The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

  Amid everything, Mallory hadn’t once considered that Christmas was approaching.

  Stefan appeared to read his thoughts. ‘Compared with everything else that has been happening, Christmas might not seem important. But it is, it is. It is the reason why we must overcome, why even in the darkest hours there is always hope. It is a shining symbol that allows us to put into perspective all the passing misery of this dark world.’

  Mallory watched Stefan cautiously, trying to see if this was the start of some manipulation. If it was, the bishop had hidden it well.

  ‘I don’t truly know you, Mr Mallory, but I know many like you,’ he continued. ‘You have an individual nature. You do not suffer fools gladly, and you have a strong disregard for authority. Unlike Mr Blaine, I do not believe that marks you out as a troublemaker. I am not so unconfident in my abilities that I feel the need to control everybody. Indeed, it is often healthy in any environment to have voices prepared to point out that the king has no clothes. Of course, that kind of commentary can only be allowed to go so far. It must never undermine the cohesiveness of any community.’

  Mallory listened patiently; he still couldn’t tell if he was about to be punished or praised.

  ‘I know what you think about me, Mr Mallory.’ Stefan stared into the fire. ‘You think me a carpetbagger, someone who has seen a source of power and who has moved in to take it. It is an easy accusation to level. I have no history of good works in the Church. I only came to God as a reaction to the Fall, though I would point out the very many others who fled Him at the same time. But you are wrong, you know. It is because I believe so passionately that I am not going to allow my religion to dribble away. I am prepared to have people hate me, if necessary, but I will not deviate from the path, however hard it may be, to save my God, as He attempted to save us all. These times demand hard choices, Mr Mallory. And while instincts may call on us to be liberal or gentle, if the result of that is the destruction of Christianity, then some of us must be prepared to make the unpleasant choices so that others do not have to. These times demand that we take a stand, Mr Mallory - on one side or the other. God or the Devil. There are no grey areas, for even the most basic choices lead along those two roads.

  ‘I could tell you about my personal tragedies, my epiphany, the things that shaped me, but they aren’t important. If the sacrifice I have to make is that I may not be seen as a good man, but I do good works, then so be it. Only God can be my judge. And I am not alone in that belief. Mr Blaine feels the same way, as do several others here. In private, I know Mr Blaine to be a good man, crushed by sadness at the loss of his family, yet who still keeps a warm, hopeful heart, who cares deeply for his men like a father for his own children, but who must at times use the rod. Every injury, every death amongst the knights he feels personally. But he would never allow you to see that side of him, for he has a job to do … the gravest job of all. We need villains in life, Mr Mallory, and if that is what is required of me, whatever the personal cost it is a cross I will bear for the sake of the Glory of God.’

  Mallory was uneasy at this surprising declaration. He believed he had an unimpeachable radar for lies and manipulation, but Stefan rang clean of cynicism; the bishop truly felt he was striving to do good works. It jarred with the unpleasant picture of Stefan that Mallory had created. The thought that both the bishop and Blaine might be decent, if misguided, people made life more complex, and more troubling.

  His confusion must have played on his face, for Stefan smiled. ‘You are probably wondering why I called you here. It is a simple request in the spirit of everything that I have just told you. Later this evening, the tunnel will be completed and we will be able to surface in the camp of the pagans. Because of an unfortunate event that happened a while back - carried out by some members of the Blue team who have been severely punished - I fear there will not be a great deal of goodwill waiting for us. Quite understandable - my heart goes out to them. But we cannot afford to take the time to indulge in extensive negotiations to win them over. We stand to lose everything. There will soon be death here … many deaths … but it is for the very fabric of our community that I fear. Though we keep God in our hearts, many here will not be able to take much more suffering. So, time is of the essence.’ He paused, pressed his fingertips together and stared into the space between them. ‘It has come to my attention that you have a good relationship with the pagans.’

  Mallory wondered who’d been talking out of class, though he was increasingly starting to have his suspicions. ‘They know me.’

