be hard, and fast. We need men out there quickly. I warn you, a lot aren't up to it. We need to get you to the peak of physical fitness. You have to learn how to use weapons you've probably only seen in museums. You've got to learn skills — medicine, astronomy, herbalism, cookery-'

'And don't forget the spiritual guidance,' James said, with a smile.

'And you'll need to know the Good Book back to front,' Blaine continued without missing a beat. 'The poor…' He fumbled for an acceptable word.'… people out there will be looking to you for guidance. They don't want you telling them that Thou Shalt Not Pick Your Nose is one of the Ten Commandments.'

'Don't worry,' Mallory said. 'We'll make sure they don't covet any oxen.'

Blaine laid his gaze heavily on Mallory; it said, I've already got you marked as a troublemaker, and you'll have it knocked out of you in a day.

Mallory didn't flinch.

James was winningly courteous as he took his leave. 'These are desperate times, but also momentous,' he said. 'I feel that the Chinese were correct when they said there are no crises, only opportunities. This is an opportunity to re-energise Christianity and to bring it into the lives of the people once again.' After Blaine, his gentleness was even more pronounced.

Blaine summoned his second-in-command to lead them to their quarters. Hipgrave had barely broken into his thirties, and he appeared much younger. His features carried a permanent sneer, but it looked theatrical, as if he thought it gave him gravitas. 'You'll be out of here before the week's through,' he said in a light voice attempting to disguise its upper-middle-class origins.

'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' Mallory hadn't seen anything he couldn't handle.

Hipgrave gripped Mallory's upper arm and spun him round. 'The knights may be temporal but they operate along strict military lines. There is a chain of command. Insubordination is punished. There's no room in the ranks for weak links.'

Miller flinched, knowing that if Mallory remained true to his nature they could both be ejected. But despite a brief moment of tension, Mallory stayed calm and Hipgrave strutted off in front.

'Please, Mallory,' Miller whispered, 'don't ruin this for me. You don't know how much I need it.'

'Give me credit,' Mallory replied. 'I've got some self-control — I'm not a complete thug.'

Their footsteps echoed along empty corridors as Hipgrave led them to the second floor of the old museum and into a large room at the front overlooking the Cathedral Close. Ten camp beds were laid out at regular intervals beneath medieval wall tapestries. Two other men were already billeted there. One of them, a muscular, good-looking black man, was cleaning his boots with furious brush strokes while the other, a rangy white man in his early fifties, knelt in prayer at a tiny altar beside his bed. They rose and faced the new arrivals for Hipgrave's cursory introductions. Daniels was in his late thirties, intelligent, with an air of amused sophistication. Gardener, in contrast, was a Geordie with a rough working- class attitude, long greying hair tied in a ponytail and a face that had the leathery appearance of meat left out for days in the sun.

When Hipgrave had departed, Mallory chose a bed from the remaining ten and lay on it, staring at the ceiling.

'I wouldn't get used to that position if I were you,' Daniels said wryly. He'd resumed polishing his boots with a verve that bordered on obsession.

'They work you hard?'

'We're twinned with a Soviet Gulag. Their idea of downtime is a face- wash with river water and a turnip to gnaw on.'

'Don't listen to him. He's a soft Southern bastard. Drinks wine with his little finger stuck out,' Gardener called over.

'At least I know what wine is, you beer-swelling Philistine.'

'Aye, you whine all the time.'

Daniels walked over to Gardener, brandishing his brush. 'You know, you'd think some of my innate style and breeding would have rubbed off on you after the weeks we've been stuck here, but I'm starting to think you'll remain a troglodyte for ever.'

'You know you're not supposed to use big words around me. Now bugger off, I'm trying to pray.'

Despite their fractiousness, it was obvious to Mallory that a deep affection underpinned their relationship, a clear case of opposites attracting. In his voice and body language, Daniels seemed gay, though Gardener, as far as Mallory could tell, was straight — at least, he sported a worn wedding ring — and they obviously came from different backgrounds. But the camaraderie made him think it might not be so bad there after all.

Mallory and Miller were allowed only half an hour to settle in before another knight was sent to fetch them. He had red hair and freckles and a fastidious manner that irritated Mallory the moment the knight opened his mouth. He had been ordered to give them a wealth of instructions, none of which he was prepared to repeat, so they had no choice but to listen.

