The Devil in green

September turned to October and with it came the first real chill of the approaching winter. The rooftops visible beyond the walls sparkled with frost as they emerged from the dawn mist, and the breath of the brethren formed pearly clouds when they trooped to the cathedral for prime. How the city's residents were coping with the first cold snap was a mystery, for since the night of the near-destruction of the gates the bishop had ruled that no one should leave the compound.

The attack had shaken the cathedral to its core. A black, fearful mood lay over all, turning every conversation at the refectory tables, or in the leaky, cold shacks, or in the kitchens, or the herbarium, or the infirmary, to only one subject: the End Times had arrived.

At first, no one could quite grasp that what had been predicted and dissected for millennia had finally arrived and they were truly living in the age of the ultimate battle between good and evil, but gradually the desperate reality of their situation crept over them. Everyone in the cathedral who had seen the horned figure looming over the city or felt the scuttling touch of the presence's hideous intelligence in their mind had no doubt of the Adversary's black power. As the bishop pointed out in one of his sermons, there were no coincidences in God's world; the Adversary had come when the Church was at its weakest, but also at the point when it was preparing to break out as a potent force once more. 'Evil is determined to prevent our resurgence,' the bishop had said, 'and so it is down to us to ensure that Evil does not triumph. We are God's champions at a time we thought was always in the distant future. But it is now, and we cannot fail, and with our Lord beside us, we shall not fail.'

Yet while the bishop and the Church administration pored over ancient documents in the library, or discussed the signs and portents for any insight — sightings of the risen dead reported around the cathedral compound being one of the most prominent — many of the brethren were driven to frantic prayer. They felt cripplingly weak beside the strength they had seen exhibited, unprepared, fragmented, the rump of a once- mighty religion, and after the tribulations they had already suffered, they did not know if they had any resistance left. They reassured each other that their faith was strong, but the cold wind was in danger of winnowing the small flame of their fear into a blaze.

In the claustrophobic confines of the compound, grim and conflicting rumours circulated endlessly: the Dark Forces of the Prince of Lies were moving to wipe the Church from the land; it was the sign of the Second Coming; the apocalypse was at hand.

Expectations were high of another assault on the cathedral, and with each day that passed peacefully the tension increased. The Chapter of Canons authorised the reinforcement of the already sturdy walls from a supply of sheet metal, then trebled the number of guards and increased the frequency of patrols along the walkways around the battlements.

At the same time, the already rigorous routine of the knights was stepped up into a relentless round of weapons training, physical exertion and tedious study that stretched from first light to compline. The only positive aspect for Mallory was that it kept him away from the hours of prayer and chanting that dominated every aspect of life for the brethren.

His trip into the city with Miller had given him a taste of what he was missing in the cathedral, but there was little chance of repeating the excursion. Though they had got back into the complex with ease, losing themselves among the team of workers repairing the badly damaged gates, the clampdown meant it would be too risky in the future. Suddenly Mallory felt like a prisoner.

'Do you think it was the Blues who attacked Melanie?' Miller whispered to Mallory as they watched the elite squad moving through their practice with machine-like efficiency. 'They scare me.'

Mallory leaned on his sword, a well-worn Reformation model. 'Don't waste your time thinking about it, Miller. We're never going to find out, and even if we did we wouldn't be able to do anything.'

'That's not right, Mallory. We can't just ignore something so wrong.'

'Miller, sooner or later you're going to realise that the world is filled with injustice. It's situation normal. You might as well get wound up about stopping the rain.'

'You two! What do you think you're doing?' They turned wearily at Hipgrave's clipped tones. The captain had been bawling out one of the novice knights for clumsy swordplay, even though he was barely out of his teens and had been suffering from malnutrition when he wandered into the cathedral an hour after Mallory and Miller. He was still painfully thin and weak thanks to the meagre diet offered in the refectory.

'Just taking a break,' Mallory said.

Hipgrave stormed over and yelled into Mallory's face. 'There's no break on the battlefield! Get fighting!'

Mallory didn't flinch. 'You've seen Full Metal Jacket, haven't you?'

Hipgrave had clearly not encountered insubordination in his brief time as a captain. For a couple of seconds, he stared so blankly that Mallory could almost see the thoughts moving across his face. Finally, everything came together with the realisation of what Mallory had said, that the other Knights were watching, that he hadn't responded quickly enough or cleverly enough or with enough discipline. Unable to cope, he backed away and took his embarrassed irritation out on the knight he had just been berating. Yet his flushed cheeks revealed his awareness that his position had been undermined. Mallory expected a response sooner or later, probably when he didn't expect it; more, he didn't care.