  ‘What I ask is that you lead the initial delegation through the tunnel, that you plead our case. Perhaps your word carries weight with them. Perhaps you can convince them that our hearts are good, though we believe in different things - that we have commonality in our compassion for fellow human beings. I fear that because of the gulf between our two camps they may meet us with force … attempt to repel us as invaders when we come open-handed. Your involvement may prevent any strife.’

  Mallory locked eyes with Stefan. Was there some underlying motive, some secret plan at work? If so, he couldn’t see it.

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said. ‘Though I don’t think you’ll find as much opposition as you anticipate.’

  ‘Really? You’ve had contact with them recently?’

  ‘No. Just an instinct.’

  Stefan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then we can count on you. That is good. With God, together, we shall overcome.’

  A gale was blowing up a blizzard as they prepared to complete the final section of the tunnel, the flurrying snow shimmering like fireflies in the light of the many lanterns. Mallory stamped his feet to keep out the cold; even through his thick boots and socks he could feel it gnawing at his toes.

  There was a heady sense of anticipation amongst the diggers. Indeed, even though it was midnight, many brothers had ventured out into the frozen night to see their escape route finally made real. Stefan had ordered the knights to keep them back behind makeshift barriers; he didn’t want anything hindering the work, or the delicate task of the first meeting with the pagans.

  Stefan and Blaine approached him together as the last preparations were being made. ‘We don’t want any mix-up when we go through,’ Blaine said gruffly, by way of greeting. ‘If they’re waiting for us with weapons—’

  ‘They’re a peace-loving bunch of old hippies,’ Mallory said.

  ‘Try telling that to the lads who were on the receiving end of some of their stones and sticks a few months back.’

  ‘Now, now, Mr Blaine,’ Stefan interjected. ‘We’re approaching this in an atmosphere where bygones are bygones and we can all develop a new relationship. Let’s start as we mean to carry on.’

  Blaine grunted noncommittally. ‘Just make sure they’re not going to attack us the moment we pop up,’ he said directly to Mallory.

  ‘At least so we have a chance to speak,’ Stefan said. ‘I cannot stress how much rests on the success of this. It will be the defining moment of this community, of the future of our religion.’

  ‘I’ll do my part.’ Despite Stefan’s urgings, the only thing on Mallory’s mind was that he would soon be seeing Sophie again. He had spent much of the afternoon considering his options. Although he wanted to bolt with her the moment they were through, she had made it plain she wouldn’t abandon the people who relied on her, but he could abscond and creep back to her at a later date. Or should he return with the knights and sneak back through the tunnel when there was no one else around? With much of the pressure eased by the tunnel and a new supply of food through the travellers’ camp, he supposed the atmosphere would become a little lighter in the cathedral, allowing him to choose a time that suited him … if he could bear to spend another night there. The thought of freedom made his heart start to pound.

  As Blaine and Stefan departed, Miller came running up. ‘I hear you’re going through with the Blues. That’s a great honour, Mallory.’

  ‘It’s a great honour if you have
no kind of life, Miller.’

  ‘Thinking of meeting Sophie again?’ He winked.

  ‘I’m thinking of using you as a human shield when we break through.’

  Miller threw his hood back and looked up into the gusting snow. ‘You are going to come back, aren’t you, Mallory?’ he said after a while. ‘You’re not going to run off and leave us here?’

  Mallory eyed him suspiciously. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘It’s everything to me,’ Miller said plaintively. ‘We need you here, Mallory. I need you here.’

  The innocence in Miller’s face almost swayed him. ‘Of course I’m coming back,’ he lied.

  Roeser stood at Mallory’s side with the rest of his elite squad at his back as the diggers worked on the last few feet of the tunnel. Overhead lay no- man’s-land that separated the cathedral and the few straggling tents that had been sited across the river from the sprawling bulk of the travellers’ camp. The air was dank, the silence potent with uneasy anticipation. The gravity of what was at stake was at work behind all their faces, turned grim with dancing shadows from the handful of lanterns.

