James took them throughout the main body of the cathedral and its ancillary buildings; it was important, he said, for every new arrival to understand both the facts and the symbolism of their new home. 'This will be our Jerusalem,' he said. 'In England's green and pleasant land.' He detailed the history of the cathedral from its construction between 1220 and 1258 following the decision to move it from its original location at Old Sarum, through to modern times, so that by the end Mallory thought he was going to go insane if he heard another date.
'The new cathedral was entrusted to Nicholas of Ely, a master mason, who encoded many mysteries in the sacred geometry of the building, utilising the vast secret knowledge of numbers, angles and harmonics passed down through the masonic guilds of medieval times,' James commented as they stood in the south quire aisle. 'They say the great secrets of our religion were locked in the stone, but much of the knowledge has since been lost. Who knows what the length of this column, or the angle of that beam, was meant to imply? What we do know is that the building itself was seen as an act of worship. Here, God is in the detail and in the greater design.'
'Is that why you made your base here?' Mallory asked. 'What was wrong with Winchester? Or Glastonbury?'
James thought deeply before replying. 'Those places were certainly considered, as were several others. In the end, the decision was made to come to Salisbury for one very important reason.'
Mallory read his face. 'But you're not going to tell us what it is.'
James grew serious. 'We like to keep a few secrets.' He winced as if he'd said too much, and Mallory was intrigued to see him change direction, leading them now up a winding stone stairway rising from the south transept.
'We have an excellent library here,' James said rather awkwardly, as if continuing the previous conversation. 'Its most famous item is a copy of the Magna Carta, but it has long been praised by academics for its ancient manuscripts, including a page of the Old Testament in Latin from the eighth century and two Gallican psalters from the tenth century.'
'I'll have to book those out on a quiet night,' Mallory said.
'The more important books are less well known,' James continued. 'Within, there are sacred texts the outside world has never been allowed to see since the cathedral was established. Indeed, part of its reason for existing was as guardian and protector of old truths — or lies, depending on your point of view.'
'Surely the great Church wasn't afraid of a few words on paper?' Mallory said. 'Or was it that these things were too dangerous for the common man to find out?'
James laughed quietly. 'I'm just a lowly member here. But I've heard it said that the potency arises not from any individual volume, each of which presents one particular view, but in the totality. Each is a fragment that together reveal a large secret.'
Miller appeared troubled at this. 'Religious secrets?' he asked anxiously.
'Not wholly,' James replied. 'The library also contains a collection of the earliest scientific, mathematical and medical books, including William Harvey's De Motu Cordis, which identified the circulation of the blood for the first time. They were bequeathed by Seth Ward, who became bishop in 1667. But before that he'd been Professor of Astronomy at Oxford and a founding member of the Royal Society.'
'I thought scientists and the religious were always at each other's throats,' Mallory said.
'Apparently not in the old days.' James' smile was enigmatic.
At the top of the stairs they were confronted by two men installing large locks in the door that led to the library; through the opening they could see the stacks of ancient books and smell the warm atmosphere of dusty paper. The workers were being overseen by a man in his late fifties, overweight beneath his black robes, with a balding pate and a goatee beard. His eyes were dark and piercing and instantly fell on the new faces.
'Good morning, Stefan,' James said brightly. 'What have we here?'
'The library is now off limits, on the orders of the bishop.' Stefan tried to return James' smile, but it was an awkward attempt that looked out of place on his face. The shadows under his eyes suggested a saturnine nature, and he quickly returned to a gloomy countenance.
'Oh?' James said, puzzled. 'I can't understand that. The library is a vital resource for everyone here.'
'Nevertheless, the decision has been made. Requests for specific books can be presented to the librarian who will put them to the new library committee for consideration.'
'That sounds like an unwieldy process. How often does the committee meet?'
'We haven't yet reached agreement on all the details, but as chairman of the committee I will certainly do my best to expedite matters.'