'Everything here is based around discipline,' he said, 'to focus the mind. Your day will be mapped out for you, and it's a long day, believe me. This isn't a place for the lazy.'

He marched ahead of them with the stiff gait of a well-drilled military man, which made Mallory's loose-limbed amble seem even more lazy. Miller hopped and skipped to keep up like a pony on a rope.

'The knights, however, have a slightly different timetable from the rest,' the red-headed man continued. 'There's a lot of studying, a lot of training. For most people out there-' He motioned towards the sprawl of wooden huts visible through the window. '-the day begins at six a.m. with prime. That's a full service in the cathedral, plainsong, the works. The prayer and chant continues through the day, seven days a week. Terce at nine a.m., sext at midday, none in mid-afternoon, vespers at the end of the afternoon and compline at dusk. After that, everyone retires to their rooms for the great silence and the cathedral is locked. At midnight everyone rises for the night office, followed immediately by the lauds of the dead. It lasts about two hours in total, and then you're off on the cycle again. You will be expected to attend services when you are not involved with your other duties.'

Mallory glanced at Miller; the younger man was clearly enthralled at the strict routine that left Mallory feeling an uncomfortable mixture of depression and defiance.

'Your routine will be individually tailored, depending on where your strengths and weaknesses lie,' the knight continued. 'For the first week or so, it will mainly centre on physical fitness and weapons training.' He eyed them askance. 'To see if you have what it takes to meet the exacting standards required of a Knight Templar.'

Mallory knew enough about the military mindset to understand what that meant: they could look forward to days of gruelling and unnecessary exercises to see if they had the strength of character to continue. And then Blaine — a military man at some level, Mallory guessed — would begin the long task of breaking their spirit so they would obey orders without question.

'After that period, the physical and weapons training will be confined to the early morning, after prime. Then you'll be studying herbalism for treatment of wounds out in the field. The supply of drugs won't last long and there's no infrastructure to manufacture any more. Astronomy is… difficult.' His jaw set. 'But you'll need to navigate by the stars. And then there's the Bible study and philosophy classes. Those are the main ones.'

He brought them into a large oak-panelled room on the first floor. On one wall was fixed a plain wooden sign carved with the legend: 'Let nothing have precedence over divine office' — The Rule of St Benedict.

At the other end of the room was a heavily fortified door beside a window that opened on to a small office stacked with boxes. The knight hammered on the windowsill to attract the attention of a man with a scar that turned his left eye into a permanent squint. He was introduced as Wainwright, the knights' quartermaster.

'Two uniforms?' he said, mentally measuring Mallory and Miller before disappearing into the bowels of the store. He returned a second later.

'Perfect for a torchlight rally,' Mallory said, holding the black shirt up for size.

'Uniforms are to be worn at all times,' the red-haired knight said. 'And that means all times. Being caught without it means the disciplinary procedure.'

Mallory considered asking what this entailed, but he knew it would only depress him further.

The rest of the day was spent in a process that fell somewhere between induction and confession: names, education, abilities, criminal record, past transgressions, hopes, fears. Miller gave them a detailed account of his relationship with his parents and the breakdown of his romance, the catalyst that had propelled him towards Salisbury. Mallory changed his story several times, often during the same strand, before delivering a complex list of dates, times, names and anecdotes that would have taken days of investigation before it was discovered that it made no sense at all.

'They were very nice,' Miller said afterwards, as they picked their way amongst the huts towards the refectory, a large, newly constructed building a stone's throw from the cathedral.

'When you say nice, do you mean prying, interfering, compulsive control freaks?'

Miller looked at him, puzzled. 'No. Nice. They were nice. Didn't you think they were nice?'

'I worry about you, Miller. You're going to be the first person ever to die of unadulterated optimism.'

Miller sighed. 'I don't know why you came here, Mallory. We're going to be part of something big and good. Something important. All you've done is criticise. You're a cynic.'

'You say that as if it's a bad thing.'

'Look, there's Daniels.' Miller nodded towards the knight sauntering ahead of them; he carried himself with confidence, seemingly above the bustle he passed. Mallory noted how many looked at Daniels with respect, if not awe; was it the uniform or the person? 'Come on, let's catch him up,' Miller continued.

'So how long have you been here, Daniels?' Miller asked as he skipped up beside him.

'Two months.' He eyed Miller's skittishness wryly. 'It was this or the circus.'

