The Devil in Green Page 3

  The tension in the air dropped slowly until they realised they were alone, which was an odd way of considering it because they had no idea where the presence had been. Slowly, Miller’s body folded until his face was in his hands. ‘What did he mean?’ he said bleakly. When Mallory didn’t answer, he asked, ‘What was that?’

  ‘Probably best not to talk about it right now.’ Mallory illuminated his watch. The green glow painted his face a ghastly shade, the shadows defining the skull beneath.

  ‘He can still hear us?’

  ‘I think he … and what he represents … can always hear us.’ He stood up, shaking the kinks from his limbs. ‘It should be dawn any minute.’ The whistling no longer floated around the building; instead they could just make out birdsong dimly coming over the ramparts. ‘Want to risk it?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘I tell you this. No eternal reward will forgive us for wasting the dawn.’ Mallory cracked his knuckles.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Words from an old singer.’

  ‘You like music?’

  ‘That’s a funny question. Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Miller said.

  They walked out into the inner bailey, the ruins and windswept trees now grey ghosts. The rain had blown away and there was an optimistic bloom to the edge of the sky. The monkey-creatures were nowhere to be seen.

  The morning had the fresh smell of wet vegetation. Mallory took a deep breath, still surprised at how sweet the air tasted now that it was pollution- free. They made their way back along the track and prepared to walk the short distance into Salisbury. As they breached the crest of the hill and headed down into the city, the mother sky turned golden, framing the majestic spire of the cathedral protruding through the treetops ahead. Miller was overcome with a rush of Glory and turned to Mallory, beaming; Mallory shook his head and looked away.

  The corpses of the monkey-creatures ploughed up by the car had vanished. A little further on they came across Miller’s horse, grazing at the side of the road. Miller patted its flank affectionately.

  ‘We can take it in turns to ride,’ Miller said brightly.

  ‘It’s all yours. I like a good walk of a morning, gets the blood flowing.’

  They took the empty road slowly and within the hour the outskirts of Salisbury drew around them. It was still odd for both of them to see the empty houses and factories, the abandoned petrol stations and corner shops without any of the trappings of the modern world. No vehicles moved, no electric lights burned, no fast-food wrappers blew up and down the streets. Instead there was the smell of woodsmoke hanging in the air and some homes were illuminated by candlelight. The air of the makeshift lay across the city: handmade signs pointing to the farmers’ market or the council offices, piles of wood obviously prepared for night-time beacons, repairs carried out to broken windows with plastic sheets. Wild dogs roamed the streets and furtive rats skulked out of front gardens.

  They came upon a sentry box roughly constructed out of crates and perspex. A grey-faced man in an adapted police uniform was boiling some water on a small fire. As they approached, he rose suspiciously, holding a handmade truncheon close to his thigh.

  ‘What’s your business?’ His eyes were hard on their faces.

  ‘We’re going to the cathedral,’ Miller said with bright innocence, ‘to become knights.’

  The guard didn’t attempt to hide his disdain. ‘Good luck,’ he sneered, rolling his eyes.

  ‘The police are still going?’ Mallory asked.

  The guard glanced down at the uniform, which had SPM sewn on to the left breast. ‘I used to be with the Force,’ he said. ‘Still got my warrant card. These days it’s the Salisbury People’s Militia.’ He waved them through, nodding towards the spire. ‘I don’t think you’ll get lost.’

  ‘Have many people come to join up?’ Miller asked as he rode by.

  The guard laughed indecently loudly. ‘I shouldn’t worry about having to queue.’

  ‘It’s early days yet,’ Miller said when they were out of the guard’s earshot.

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ Mallory replied wryly. ‘At least the standards will be low.’

  At that same time of day, the outskirts of the city were deserted. In the bright dawn light, it could have been any time before everything changed; the fabric was, in the main, intact, although a few shops had been burned out in looting, and others had been adapted to fill more immediate needs. An electrical goods store had been converted into a cobblers and leatherworkers. A video shop now housed carpenters and builders.

  They made their way down Castle Street and before they had got to the end of it they could hear loud voices, jocularity, cursing, life going on. The farmers’ market was in the process of being set up, with red-faced workers loading piles of cabbages and bags of potatoes on creaking stalls. Many places appeared to have quickly established a local economy and regular food supply, but everyone was still fearing the winter, Miller noted. Mallory pointed out that nothing would have worked if the population hadn’t been decimated.

  Their attention was caught by an area of brightly coloured tents and tepees on a park on the other side of a river bridge. They clustered tightly together like a nomadic enclave within the wider city. A flag bearing red and white intertwined dragons flew over the largest tent.

  They followed the High Street past the shells of Woolworth’s and Waterstone’s. The horse’s hooves echoed dully on the flagstones; the atmosphere in that area was strangely melancholic.

  But as they came up to High Street Gate, the historic entrance to the Cathedral Close, they were confronted by ten-foot-high gates of welded metal sheets, the ancient stone surround topped with lethal spikes and rolls of barbed wire. Beyond it, the cathedral looked like a fortress under siege.

  CHAPTER TWO

  opus dei

  ‘A man’s character is his fate.’

  - Heraclitus

  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 cathed
ral 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 cou
ld 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.’