The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

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.