The Devil in Green (90 page)

The Blues pushed him against the damp wall, yanked his arms back and closed the manacles about his wrists so that he was suspended in a crucifix position. They departed without comment, and Mallory didn't have the inclination to make smart remarks at their backs.

When he had first arrived at the cathedral, he could have coped with his current situation with the same blase acceptance with which he faced all the myriad miseries life threw at him. But now that Sophie had entered his sphere he was troubled by hope, and desire, and the nagging feeling that life might be worthwhile after all.

He had little contact with the outside world for the next three days. The passing of time was marked by the appearance of meals: porridge on the first day, but after that it was a return to the thin vegetable gruel they had been eating for too long. He could get some sleep hanging in the manacles, but the pain in his joints and in his wrists where they had been rubbed raw woke him regularly. Occasionally, he would be stirred by a deep rumble through the cold stone: the attacks from the forces without were intensifying. He wondered what plans Blaine would be making to combat them now that the new route out had been opened up.

He felt physically weak, but after the initial shock and despair wore off, his emotional equilibrium had returned and his thoughts grew colder, his anger harder. The guards refused to answer any of his questions - Blaine and Stefan had clearly decided not to have anyone who knew him overseeing his imprisonment - so in the end he took to mocking and abuse. It was childish, but it made him feel better and countered some of the impotence he felt.

They came for him in the afternoon of the third day. The guards dragged him out, blinking, into the snow-white world, still glittering in the fading sunlight. His hanging position had begun to disable him even after such a short time, so that he found it difficult to walk. Little nuggets of constant pain glowed throughout his frame.

As soon as he saw the faces of the brothers he passed he realised something was wrong. Instead of the jubilation he had expected at newfound freedom and food, he saw only grey misery etched into the features, weighing on the bowed shoulders, even worse than before. He looked around for clues, but the gaping black mouth of the tunnel was still there in the white, and the walls still stood firmly.

The guards prodded him towards the imposing Queen-Anne facade of Mompesson House, not far from the north gate. Outside the grand building, a makeshift stage had been built out of stacked tables. A small crowd gathered before it, not all the brothers by a long way; many drifted away at the fringes, plainly disinterested in what was happening.

Mallory was forced to stand at the back of the stage alongside another heavily guarded figure. It was shrouded in robes and hooded so that it was impossible to see any sign of its form, but when it tilted its head towards Mallory, he realised from the body language that it was Sophie. Her appearance reminded him of the burka-clad women in fundamentalist Muslim countries, their shape obscured so as not to inflame the passions of the men; the woman as devil, agent of temptation.

Miller, Daniels and Gardener waited to one side of the crowd with a group of other knights. Mallory entertained a brief fantasy that they would respond to the clear injustice and rush forwards to his aid, knowing in his heart it would never happen.

They shuffled around in the cold for another five minutes until Stefan and Blaine emerged from Mompesson House. They both attempted to maintain an air of confidence and control, but the fact that Mallory could see that it was an act told him how uneasy they were. What had happened to shake them so? They'd achieved everything they'd planned.

Without glancing at Mallory or Sophie, Stefan climbed on to the stage and addressed the crowd. 'Our Church has been under attack,' he began. 'Not only from the forces of the Devil, which we know all too well, but from more subtle attacks within our community - subtle attacks which can often prove more dangerous. Those who deviate from the path our Lord has shown us can destroy everything we hold dear by a thousand little knocks, continually chipping away at the edifice of our religion. And when that structure falls, it cannot be erected again. So we must strike now, to root out the weeds choking the vine. We must remain pure and remove from our midst those who attempt to corrupt that purity with sly words or thoughts, or with open opposition. The Adversary waits beyond the gate - many have seen his evil form looming up over the city. He feels his time is near. By purifying the light within us all, here, we can keep the darkness at bay for ever.'

Stefan kept his gaze fixed on the crowd, but made a slight motion with one hand at his side. Mallory was shoved forwards on to the stage, with Sophie beside him.

'Here now, a sight to make a good Christian weep,' Stefan continued. 'One of our own who has turned his back on God to embrace the Devil and all the Devil's works.'

Mallory thought to speak out until he felt the guard's dagger pricking his back.

'And at his side, the woman who tempted him from the path of righteousness, hidden from our eyes so she cannot work her spell on us. A witch. Yes, the Devil's own. She makes no secret of her use of Dark Powers to bring corruption and sickness and death to us all—'

Mallory heard Sophie protest, but the hood muffled her voice so that the crowd couldn't hear her. The guard at her back twisted her wrist until she cried out.