'That bastard's the worst kind of bully.' Gardener adjusted the bandages he had wrapped around his hands to help him grip the sword better. For someone in his fifties, he was leaner and fitter than many half his age. Mallory noted when it came to training that the Geordie had an attention to detail — like the bandages — that made him an effective force. 'He won't do it to your face 'cause he's too weak. He needs taking down a peg,' he added.

'If we were in 'Nam we could frag him,' Mallory said wryly. 'Full Metal Racket.'

Hipgrave gave the order to fight and Mallory and Gardener stepped into the sequences of feints and strikes they had been learning. Beside them, Daniels lined up against Miller. There were twenty-seven of them in the novice group, a mixture of skills, ages and social backgrounds. Most of the ones Mallory had encountered were decent enough, though they were all weak and pathetic according to Hipgrave.

'You know he's got a small penis?' Daniels said. His hardly strong blow brought Miller to his knees.

'How do you know?' Gardener grunted. 'He always goes in a cubicle if there's anyone at the urinal. Never trust a man who does that — he's got something to hide.'

'Aren't you Mr Boa Constrictor-in-the-pants,' Daniels gibed. 'No, he's trying too hard. Over-compensating.'

'If that's the case he probably needs a pair of tweezers to find it.' Mallory grunted as Gardener came in with three blows in quick succession.

'I love this locker-room talk,' Daniels said. He evaded Miller's strike lithely and made a mock blow that would have taken off his partner's head.

'It's like being in Loaded magazine around here,' Miller said. 'I bet the original Knights Templar weren't like this.'

' 'Course they were,' Mallory said. 'They had their candid charcoal sketches of Big Mary of Damascus, a goat's-skin full of mead after work and then bared their arses to the passing camels before stumbling back home.'

'You do realise we're God's Troopers,' Daniels said sniffily. 'We have forsaken all pleasures of the flesh. We get by on fresh air, a prayer and a turnip.'

'Bollocks to that,' Gardener said. 'If God wanted us to be eunuchs he wouldn't have given us… bollocks.'

'You've obviously not been listening to some in your constituency, Gardener,' Daniels said dryly. 'Don't forget they're the no-sex-before- marriage and lose-a-hand-for-masturbation crowd.'

'You'll be laughing out of the other side of your face when the Rapture leaves you here to get buggered by the army of the Antichrist.' Gardener twisted, side-stepped and knocked Mallory's sword from his hand. ' 'Course, you'd probably like that, you perverse bastard.'

Mallory noticed Hipgrave hounding the young knight again, this time quietly but with obvious venom. The knight's eyes were wet. 'Come on,' Mallory said to Gardener, 'let's have some fun.'

He quickly whispered his idea. Gardener broke his usual dour expression with a grin, then rapidly and silently positioned himself behind Hipgrave, pretending to tie his boot.

'Hey! Hipgrave!' Mallory called.

Hipgrave turned suddenly at the insistence in Mallory's voice. Gardener was squatting so close to his legs that Hipgrave bumped against him, lost his balance and tumbled to the ground in an ungainly tangle of arms and legs.

'There we go,' Mallory said, 'a dignity-free zone.'

They expected some punishment, but after a brief outburst of cursing, Hipgrave stomped off to leave them alone with their training. Later,

Mallory saw him in deep conversation with Blaine. As usual, the commander's face gave nothing away. His eyes moved in Mallory's direction only once, and then briefly, but they were cold and hard enough to inspire the briefest glimmer of regret.

Lunch was a small block of salty cheese and a lump of hard bread. Mallory and Miller found a table in the sun spilling through the windows that ran along one wall. The refectory had only just opened and they were the first diners, but it wouldn't be long before the tables were crammed; food was a high priority for everyone.

'So why haven't you been out to see Sophie?' Miller asked brightly. 'I'd have thought you'd have sneaked over the walls a few times by now. Don't tell me you've lost interest. How fickle would that be?'

'Just biding my time.'

'She was really nice… for a witch.' His smile faded as he plucked the remaining crumbs from his plate.

'What's the matter? Afraid she'll turn you into a toad?'

'It's not that.' He looked around uneasily. 'You were right, the people around here wouldn't be very happy if they knew we'd been hanging out with witches. The Church has always had a strong line against them. Suffer not a witch to live, that's what it says. But she seemed all right. I should feel bad about liking her because of what she believes in… like, she's the enemy… but I don't.'