'That must be when the call first went out. Where were you?'

Daniels looked bemused at Miller's effervescent questioning. 'Bristol.'

'I heard some of the cities were tough in the early days,' Mallory said.

A shadow crossed Daniels' face. 'It was, in some parts, for a while. The riots had died out by the time the call filtered through — no one had the energy left. But there were still some parts of the city you didn't go into, if you know what I mean.' He looked across the huts at the darkening sky.

Daniels had an impressive charisma that underscored his bearing. Mallory could imagine him in his civilian days, well groomed, wearing expensive, fashionable clothes, maybe in some professional job; maybe a lawyer.

'How are you finding it?' Miller had such a bright-eyed-puppy manner that Daniels couldn't help but lighten.

'Hard, but rewarding.' He smiled. 'You'll enjoy it here.'

'Any missions yet?'

'No, but it's only a matter of time. They want to be sure before they send anyone out there.'

'What made you come?' Mallory asked.

'You don't think I came out of obligation? An overarching desire to give something back to Christianity? To the world?' Daniels eyed Mallory as if he knew exactly what was going through the new arrival's head.

'Don't mind him,' Miller said. 'He's just an old cynic.'

'No,' Mallory replied. 'I don't.'

Daniels shrugged in an unconcerned way. 'My partner was killed in the fighting. We'd been together for a while. It left… a big hole.' He chose his words carefully. 'There was nothing for me in Bristol. I thought there might be something for me here.'

'I'm sorry,' Miller said. 'Were you planning on getting married?'

'Gareth was the religious one,' Daniels said directly to Mallory. 'He was the one who went to church every week. I could take it or leave it. But he died with such dignity. Faith right up to the last. That was my moment of epiphany.'

'That's a good enough reason,' Mallory said.

With some land of unspoken agreement made amongst them, they set off together for the refectory.

'You don't seem much of a Christian, Mallory,' Daniels noted wryly.

'I'm not much of anything.'

'Yes, he is,' Miller said brightly. 'He just doesn't know it yet.' He proceeded to tell Daniels how Mallory had saved him.

'Self-preservation,' Mallory said. 'Two were a better defence against those things.'

'Pants on fire,' Miller gibed.

They joined the queue filing into the refectory. The aroma of spiced hot food floated out into the cooling twilight, setting their stomachs rumbling. The air was filled with the hubbub of optimistic voices, the sound of people who still couldn't believe they were getting a square meal.

'Tell me,' Mallory said to Daniels, 'when we met Blaine earlier, there was another group of knights in training, away from the main lot. They had a blue flash on their left shoulders.'

'The Blues? They're the elite. I think they used to be squaddies stationed at one of the army camps out on Salisbury Plain — it would take me years to get to their level of training. Blaine keeps them apart from the rest of us, but that's OK by me — you can see it in their eyes.' He waved a pointing finger in front of Mallory's face. 'Army eyes. You know what I mean?' Mallory did. 'Anyway, they're involved in some on-going mission. They go off for days at a time. Come back exhausted and filthy.' 'Oh?'

'Don't bother asking questions, Mallory. You'll soon find that no one tells you anything here.'

The refectory was a long, narrow barn with a high roof and open beams permeated by the smell of new wood. They picked up trays and cutlery before passing by tables at one end where the kitchen staff loaded up plastic plates with a stew of carrots, potatoes, parsnips and oatmeal, bread and a small lump of cheese.

'No meat?' Mallory protested.

'Once a week,' Daniels said, 'They're keeping a tight rein on supplies. Just in case.'

'In case of what?'

Daniels shrugged.

They sat together at the end of a long trestle table reserved for the knights, away to one side. On the other tables, about a hundred and fifty people packed into the first sitting, their freedom from the day's chores making their conversation animated. Gardener joined them soon after, taking a seat opposite Mallory with a gruff silence.

'What did you do in the old days, Gardener?' Miller asked chirpily.

'Binman.' Gardener stuffed an enormous mound of vegetables into his mouth. 'And I tell you,' he mumbled, 'this is better than having your hands covered in maggots and shit every morning.'

'I don't want to hear about your sex life, Gardener,' Daniels said.

'I hear the Blues headed off hell for leather at noon,' Gardener continued. 'Don't know what got them all fired up, but Blaine had a face that could curdle cream. And Hipgrave was pissed off because Blaine didn't send him out as leader. Again.'