  Five minutes later there was a joyful exclamation from one of the diggers followed by a shower of earth rattling into the tunnel. Mallory felt a blast of cold air. Suddenly he could see a square of night sky and one twinkling star.

  Before the diggers could clean up the hole, the Blues surged forwards, taking Mallory with them. They pushed the diggers to one side, then forced them back towards the cathedral unceremoniously. Obviously civilians were not allowed at the front.

  Mallory was eased out of the hole first. After so long staring at the grey walls of the cathedral, the sight of distant horizons was both stirring and a little unnerving. He could see the floodplain extending flat and reedy through the swirling snow, while the river gushed noisily just a few feet away. Across the water, which at that point was narrow enough for him to cross with three bounds, the travellers’ camp blazed with light from what seemed to be a thousand lanterns. The sound of fiddles, guitars and drums was carried by the wind. About twenty tents stood nearby, joined to the camp proper by a makeshift pontoon bridge across the water.

  A piercing whistle rose up close to hand, startling him. One of the travellers, a young man with a mass of ginger hair and a beard, was hanging out of his tent, signalling to the other side. Within an instant, the whistle was taken up and transmitted across the camp, and seconds after that people were running towards the other side of the river. Mallory could see them picking up sticks and stones, which must have been stockpiled for easy access as a defence when the tunnel was finally opened.

  ‘Stay calm,’ Mallory said to Roeser, who had joined him. ‘They’re ready for us.’

  ‘I am calm,’ Roeser said.

  The travellers massed on the far bank, clearly waiting. There was some hooting and jeering, but no real threat of violence. Within a minute, the crowd parted and Mallory saw Sophie striding towards him, grinning broadly. She waved and he waved back; he couldn’t help returning her grin.

  ‘See?’ he said. ‘I told you there’d be no trouble.’

  ‘Early days yet,’ Roeser cautioned.

  Sophie was accompanied by Rick, the white dreadlocks of her right- hand man glowing in the dark. They gingerly crossed the rickety bridge over the rushing water, a small band of travellers close behind.

  ‘Who’s she?’ Roeser asked uncertainly.

  ‘Her name’s Sophie Tallent,’ Mallory said. ‘She’s their leader.’

  As she reached their side, she only had eyes for Mallory. Her gaze sparkled as it locked on his; her hair blew wildly in the wind.

  ‘Hello, Mallory. It’s been a long time,’ she said as she stood before him. It was what remained unsaid that struck him the most: her affection for him was clear and untainted, backed by both respect and trust, two qualities he hadn’t seen directed at him for a long time. There was such a purity to her emotional response that he felt deeply moved.

  ‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Is this cool?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s not going to be any trouble. They need help.’

  Sophie’s eyes turned cold as they flickered over the other knights. ‘Sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She turned around to face her people and said in a loud voice filled with authority, ‘It’s going to be OK. Throw down the weapons. Don’t bother manning the defences.’ Mallory guessed more weapons were secreted in the camp.

  The travellers obeyed her instantly. Some looked relieved, others eyed the knights suspiciously. Mallory realised how frightening they must look to other eyes, with their mass of black uniforms and medieval weaponry.

  His thoughts had already turned to planning his escape when he realised that Roeser was no longer at his side. He cast a half-glance behind him only to see the captain moving through the Blues, whispering. ‘They can’t help their little soldier-games,’ he said quietly to Sophie. His ironic tone made her laugh.

  ‘Now!’

  The sharpness of the order startled him. Suddenly there were Blues surging past him, jostiing him to one side.

  ‘It’s OK!’ he shouted. ‘They’re not planning anything!’

  Two of the Blues grabbed Sophie’s arms and began to haul her forwards. Her shock quickly gave way to annoyance. She struggled, ordering them to leave her alone. Some of the other travellers overcame their surprise to rush to her aid.