'Christianity was made for you, Miller. You just love beating yourself up about all these little rules and regulations. Look, you know in your heart what's right. Don't let anyone try to tell you that you should or shouldn't like someone else.'

Miller winced. 'That sounds like blasphemy.'

'Yeah, and according to some here, free will is blasphemy, even though it's the gift we were supposedly given. Look, it's simple… the Church hates witches because it nicked all their sacred places and all their worshippers, and it's afraid they're going to ask for them back.'

'What do you mean?'

'Come on, Miller — if you're going to invest your life in this religion, you at least ought to know its history. When the Church first came here, it got its feet under the table by subterfuge. It built its places of worship on the sites that the people were already using, the old pagan places, the springs, the hilltops, whatever, in the belief that they'd just carry on coming. And all the Christian feast days were arranged on old pagan celebrations for the same reason. You don't think Christ was really born around the winter solstice, do you? At the point of rebirth and renewal in the old calendar — what an amazing coincidence. And isn't it strange that Easter-'

Miller smiled.

'What?'

'You're only telling me all this so I don't ask you any more questions about Sophie.'

Mallory pushed his plate away and stretched. 'If you don't want to learn from my great wisdom, that's up to you.'

'If you really like her, Mallory, you should go for it. You only get one real chance for love. You can't let it slip away.' Miller examined his empty plate dismally.

'Thanks for your advice, Miller. I always like to turn to experts for guidance.' Mallory's attention was caught by James and the bishop's right- hand man, Julian. They came in separately, then both moved to the same secluded table without acknowledging each other. As they broke their bread they began a muttered conversation, heads bowed slightly so that no one could overhear them.

'I wish it hadn't happened with Sue,' Miller mused to himself. 'I wish she was here with me now.' He chewed his lip, close to tears. 'Mallory, I've got something to tell-'

'What do you think that's all about?' Mallory indicated James and Julian.

Miller shrugged. 'They're having lunch.'

'They're plotting. When we first came and James showed us around, Julian said something to him about somebody making their move… about dogs gathering.'

Miller displayed a complete lack of interest, but Mallory was intrigued. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what it was.

'Why does Evil exist?' Peter began. 'The Epicurean Paradox underlines the belief of many that the existence of Evil is incompatible with the existence of God. It goes like this: one, God is all-powerful; two, God is perfectly Good; three, Evil exists; four, if God exists, then there would be no Evil; five, there is Evil; six, therefore God does not exist.'

Peter had been a deacon at the Catholic cathedral in Brentwood in Essex. From the sag of his skin, he had obviously been overweight at one time, but the hard life of the compound had taken some pounds off him. He had side-parted grey hair that, taken with his pallor, gave him a washed-out appearance, but it was the sadness in his features that characterised him; they reflected his belief that the world was a miserable place to be endured.

Peter's labour within the cathedral was to teach not only the scripture to the knights' new recruits, but also to explain the philosophy of the Christian Church. It was a task he relished, his demeanour even more gloriously lugubrious as he underlined the simple message that no one should expect any rewards in this world.

But whatever pleasures he got out of his office were wiped away whenever he saw Mallory slumped at one of the tables at the back. Most of the knights endured his lectures, nodding in the right places while they kept one eye on the angle of the sun. Mallory, though, asked questions. It wasn't as if he was eager for understanding of the Word of God. It was simply that he wanted to trip Peter up, to hamstring him with logic or garrotte him with a sharp line of philosophy. It was plain bloody-minded- ness, Peter knew, and a childish desire to challenge authority that went against the entire teachings of the Church. Peter had endured it for many days — the constant questions about the historical truth of Jesus, the academic view that James was the true leader but politics had turned Jesus into the Messiah, the tortuous debates on the flawed and conflicting logic of the Bible, the pointed questioning about the atrocities the Church had been linked with, from the Inquisition to the collaboration with the Nazis — but his patience was not endless. Mallory was undoubtedly an educated man, but weren't they the worst kind? Oh, for the simple man who accepted die Message with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.

He noticed the expression Mallory always wore just before he launched into an argument, and quickly continued. 'However, Saint Augustine presented the Free-Will Defence: God created man with free will, thereby having the ability to do Good or Evil. Therefore, there is no assurance that man will not choose to do Evil. If God controlled the amount of Evil, or liberty, it would remove the gift of free will He had given to man. Quite simply, the existence of free will without Evil is an illogical impossibility. But even though man has the capacity to commit Evil, he can also perform acts of great goodness.'