'He is so desperate,' Daniels said.

'You know what he did this morning-' Gardener cut off his sour comment when he spotted Hipgrave heading across the room with his tray. The captain had lost his sneer and appeared uncomfortable in the crowd. He hesitated briefly when he noticed Gardener and the others watching him and then veered off his path to another table so he wouldn't have to sit near them.

'Thanks for small bloody mercies,' Gardener muttered.

Mallory spotted a table on the far side of the room where all the diners sat in complete silence, intermittently praying and eating. He pointed it out to Daniels.

'Headbangers,' Daniels said, chewing slowly on a piece of potato. 'The price we pay for bringing all of the Lord's flock under one roof.'

'Leave them alone.' Gardener continued to tuck into his dinner with gusto.

'You would say that — you're one of them.' Daniels turned to Mallory. 'They're Born-Agains, or evangelicals or whatever it is they call themselves. They have a hardline view of the Lord's Word-'

'They stick to the text of the Gospel,' Gardener said, 'unlike some of the weak-willed people in here.'

'There are so many branches of the Church in here… sects — cults, even…' Daniels shook his head. 'Some of them, they're like a different religion. I don't know where they're coming from at all.'

'You don't have a monopoly on God's Word,' Gardener noted. 'It's open to different interpretations.'

Mallory stabbed a chunk of parsnip with his knife, then thought twice about eating it. He noticed Miller looking dreamily around the refectory. 'You're going to say this is like Disneyland for you, aren't you?' he said.

Miller grinned at how easily Mallory had read his thoughts. 'Well, it is a wonderful place. All these people… all this hope… and faith… under one roof. It's what I wanted to find. I just never really expected I would.' A shadow crossed his face.

'But?'

'It's a bit weird, too.' He looked guilty at this observation.

'You don't know the half of it.' Gardener had so much in his mouth that he spat a lump of mushed vegetables back on to the plate with his words.

Daniels shook his head wearily. 'I'm asking Blaine to include etiquette in his tiresome list of lessons to be taught.'

'There's been talk,' Gardener said. 'Some strange stuff happening around here.'

'Oh, here we go again.' Daniels rolled his eyes. 'Lights in the sky. Mysterious this and strange that. Usually reported by people who've had the Toronto Blessing one time too many.'

'You're a cynical bastard, Daniels, and no mistaking.' Gardener swallowed his mouthful and stifled a belch. 'See? Etiquette.'

'Heavenly,' Daniels replied. 'Which finishing school did you go to again?'

'What strange stuff?' Miller said.

Gardener leaned across the table conspiratorially. 'Ghosts, for one. And not just one. Some old bishop… Seth Ward, someone said… he was seen crossing the nave. One of the brothers saw a man's face pressed up against the windows in what used to be the old cafeteria… all hideous, like. A cowled figure in the cloisters…'

'I can't believe you fall for that nonsense!' Daniels said.

'How different is it from the manifestation of the Holy Spirit?' Gardener waved his fork in Daniels' face.

Daniels batted it away. 'Very different. It's not real for a start.'

'And there were lights, floating over the altar,' Gardener continued. 'Beeson heard voices when he was praying in the cathedral… calling to him, saying… worrying things.'

'What kind of things?' Daniels said.

'I don't know.'

'No, because it's a story, and a feeble one at that. They never have any detail. Just someone heard this, or someone saw that.'

'Don't believe it, then,' Gardener said with a shrug. 'See if I care.' He turned to Miller and Mallory. 'But the smart folk here think it's wise to keep your wits about you, and to stay away from the lonely places at night-'

'Has anyone been hurt yet?' Daniels asked.

'No.'

'Then why are you making out like it's the Amityville Horror? You're such an old woman, Gardener.'

Gardener smiled tightly at Miller and Mallory. 'You know what it's like out there in the world. And it's the same in here. Nothing's what it seems.'

Their conversation was disrupted by a commotion near the door. Diners peeled away to allow a small entourage to move slowly into the room. At its centre was the bishop, walking with the aid of a cane and the support of two attendants. Julian and Stefan followed behind. All eyes followed Cornelius's excruciating progress.

Daniels' brow furrowed. 'He normally eats in the palace.'

'He looks as if he hasn't got the strength to get across the room,' Mallory said.

'His legs are a bit shaky, but don't go underestimating him. He's sharp as a pin,' Gardener said.