James nodded and smiled, but as he moved Mallory and Miller on, he was plainly uncomfortable with what he had heard.
'Looks as if your back-to-basics approach is gathering speed.' Mallory couldn't resist prodding. 'What next — services in Latin?'
'I think I'll raise this with the bishop myself,' James said. 'Those books are so important in these days when knowledge is at a premium. The people here need-' He waved a hand to dismiss his thoughts, though they obviously lay heavily on him.
'Stefan's another big-shot?' Mallory said.
'He's the chancellor. He looks after the education of everyone here. Like all the Principal Persons, he was instrumental in bringing the Church to Salisbury.'
As they exited the cathedral, it was as if some tremendous gravity was reluctantly releasing them. Outside, there was an ethereal quality to the bright morning sunlight. James took them into the sprawling mass of houses, now fully alive with men of all ages cutting wood, feeding cattle and chickens and cleaning out pigsties. 'This is where we house all those who have come to us since we established our new base,' James noted. 'As you can see, we've just about reached the limits of occupation. Quite what we're going to do from here is open to debate, though we are loathe to allow our own to live beyond the walls for fear of victimisation.'
'Is there much of that?' Miller asked apprehensively.
'Not a great deal, though there have been several severe incidents. There are some that see us as a threat, others who feel our time is done. In the light of all that has happened, it appears everyone has their own peculiar belief system to try to make sense of the upheaval. I think they feel let down by the Church because we did not explain the events, or care for them in their hour of need, or simply because they feel what we offer has no relevance to the difficult times we all live in. What need a hidden, mysterious God when solid, physical gods have walked amongst us? Obviously the answers to that question are easy for us to voice, but who has the time or inclination for theological argument? The only way we can win them back is by playing a long game, by letting the Word filter out organically. And that is where the knights come into the equation.'
Finally, James took them to an area at the rear of the former Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum where the knights were sequestered. Several men were learning the art of sword-fighting, while others attacked scarecrows with halberds. All faces were intense and deeply introspective, the movements fluid and powerful. Distinctive uniforms marked them out: black shirts bearing the Templar cross in red against a white square on the breast and right shoulder, hard-wearing black trousers, heavy-duty boots and black belts.
There was another cadre of knights removed from the core group who duelled with each other with a frightening ferocity, at times lithe, then vicious, their speed and dazzling turns and dives revealing skills that set them apart. Their uniforms were also slightly different, with a blue stripe gleaming on the left shoulder.
The commander stood off to one side, watching the activity, his authority apparent in his rigid bearing. Up close, Blaine had a face that registered such little emotion that at times he resembled a wax dummy. He was in his mid-forties, his black hair badly dyed. Hard muscles filled out a uniform carrying the red Templar cross more prominently on the front. His heavy brows cast a shadow around his eyes so that he appeared on the
verge of sickness, yet there was a street-hardness about him that gave a commanding presence.
He remained impassive when James introduced him as Blaine. 'It won't be a free ride here,' he said, with a Belfast accent. 'We had a couple in who thought they'd get fed and watered without having to give anything back. They didn't last the week.'
'We'll do what's expected of us,' Mallory said.
'You see that you do… if you want to stay here. You're getting a shot at something people would give their right arm for. There's not much of value out there anymore. But in the next few years you'll see that being a knight will be a mark of respect. The country will come to love you. But you have to earn it.'
'What do we need to do?' Miller asked. The knights had adopted a routine akin to tai chi, with measured, graceful movements, the weapons whipping rapidly around their bodies a hair's-breadth from causing them harm. Their movements looked easy yet unbelievably difficult at the same time. 'How long did it take them to learn that?' Miller continued, agog.
Blaine's gaze flickered lazily towards James. 'You're sure you want to give them a shot?'
'I always go on first impressions. Besides, if we are here for anything, it is to offer hope, to take in those who come to us… for whatever reason… and give them a chance.'