'I disagree.' Mallory's challenging grin set Peter's teeth on edge.

'Why am I not surprised?'

'Mackie said the choice between perfect beings who always do Good, or free men who can do Good or Evil is a false dilemma, didn't he?'

'Yes,' Peter sighed.

'And he also said there was an "obvious better possibility" in which God could have created beings who always act freely, yet also have a predetermination to do Good. But he didn't, did he? So God doesn't exist.'

'Not at all. Swinburne proposed a different approach: that there are advantages in the existence of Evil in the world. It gives men the opportunity to perform acts that show humanity at its best. Evil spurs mankind into action. Without Evil, we would live in a world where men could not show sympathy, compassion, forgiveness or self-sacrifice.'

'But-'

'Also, consider Hicks' "soul-making" explanation,' Peter continued hastily. 'He said that man, who is made in the image of God but not in the likeness of God, is an incomplete being who must strive towards the perfect likeness of God. Qualities such as courage and love would not make sense in a world without Evil, because the world would be nothing more than a nursery paradise for children. Hicks' explanation is that Evil is necessary in order to build character and develop man into the likeness of God.'

'That's a good argument. Why didn't Hitler use that in his defence? He was just doing God's work to get us all on track for-'

'You are not distracting me from my lesson today, Mallory.' Peter maintained a pleasant facade but attempted to give steel to his words.

'So Hicks' argument is that this whole world is just one big classroom with a culture of disciplinarianism.'

'Mallory

Mallory slid back cockily in his chair, settling in for a bout of tutor- baiting. 'It's not a distraction to ask questions,' he said.

'There is no need for questions. There is only a need for you to listen and heed.'

'But surely a strong religion encourages debate. By answering the questions of doubters it will reveal its consistency and power and that can only lead more people into its open arms.' Mallory nodded with faux- seriousness and it was that plain mockery that gave Peter the shocking urge to run down the room and clip the grinning jackanapes around the ear. He wasn't prone to violence, ever, but Mallory brought out the worst in him.

'There is a time and a place. Perhaps you can encourage your brother knights to enter into these discussions in the free time you have on your hands.' Peter smiled, knowing they had no free time at all. It wasn't very Christian to enjoy that barb, but he took the pleasure nonetheless.

Mallory also encouraged disruption in the others, and that was dangerous in a place that could exist only through discipline. Oddly, Miller, who followed him around like a dog, remained studious and intense, but Daniels and Gardener and some of the others who normally paid attention became distracted and lighter in mood.

Peter worked his way through the first part of the lesson, but instead of easing off, Mallory's baiting became progressively worse; something was eating away at him. As Peter weighed whether to continue, the decision was made for him. The door at the back swung open just enough for him to see Blaine, who must have been listening for a while. He signalled his intention to Peter before slipping away quietly.

Mallory moved through the corridors of the former museum with irritation. Sent to the headmaster's office. It was demeaning, and only added to his growing feeling that perhaps he should skip the cathedral and the knights; it hadn't turned out like he'd expected at all.

From rooms on either side came the drone of voices explaining herbalism, astronomy, basic field medicine and other more esoteric subjects. The tutors were generally decent men and it was only Peter who received the brunt of Mallory's disruption, not because of who he was, but for what he said.

Blaine's room lay behind a thick oak door. Mallory hammered on it and loudly announced his name.

'Come.' Blaine's Belfast tones echoed dully.

Blaine was as hard and emotionless as ever, sitting behind his desk with his hands splayed out on the blotter. Mallory only had a second to take this in before pain erupted across his shoulders. Briefly he glimpsed two of the Blues hitting out at him with cudgels from either side of the door before a blow caught him at the base of his skull and he blacked out.

When he came to a few moments later, the knights supported him by pinning his arms painfully behind his back. Blaine was standing only a foot away, peering into Mallory's face with a coldness that made him seem devoid of humanity. 'You're a troublemaker, Mallory,' he said. 'Sooner or later I knew I'd get somebody like you.'

Mallory almost couldn't resist making a smart comment, a pathological response that had got him into trouble many times before. He was only restrained this time by an ache in his jaw where one of the cudgels had given him a glancing blow.

'I could see it in your face the moment I set eyes on you,' Blaine continued. 'You don't like authority. You think you're bigger than you are. You think you're important. Well, you're not. Not at all.' He returned to his desk and pulled from one of the drawers something that Mallory couldn't quite make out.