  The second they moved, the Blues whipped out their swords. The travellers’ eyes widened in fear. Mallory could see their faces, white in the lantern light as they struggled to make sense of what was happening.

  In Mallory’s head the scene suddenly became silent as his own confused thoughts drowned everything out. His gaze skimmed back and forth, taking everything in. Had Roeser seen something he hadn’t? Some secret plan the travellers were hatching to get their own back for Melanie’s death?

  And then his gaze fell on Sophie. She was staring at him and her eyes were saying, What is happening here? He watched her expression change from incomprehension to fear to anger. Then there was one instant of steely accusation that made his heart ache.

  ‘Trap!’ she yelled. ‘Go back!’

  Suddenly the tableau exploded in sound and movement. One of the Blues punched Sophie in the face. Her head snapped back and she slumped forwards, unconscious. Mallory yelled her name, launching himself to help her, still not truly understanding but feeling a terrible acceptance begin to creep over him. Two Blues turned on him and knocked him back forcefully. He crashed into a tent, bringing it down around him.

  When he managed to scramble to his feet, he was transfixed by the terrible sight of a knight ripping his sword up into Rick’s gut. The dreadlocked teen’s eyes bulged, but the sword kept ripping. A gush of blood shot out, staining the virgin snow. In one swift movement, the Blue removed his sword, flung the lifeless body to one side and moved on to the next. Rick’s corpse hit the ground, then slid into the rushing river and was carried away.

  Mallory spun around, trying to take in the chaos erupting on every side, made impotent by the horror of what he was seeing. The knights were in full flow. They rushed across the bridge and spread out into the camp, swords swinging. Tents were crushed; lanterns burst, setting fire to canvas, the flames leaping from home to home. Blood sprayed as the swords moved back and forth. People fell. The hellish conflagration moved with frightening speed until it seemed as though the entire camp had been set ablaze within a minute.

  Mallory yelled out something, though his rushing emotions had shredded his consciousness and he didn’t know what it was. It didn’t matter. He heard a noise behind him, looked around in time to see Roeser swinging his fist. It hit him firmly on the jaw and snapped him into darkness.

  He awoke on the snow, his body a mass of aches. He was back in the cathedral compound. Nearby, boots were tramping as the Blues carried provisions looted from the travellers’ camp in through the tunnel. His dismay was so a
cute, hot tears stung the corners of his eyes.

  ‘No,’ he croaked.

  ‘We do this in the name of our God, to save our God’s work.’ He looked up to see Stefan standing over him. The bishop’s face was silhouetted against a lantern that hung overhead, so it was impossible to tell his emotions.

  ‘You didn’t need to do this,’ Mallory said through swollen lips. ‘They were harmless. They would have helped.’ He swallowed, tasted blood. ‘Where’s Sophie?’

  ‘We have taken her prisoner. The inquisitors will wish to question her before deciding on a form of punishment.’

  Panic rushed through Mallory, giving him the strength to crawl to his knees. ‘Punishment?’ he gasped.

  ‘The Bible states it clearly. Exodus chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen,’ Stefan said coldly. ‘ Thou shah not suffer a witch to live.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  of what is past, or passing, or to come

  ‘All punishment is like therapy for a soul that has gone wrong.’

  - Albinus

  From the singing pain in his limbs and ribs, Mallory could tell he’d been worked over by a few boots after Roeser had knocked him flat. It was a strain to get to his feet, and when he attempted to walk he was shaky. But he didn’t have to try, for two Blues caught him under the arms and dragged him through the thick snow towards the new buildings. But his thoughts were for Sophie, not himself. There was no sign of her, and though he asked his captors, they ignored him as if he were a piece of wood they were hauling to the fire.

  As his boots bounced down the stone steps to the basement level, he tried to comprehend how it all could have gone wrong so quickly. The Blues dragged him along a gloomy corridor to a row of small cells with covered grilles punctuating doors secured by large padlocks. The third cell was open. They threw him inside. Dirty straw had been spread on the floor, aged manacles fixed to the walls.