Blaine grunted in a way that implied his complete disagreement with everything James had said, yet without seeming the slightest bit disrespectful. He turned back to Miller. 'You'll get full training. It'll be hard, and fast. We need men out there quickly. I warn you, a lot aren't up to it. We need to get you to the peak of physical fitness. You have to learn how to use weapons you've probably only seen in museums. You've got to learn skills — medicine, astronomy, herbalism, cookery-'
'And don't forget the spiritual guidance,' James said, with a smile.
'And you'll need to know the Good Book back to front,' Blaine continued without missing a beat. 'The poor…' He fumbled for an acceptable word.'… people out there will be looking to you for guidance. They don't want you telling them that Thou Shalt Not Pick Your Nose is one of the Ten Commandments.'
'Don't worry,' Mallory said. 'We'll make sure they don't covet any oxen.'
Blaine laid his gaze heavily on Mallory; it said, I've already got you marked as a troublemaker, and you'll have it knocked out of you in a day.
Mallory didn't flinch.
James was winningly courteous as he took his leave. 'These are desperate times, but also momentous,' he said. 'I feel that the Chinese were correct when they said there are no crises, only opportunities. This is an opportunity to re-energise Christianity and to bring it into the lives of the people once again.' After Blaine, his gentleness was even more pronounced.
Blaine summoned his second-in-command to lead them to their quarters. Hipgrave had barely broken into his thirties, and he appeared much younger. His features carried a permanent sneer, but it looked theatrical, as if he thought it gave him gravitas. 'You'll be out of here before the week's through,' he said in a light voice attempting to disguise its upper-middle-class origins.
'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' Mallory hadn't seen anything he couldn't handle.
Hipgrave gripped Mallory's upper arm and spun him round. 'The knights may be temporal but they operate along strict military lines. There is a chain of command. Insubordination is punished. There's no room in the ranks for weak links.'
Miller flinched, knowing that if Mallory remained true to his nature they could both be ejected. But despite a brief moment of tension, Mallory stayed calm and Hipgrave strutted off in front.
'Please, Mallory,' Miller whispered, 'don't ruin this for me. You don't know how much I need it.'
'Give me credit,' Mallory replied. 'I've got some self-control — I'm not a complete thug.'
Their footsteps echoed along empty corridors as Hipgrave led them to the second floor of the old museum and into a large room at the front overlooking the Cathedral Close. Ten camp beds were laid out at regular intervals beneath medieval wall tapestries. Two other men were already billeted there. One of them, a muscular, good-looking black man, was cleaning his boots with furious brush strokes while the other, a rangy white man in his early fifties, knelt in prayer at a tiny altar beside his bed. They rose and faced the new arrivals for Hipgrave's cursory introductions. Daniels was in his late thirties, intelligent, with an air of amused sophistication. Gardener, in contrast, was a Geordie with a rough working- class attitude, long greying hair tied in a ponytail and a face that had the leathery appearance of meat left out for days in the sun.
When Hipgrave had departed, Mallory chose a bed from the remaining ten and lay on it, staring at the ceiling.
'I wouldn't get used to that position if I were you,' Daniels said wryly. He'd resumed polishing his boots with a verve that bordered on obsession.
'They work you hard?'
'We're twinned with a Soviet Gulag. Their idea of downtime is a face- wash with river water and a turnip to gnaw on.'
'Don't listen to him. He's a soft Southern bastard. Drinks wine with his little finger stuck out,' Gardener called over.
'At least I know what wine is, you beer-swelling Philistine.'
'Aye, you whine all the time.'
Daniels walked over to Gardener, brandishing his brush. 'You know, you'd think some of my innate style and breeding would have rubbed off on you after the weeks we've been stuck here, but I'm starting to think you'll remain a troglodyte for ever.'
'You know you're not supposed to use big words around me. Now bugger off, I'm trying to pray.'
