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' arg
ument 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 loo
k 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?'
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