'You thought this was going to be an easy ride,' Blaine said. 'A bunch of soft Church people giving handouts to freeloaders. Well, they might be soft, but they're not stupid. They know how desperate things are. They're in the fight of their lives to save this religion, and they know they can't afford to be weak or they'll lose everything. They're good people, all of them, devout people, and they knew they wouldn't be up to some of the hard choices necessary to keep this Church going. That's why they hired me.'

As Blaine approached, Mallory saw what he was weighing in his hand: a cosh, black leather on the outside, filled with something heavy, probably ball bearings. Mallory didn't have time to consider what lay ahead of him. Blaine brought the cosh down hard on Mallory's left shoulder blade. The pain made his knees crumple, but Blaine showed no emotion at all, neither sadistic pleasure, nor contempt.

'They don't want to know what I do,' Blaine said, without missing a beat. 'They just want the job done. So I use my own initiative. I train up knights who can do the work out there and won't start crying the moment somebody steps on their toes.'

The agony receded until Mallory's shoulder was enveloped by a dull ache. He made to respond, but Blaine brought the cosh down on his other shoulder so hard that Mallory thought he might black out again.

'You might think this is an overreaction,' Blaine said. 'It isn't. This place is based on discipline. That's the only thing that's going to hold it together through all the hard times ahead. You don't wait until little problems become big problems. You stamp on them early, get them sorted out. Lessons get learned, discipline is maintained.'

'I can see why you chose a black shirt for your outfit.'

He waited for the next blow, but Blaine held back. 'You see, with your attitude, Mallory, I really should throw you out on your ear. Some would say you're not worth the trouble. But I don't see it that way. If I did that, you'd go out there, start bad-mouthing the knights all over the place, saying what a bunch of shirtlifters we are. And you see, the knights, they're only going to work if they've got a good reputation. The best reputation. Tough. Fair, of course, but tough. People will know not to mess with them, and because of them, not to mess with the Church. The way I see it, Mallory, I can't expel you. I can't send any failure into the world. I have to make everybody work out, one way or another. You're not going to leave, Mallory. We'll be watching you very closely from now on. You're going to turn out just the way I want.'

'You really think you can make me?' Mallory sneered.

Blaine smiled. 'Of course I can.' The cosh came hard across Mallory's face. He felt his lip burst and then he blacked out again.

Mallory awoke on his bed, his body a web of aches; his face felt as if it had been hit by an iron. The first thing he saw was Daniels hunched over him.

'What happened to you?' Daniels said, with deep concern.

Mallory levered himself on to his elbows then noticed Hipgrave watching from the doorway. 'I walked into a door,' he said.

Hipgrave gave a curt nod and a smirk. Mallory felt a dull anger that his comment would be construed as acceptance of defeat, but it wasn't the time to make a stand. Blaine and the authorities had picked the wrong person to bully.

'You need treatment.' Daniels helped him to his feet tenderly. 'Come on — I'll take you down to the infirmary.'

As they exited, Hipgrave said snidely, 'The Lord watches over those who walk a cautious path.'

'You going to tell me the truth?' Daniels asked, when they were outside.

'I was stupid. But now I'm smart.'

Daniels eyed him cautiously then nodded faintly, understanding without needing to know the details. 'These are indeed hard times.'

Quietly seething, Mallory was barely aware of the disturbance as they walked across the compound. A large group had gathered in the shadow of the cathedral, their animated talk punctuated by cries hailing the Glory of God as they raised their hands towards the steeple.

Gardener was amongst them and broke away when he saw Daniels and Mallory. 'You've got to see this.' His face was transformed by wonder, stripping away the hardness of a tough life; Mallory thought he looked ten years younger.

He dragged them into the centre of the crowd where a grizzled, thick-set man with a bald head staggered around in a daze. Occasionally he would stop, clasp his hands together and raise his face to the sun. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

'Roy was blind,' Gardener said in awe. 'And look at him. He can see!'

'A miracle!' someone cried. 'God is with us!' The note of relief in the voice revealed the subterranean fears of many in the compound.

'What happened?' Daniels asked, his eyes bright with the infectious fervour.

Roy dropped to his knees in front of Daniels, his palms pressed together in prayer. 'Blind these thirty years!' A sob fractured his voice. He half- turned and gestured towards the cathedral. 'This morning I brought the relic into the new shrine. And now this!'

'What relic?'