Despite their fractiousness, it was obvious to Mallory that a deep affection underpinned their relationship, a clear case of opposites attracting. In his voice and body language, Daniels seemed gay, though Gardener, as far as Mallory could tell, was straight — at least, he sported a worn wedding ring — and they obviously came from different backgrounds. But the camaraderie made him think it might not be so bad there after all.
Mallory and Miller were allowed only half an hour to settle in before another knight was sent to fetch them. He had red hair and freckles and a fastidious manner that irritated Mallory the moment the knight opened his mouth. He had been ordered to give them a wealth of instructions, none of which he was prepared to repeat, so they had no choice but to listen.
'Everything here is based around discipline,' he said, 'to focus the mind. Your day will be mapped out for you, and it's a long day, believe me. This isn't a place for the lazy.'
He marched ahead of them with the stiff gait of a well-drilled military man, which made Mallory's loose-limbed amble seem even more lazy. Miller hopped and skipped to keep up like a pony on a rope.
'The knights, however, have a slightly different timetable from the rest,' the red-headed man continued. 'There's a lot of studying, a lot of training. For most people out there-' He motioned towards the sprawl of wooden huts visible through the window. '-the day begins at six a.m. with prime. That's a full service in the cathedral, plainsong, the works. The prayer and chant continues through the day, seven days a week. Terce at nine a.m., sext at midday, none in mid-afternoon, vespers at the end of the afternoon and compline at dusk. After that, everyone retires to their rooms for the great silence and the cathedral is locked. At midnight everyone rises for the night office, followed immediately by the lauds of the dead. It lasts about two hours in total, and then you're off on the cycle again. You will be expected to attend services when you are not involved with your other duties.'
Mallory glanced at Miller; the younger man was clearly enthralled at the strict routine that left Mallory feeling an uncomfortable mixture of depression and defiance.
'Your routine will be individually tailored, depending on where your strengths and weaknesses lie,' the knight continued. 'For the first week or so, it will mainly centre on physical fitness and weapons training.' He eyed them askance. 'To see if you have what it takes to meet the exacting standards required of a Knight Templar.'
Mallory knew enough about
the military mindset to understand what that meant: they could look forward to days of gruelling and unnecessary exercises to see if they had the strength of character to continue. And then Blaine — a military man at some level, Mallory guessed — would begin the long task of breaking their spirit so they would obey orders without question.
'After that period, the physical and weapons training will be confined to the early morning, after prime. Then you'll be studying herbalism for treatment of wounds out in the field. The supply of drugs won't last long and there's no infrastructure to manufacture any more. Astronomy is… difficult.' His jaw set. 'But you'll need to navigate by the stars. And then there's the Bible study and philosophy classes. Those are the main ones.'
He brought them into a large oak-panelled room on the first floor. On one wall was fixed a plain wooden sign carved with the legend: 'Let nothing have precedence over divine office' — The Rule of St Benedict.
At the other end of the room was a heavily fortified door beside a window that opened on to a small office stacked with boxes. The knight hammered on the windowsill to attract the attention of a man with a scar that turned his left eye into a permanent squint. He was introduced as Wainwright, the knights' quartermaster.
'Two uniforms?' he said, mentally measuring Mallory and Miller before disappearing into the bowels of the store. He returned a second later.
'Perfect for a torchlight rally,' Mallory said, holding the black shirt up for size.
'Uniforms are to be worn at all times,' the red-haired knight said. 'And that means all times. Being caught without it means the disciplinary procedure.'
Mallory considered asking what this entailed, but he knew it would only depress him further.
The rest of the day was spent in a process that fell somewhere between induction and confession: names, education, abilities, criminal record, past transgressions, hopes, fears. Miller gave them a detailed account of his relationship with his parents and the breakdown of his romance, the catalyst that had propelled him towards Salisbury. Mallory changed his story several times, often during the same strand, before delivering a complex list of dates, times, names and anecdotes that would have taken days of investigation before it was discovered that it made no sense at all.
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