'What are the others like?' Mallory's attention was fixed on Stefan.

Daniels pointed with a carrot impaled on his knife. 'Stefan's a bit of a cold fish. He used to be some businessman up in Manchester before he saw the light, I think. Julian's OK. A bit too quiet for me, thoughtful, you know, but he's got a very liberal view of life. He wasn't involved in the Church before the Fall, but they promoted him out of nowhere because he's brilliant, or so they say. Very learned about philosophy, comparative religion. I don't know if he was an academic, but he's a sharp guy, definitely.'

Cornelius made his way to a table not too far from the door, which was hastily vacated for him. His attendants lowered him into a chair while Stefan brought over a plate of food that he proffered with a formal bow.

'This is a show,' Mallory said quietly. 'A little spin-doctoring. To let the common man know the bishop is just an ordinary joe. He's not larging it in the palace. He can eat vegetable mush with the rest of the suckers.'

'Be respectful,' Miller hissed.

Mallory began to mop up his gravy with his bread while gently fantasising about pizza.

'And that is Gibson,' Daniels said, pointing to the last imposing figure in the group. He must have been twenty-five stone, with a comically jolly face that appeared to be permanently on the point of a guffaw. His cheeks were bright red, his hair tight grey curls; large silver-framed spectacles surrounded eyes fixed in a humorous squint.

'Don't tell me,' Mallory said, 'he's the Canon of the Pies.'

'The treasurer, actually. Looks after all the ornaments, vestments and gold plate tucked away in the vaults.' Daniels smiled as he ate. 'But he does oversee the kitchens as well.'

'So we're in their hands.' Mallory didn't attempt to hide his dismissive- ness.

'Them and their advisors,' Gardener said gruffly. 'There's a whole bunch of arse-kissers following them around, whispering in their ears. Keeping them informed, supposedly, because the top dogs don't have time to spend finding out what the rest of us are thinking. But the arse- kissers are guiding them, really. They're the power behind the throne.'

Daniels snorted. 'Oh, not that routine again! You're only upset because they're not whispering about you.'

'It's true. You've got to watch out who you're talking to round here. Everybody's got some sort of thing going on.'

'Thing?' Daniels shook his head and sighed.

'Come on, you know it's true,' Gardener said. 'This whole place is split down the middle. The modernisers think we should build on the state the Church had reached just before the change, make it acceptable to modern thinking. The traditionalists want a hardline approach. Everybody's plotting.'

'Well, as much as I'm enjoying your comedy double-act,' Mallory said, 'I don't think I can stare at these vegetables any more without gnawing on my own arm.'

'You should eat it up,' Gardener said, cleaning up the last of the gravy on his plate. 'You'll be desperate for it tomorrow when Blaine's got you scrambling over that assault course.'

'It's not as if you've got anywhere to go,' Daniels said. 'It's compline next, or had you forgotten? You'll soon get used to realising you have no time of your own.'

Mallory rocked back in his chair. 'You know, this place is just too much fun.'

Despite Mallory's disgruntlement, the atmosphere in the cathedral was deeply affecting. Outside, dusk had fallen, the darkness licking over a chilly landscape freed from electric lights. Inside, the stone walls basked in an ethereal golden glow from hundreds of candles. Incense and tallow smoke cocooned the worshippers who stood shoulder to shoulder along the nave and the quire. The plainsong rose up, filling the vast vault with a mesmerising, heady sound that reached deep into Mallory, tugging at emotions he barely thought he still had. It was a single voice made by hundreds of people, simple and pure yet powerful on so many levels. Mallory glanced over at Miller to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

Briefly, Mallory felt a sense of belonging that put all the unpleasantness of his past life into the shade. Perhaps there still was a chance for him: a fresh start, although he'd long ago given up that childlike whimsy of believing that some Higher Power took enough of an interest in the ants that swarmed the earth to give them a second chance. The fleeting hope, that weak thing he thought he'd scoured from his system, was a simple by-product of the perfect confluence of music and moment, he told himself. But still, it tugged at him.

He was examining the odd thoughts pulled from him by the intensity of faith when his concentration was broken by a figure he could just glimpse on the edge of die congregation, slightly ahead of him and away to the left. His face was obscured by his black cowl pulled far forwards, unusual in itself as everyone else there went bare-headed. But there was no other reason why Mallory's attention should be drawn to him so powerfully that he couldn't look away. The figure was still, his shoulders slightly hunched. He didn't appear to be singing, merely watching or perhaps listening, deep in thought.