Daniels' question triggered a ripple of murmuring through the crowd and as one they surged forwards, with more joining by the second. Caught in the flow, Mallory and Daniels allowed themselves to be carried into the cathedral. In the Trinity Chapel a reliquary had been built out of bricks and wood. It was cordoned off by heavy-duty rope, but inside the framework Mallory could glimpse the chest he had seen the Blue Knights bringing into the compound on the night of the attack.

The crowd stood in awe, but its earlier noise had obviously alerted the authorities, for within moments the bishop and Julian were allowed through into the area next to the reliquary.

'We were hoping to make an announcement before vespers,' Julian said when all eyes were on him, 'but I suppose now is as good a time as any.' He smiled devotedly at Cornelius. 'The bishop will say a few words about what is obviously a momentous occasion, not only for our community here, but for Christianity itself.'

Cornelius rested shakily on his cane. Though he looked frail, his eyes were bright with excitement. 'Several weeks ago, the decision was taken to make this cathedral a haven for all surviving relics. Many from the Anglican branch may have long considered them of historical importance only, while our Catholic friends still believe they carry some part of the Lord's power.' He took a long breath, his mouth dry. 'We have all wrestled with the philosophy of our Faith in these changed times. But whichever way you approach this age in which we find ourselves, it is one of wonders. The Spirit affects the material world with a power that we could only have dreamed of before. In this world, then, where faith is an engine of change, what wonders could our relics bring?'

His smile brought gasps from the crowd as understanding of his words slowly surfaced. He gestured towards the reliquary. 'In here lie the bones of Saint Cuthbert. Our brave knights faced undreamed-of dangers to bring them from Durham Cathedral. We prayed over them for seven days and nights. We had hopes… We had so many hopes.'

With a trembling hand, he motioned for Roy to come forwards. The tearful supplicant knelt before the bishop and kissed his hand with adoration.

'Word has just reached me of Brother Roy's cure. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.' He rested one hand on Roy's head. Tears streamed down faces on every side. 'Let us hope this is only the first of many miracles. The light of the Lord shines brightly once more across this land of darkness.

'Even for the devout, faith is not always easy. We are tested at every turn, and over the last year and a half we have been tested more than ever. But now…' He paused for dramatic effect. '… faith has been renewed.'

A loud cheer erupted.

'This is the first step in our mission to reaffirm the Word. Once more to bring the love of our Lord to the people. To build Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land. Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say amongst the nations, the Lord reigneth.'

The noise was deafening. Many fell to their knees, sobbing openly. Others hugged their fellows or bowed before the reliquary in quiet prayer.

As Mallory departed, a line began to build as those with ailments ranging from the minor to the debilitating waited to be cured.

Daniels brushed away a tear as they walked towards the infirmary. 'Things are going to get better.'

'You think?' Mallory breathed slowly; his ribs felt bruised, not cracked, but it wasn't worth taking any chances.

'We all need a little hope. That's what I came here for. That's why most people are here.'

Mallory felt a surprising twinge. He'd locked himself in the present for so many months that whenever any echoes of the old days came back it felt like touching a live wire. 'Do you miss your partner?'

Daniels looked startled by the question. 'Every day. We'd been together eight years, since university. He was the first person I'd really felt anything for.'

'Gary, wasn't it?'

'Gareth.' He paused. 'It feels strange saying his name again. You forget, with all the shit that happens in life. You don't have the time to think about what you shared. That's a mistake.' He wiped his eye again. 'Sorry. I'm a little emotional after all that with Roy.'

'It's OK.' Mallory felt oddly encouraged that Daniels felt no need to hide his sensitivity.

'What about you, Mallory? Anybody you left behind?'

'I don't think about the past. No point. It's gone. Same as there's no point thinking about the future. You just have to deal with what's going on around you.'

'You see, that's what I'm talking about. I can't agree with that. We need to hold on to the good things from the past, to give us some perspective. Especially now, with all this.' He gestured to the wide world.

'You just have to deal with things, Daniels. That's all it comes down to.'

'No, that's wrong. Your memories are your guide. They let you create a framework so you can tell good from bad. Without that kind of compass, who knows how you're going to end up dealing with things} You see society out there: it's fallen apart. No rules or regulations. All we've got is what's inside us.'

'That's all we ever had.'

They reached Malmesbury House where the infirmary was situated. The grand Queen-Anne facade sported a remarkable blue and gold sundial, the rococo interior too delicate for the use it had been assigned.

The infirmarian was a former surgeon named Warwick. He was in his fifties, with a brusque manner and the crystal pronunciation of a public- school education. Without any unnecessary chat, he made Mallory lie on a table in a white-tiled room filled with stainless-steel medical instruments oddly juxtaposed against jars of dried herbs and bottles of odd-looking concoctions. It was as if a modern doctor shared office space with an Elizabethan alchemist.

Mallory winced as Warwick examined the various bruises and abrasions. 'So, with the back-to-basics thing that's going on here, can I expect some blood-letting and leeches?' he said.

'As much as I would like to oblige,' Warwick replied tartly, 'we still adhere to the basic tenets of modern medicine. Though there is an element of make-do, depending on what treatments are available.' He checked Mallory's ribs closely then grunted, 'No breaks. Who gave you a going over? Or is this part of basic training?'

'It was a test.' Mallory saw Blaine's face, felt a dull burst of anger. 'Which I passed with flying colours.'

Warwick snorted and turned to the shelves that lined one wall. 'Practising medicine in these times is difficult enough without dealing with self-inflicted injuries. If this happens again, you deal with it yourself.' He delved into various jars before wrapping the contents in a small cloth package. 'Infuse these in boiled water and drink it four times a day for the next three days.'

Mallory sniffed at it; the contents were fragrant. 'What's in it?'

'Would it really make any difference if I told you?'

Daniels surveyed the jars. 'Heard any news from outside, Warwick?'

'Like what, exactly?'

'I know you hear everything in here. You get a snippet of information from everyone with an ailment. It's like a little spider's web, with you at the centre, collecting information.'

'Thank you for the flattering analogy,' Warwick said contemptuously.

'What about the Government?' Daniels asked.

'Not heard anything.'

'Somebody must be trying to put things back in place.'

'Well, they obviously haven't got very far, have they?'

'No power on the horizon, then?'

Warwick removed a jar from Daniels' hands and replaced it on a shelf. 'There's no oil coming in. They shut down most of the pits in the nineties.

And I heard that all the nuclear power stations went off line during the Fall.'

'Yeah, I wondered why we hadn't had a China Syndrome experience,' Daniels mused. 'I hear you've got one of those clockwork radios tucked away.'

Warwick shifted suspiciously. 'Who told you that?'

'I just heard.'

'You know how they feel about technology here.' He rearranged the jars for a moment before adding, as if as an afterthought, 'I've heard that all frequencies are dead. There's nothing coming in from the Continent at all.'

'So either everybody's suffering the same all over the world,' Daniels said, 'or England's the only place with people left alive.'

'Well, that's a thoroughly depressing thought,' Warwick said, with a cold smile. 'The survival of the human race might be down to us.'

'And aren't we good representatives?' Mallory chipped in.

For the next three nights there were heavy frosts. The night office, the lauds of the dead and prime were all torturous in the freezing confines of the cathedral, where breath plumed white and the plainsong was disrupted by shivering until the mass of bodies raised the temperature a little. The bishop took the decision to limit the numbers of those who wished to pray before the bones of St Cuthbert due to the queues that built up throughout the day. Many, he said, were not seeking God's help with their ailments. They simply wanted a sign of God's power and it was wrong to test Him.

It was in the early evening that Miller overheard a commotion at the gates, which had not been opened since the attack. The torches blazing permanently around the entrance area cast a dull red light across the guards who leaned over the walls to talk animatedly with someone attempting to gain entrance.

The anxious note in the exchange drew Mallory from his path back to the barracks. He had a sense that here was something important, so he stood in the shadow of the nearest hut, stamping his feet against the cold.

After a few moments' debate, the guards sent word back for advice; they had obviously been told not to open the gates for anyone. The runner returned with James, who appeared agitated. He listened at the gate for a moment, then insisted it be opened. The guards were reluctant, but they eventually agreed to open the gates a crack so that whoever was outside could slip inside.

The visitor wore the black vest of a cleric and was shivering from the cold. He appeared so weak that he could barely stand, and his eyes had the glaze of the bone-weary or drugged.

Concerned, James grabbed the cleric's arm to lead him closer to a brazier that the guards used to warm themselves. The visitor's gait was slow and laboured, and even in the firelight his eyes didn't lose their dead expression. Intrigued, Mallory slipped as close as he could without being seen.

'-you sure?' James was asking.

'Near Stonehenge.' The cleric sounded as if he was talking through depths of water.

James motioned to two of the guards to support the cleric, and then the four of them disappeared in the direction of the cathedral.