Mallory couldn't understand why the figure made him feel uneasy, or why the tingling tiiat had started in the small of his back was slowly spreading up his spine. Some deeply buried part of him was trying to break out of his subconscious to issue a warning.

As he watched for some sign that would give him an explanation for his reaction, the figure began to turn towards him, as if he sensed Mallory's eyes upon him. Inexplicably, this filled Mallory with dread. He didn't want to see the face inside that cowl.

He looked down at his hands, then up towards the altar, and when he did finally glance back, the figure was gone.

Outside in the night, Mallory tugged Miller away from the uplifted worshippers streaming back to their huts for a few hours' grace before the whole round started again. He found a shadowed spot next to the cathedral walls and said, 'Let's hit the town. We can dump our uniforms and explore. There's got to be some life out there. Maybe we'll find someone who'll take pity on us and buy us a beer.' He knew his bravado was a response to the sobering but stupid fear he had felt in the service.

'Are you crazy? You heard what they said — being caught without the uniform-'

'We're not going to get caught.'

'-is a punishable offence. And we're not supposed to go out of the compound after curfew. I don't even know if we're supposed to go out there at all.'

'I told you, we're not going to get caught. Who's to know? Don't you want to find out what your new neighbours are like?'

Miller protested fulsomely, clearly afraid of jeopardising everything he felt he'd gained, but Mallory chipped away at him on the way back to their quarters so that by the time they arrived, Miller reluctantly agreed to the secret foray.

Daniels and Gardener still hadn't returned, so they quickly changed into their street clothes and slipped out. 'How are we going to get away?' Miller hissed as they flitted from hut to hut.

'I had a look around earlier. There's a spot not far from the gate where we can slip over the wall. When we come back we can give the guard some bullshit about being on a secret mission or something. He's bound to let us in.' Miller didn't look convinced, but he allowed himself to be swayed by Mallory's confidence.

The camp was still as they made their way past the gate. But before they could climb the ladder to the runway around the top of the wall, the sound of running feet and frantic raised voices rapidly approached from the other side. Mallory pushed Miller back into the shadows.

An insistent cry hailed the guard. Mallory couldn't make out what was said, but the guard responded by hand-winding an old-fashioned klaxon before opening the gates.

Nine knights rushed in through the widening gap, the blue flash on their shoulders clear in the flickering flame of the torch mounted above the gate. Their swords were drawn as they constantly scanned all around with their army eyes. They were in a terrible state, their uniforms torn and charred, their bare skin covered with cuts and bruises; some had bound deeper wounds with makeshift bandages torn from their shirts, the material now stained black. Their faces were grim with determination.

In the middle of the group, two knights hauled what Mallory at first thought was burned log. It was only when he saw its rolling white eyes that he realised it was a man, his skin seared black; Miller turned away from the smell of cooked flesh. The knight was still alive, but he wouldn't be for long.

The ones at the rear gathered around one of their number who had a wooden box clutched tightly to his chest. They drove hard into the compound then yelled at the guard to close the gates.

A group of five men hurried from the direction of the cathedral to meet them. The only one Mallory recognised was Stefan, his balding head gleaming like a skull. Ignoring the suffering of the wounded knight, he went directly to the captain and said something in hushed, insistent tones that Mallory couldn't make out. The captain nodded, motioned to the one with the box; Stefan barked an order to his four assistants and then the whole group moved speedily in the direction of the cathedral.

When they'd gone, Miller whispered dismally, 'That poor man!'

'Looks as if he stood a little too close to the barbecue.' Mallory stared at the silhouette of the cathedral blocking out the stars, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. 'What was in the box?' he mused to himself. 'What was so important?' After a moment, he set off for the ladder. 'Ah, who cares? Come on, let's hit the town.'

They climbed quickly, keeping one eye out for the guard. When they reached the top, Mallory led Miller to a part of the wall that was lower than the rest where they could easily drop down to the street. They paused for a moment at the foot of the wall, and when they were sure no one had seen them, they ran towards the town, keeping well to the shadows.

Once the walls had been swallowed by the dark at their backs, Miller heard Mallory's voice floating back to him as they ran. 'You know how you get that little tingling sensation when something's going to end in tears? Or is that just me?'