The summoning came at around eleven p.m. when Hipgrave appeared at the door, as bright and smart as if it were the middle of the day. 'The operations room. Now,' he barked. He disappeared swiftly, expecting mockery.

The operations room was a grand name for a room that contained only a wall map of the local area, a pile of useless phone directories and a few chairs and a table. Blaine and Hipgrave were talking intensely near the window when the others entered. Hipgrave motioned for the new arrivals to take seats.

Blaine took up position near the map and surveyed them all carefully. 'I hope you're ready for your first mission,' he said in a manner that suggested he didn't think they were ready at all.

Mallory watched Blaine's face carefully, controlling the flame of his anger.

'Earlier this evening we received a visitor, a vicar from a parish in Norfolk,' Blaine continued. 'He'd been travelling to join us here with a companion, another vicar from an adjoining parish. With the way things are, it was remarkable they got more than ten miles from home. As it was, they reached Salisbury Plain. Nearly made it.' He shook his head grimly.

'What happened?' Miller asked.

'Can't get much sense out of the one who turned up here. Shock, I suppose. Something attacked them on Salisbury Plain, not far from Stonehenge.' He pointed to the map. 'Here. He ran for his life, and I don't blame him. The other poor bastard scrambled as well — his name's Eric Gregory. Our man thinks he saw his friend get away, but he didn't hang around to find out what happened, understandably.'

'You want us to bring the other one back.' Daniels scanned the vast area of empty space on the map that signified Salisbury Plain. They were all thinking the same thing: it wasn't the fact that they'd be looking for a needle in a haystack, it was the prospect of what might be lying in wait out there in that liminal zone free of human life.

Back in the barracks, they lay on their bunks staring up into the dark. The atmosphere was thick with apprehension, but there was also a positive feeling that at last they were being given the chance to do something good. Only Mallory lacked any enthusiasm.

'Do you think we're up to it?' Miller asked.

'It doesn't take much to be up to a suicide mission,' Mallory said.

'You're a bundle of laughs, Mallory,' Gardener growled.

The joke had been too close to the truth. They all fell silent then, dwelling on thoughts too powerful to voice. Sleep did not come easily.

They were woken before dawn by Hipgrave, who would be leading the expedition. None of them were wholly pleased at that, particularly Mallory who had already marked the captain as someone operating well beyond his capabilities, who knew it and whose desperation to be equal to the post only caused further problems.

The morning was bitterly cold with a sharp wind sweeping down into the compound from the Plain. Frost glistened on the rooftops of the huts and turned the cathedral building into silver and gold from the conflicting illumination of moonlight and torch. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands while Gardener furtively smoked a roll-up from some mysterious stash of tobacco that never seemed to diminish.

Eventually, they were led into the quartermaster's store where they were kitted out with thick hooded black cloaks woven by the brethren themselves, backpacks containing basic supplies (the rest of their needs were expected to be scavenged for on the way, as they had been taught in their survival classes) and, most importantly, a sword. These had all been retrieved from the museum's store and from a vast armoury at the Museum of the Duke of Edinburgh's Royal Berkshire and Wiltshire Regiment, which also lay within the compound.

The swords had all seen use in past conflicts, but the craftsmanship was expert, the balance perfect, the steel flawless. 'Recognise this honour,' Hipgrave said as he handed them out. 'As knights, these will stay with you till you die. Your sword will be as vital to you as your right arm. Treat it that way. Look after it, sleep with it, lavish it with love and it'll look after you.'

'I prefer my bed partners a little less skinny and a little less sharp,' Mallory said. 'Though there was this model once…'

Hipgrave fixed him with a cold eye. While the others fastened their scabbards across their backs for easy use while riding, he dragged Mallory over to one side. 'I'll be watching you,' he said, 'especially now you're armed. One wrong move…'

'And what? You'll stab me in the back in front of all the others?'

Hipgrave couldn't control an unsure flickering of his eyes. Mallory laughed and joined the rest.

The horses were brought out from the stables at the back of the museum, all well fed and watered and ready for what could turn out to be a long journey. Three of them had two-man tents strapped to their backs.

After they had mounted, Hipgrave held up his hand for silence before saying a short prayer. He called for strength and courage in the face of the unknown, and for a safe return. Even Mallory found he couldn't argue with that.

They'd been locked behind the gates for so long that they would have felt uneasy even if they didn't have to venture into one of die most dangerous parts of the country. Blaine waited at the gates as they rode out, his hands behind his back, his face emotionless. He didn't wish them luck. Mallory had the feeling he didn't really care if they came back or not.