'In our current situation, charges of sedition could be levelled at them. Their actions, whether directed against us or not, could weaken us or bring us to our knees,' Stefan said. 'In wartime, certain liberties must necessarily be put to one side for the sake of the greater good. However, it is still our intention to give these two a fair trial in a Church court. They will be able to present their defence, or plead for God's mercy. Justice will be seen to be done.'

Stefan paused as if he expected some kind of applause or encouragement, but he was only met by a weary acceptance.

Mallory suddenly saw through it all. They were planning a show trial, another of Stefan's little manipulations to divert attention from the hardship everyone was feeling; in the end, in whatever establishment, discipline and fear were the only way to maintain power. But how long would Stefan be able to carry on distracting and obfuscating before his attempts became so transparent that they lost their potency? Mallory wondered.

'We must be pure. We must be devout. It is the only way we can bring God back into our lives.' Passion filled Stefan's voice. 'The slightest weakness brings the Devil to our door. This one . . .' He pointed to Mallory. '. . . is not the only traitor in our midst. There are others. Though I implored you to be true to the path, it has come to my attention that there are still practising sodomites here.'

Mallory flinched. Suddenly he could see what was coming next: Stefan wasn't relenting at all.

'I call now on the true and righteous amongst you to speak out. If you know of any sodomite, identify them. It is our only hope. We can show no mercy to them, for the Bible tells us it is a sin against nature.'

A witch-hunt,
Mallory thought. More fear, more divisions, all to throw the brothers off-balance so they wouldn't challenge his tenuous position.

The Blues began to move through the crowd. Mallory thought it was all for show - more fear-creation - until a gruff Geordie accent called out, 'Here!'

Gardener had his hand on Daniels' shoulder. Daniels bore an expression of such incomprehension it was almost comical. But when he turned and looked deep into Gardener's face, he understood. The blow was so severe that Daniels looked as if his heart was breaking.

Gardener wouldn't meet Daniels' eye, which was filled with a desperate hurt. The Geordie's gaze remained fixed on Stefan, his hand steady on Daniels' shoulder, but Mallory thought he saw something in his expression, a fugitive shadow, that suggested his betrayal had come at a price.

The Blues seized Daniels roughly, his status as a knight now valueless. As he was dragged away, the scenario was made worse by his abject silence: no protestations, just the awful realisation that life was proving to be as painful as he had feared it would be in his darkest moments.

Never in his wildest imaginings would Mallory have thought Gardener capable of such an act of betrayal. His friendship with Daniels, despite their many differences, had seemed deep and warm. To Mallory, it had been one of the few beacons in his long, dark months at the cathedral. But in the end it came down to the one thing Mallory already knew: blind adherence to a religion meant any act, however despicable, could be justified. Gardener's internal battle between common sense and the pressures exerted on him by his hardline beliefs had finally been resolved.

Mallory wasn't the only one deeply affected by what had happened. He saw Miller turn to Gardener with an expression of dismay that became disgust when Gardener wouldn't meet his eye either. To see that in Miller, who never showed any sign that he experienced negative emotions, was particularly striking. Miller edged away from Gardener into the crowd. Some others moved away, too, until Gardener appeared to be standing alone.

But any point that might have been made was wiped away by a burst of spontaneous applause from the fundamentalists and evangelicals in the crowd. Gardener gave a faint, relieved smile.

'And by this we begin the journey back to God!' Stefan proclaimed before striding from the stage. His departure was a signal for Mallory and Sophie to be led away by the Blues, who appeared to be the only knights trusted to carry out the serious jobs. Those who had cheered Gardener now voiced boos and cat-calls.

Away from the crowd, Mallory called out to Sophie, asking if she was all right. His guard hit him so hard at the back of the neck, he was knocked to his knees.

'I'm
OK.
Don't worry about me,' she shouted, before her own guard struck out. She took the blow and continued walking, forcing her head high beneath the hood.

Mallory's anger grew harder still. Stefan, he was convinced, had gone insane; the Caretaker had said that whatever potency was in the cathedral would unbalance men's minds. He wouldn't be surprised if Stefan was planning some kind of Dark Age punishment for them, possibly even an execution: a burning or a hanging for the witch and her accomplice. He felt scared for Sophie, not himself; but he resolved to give Stefan no satisfaction whatsoever.

That night in the cells was colder than any other since Mallory had arrived in Salisbury, and at one point he was convinced he was freezing to death. When the guard brought breakfast it was more meagre than ever, but it was warm, and when his chains were loosed to allow him to eat, he hugged the bowl to him until he had leached every last bit of heat from it.

Some time around mid-morning, the door was thrown open unexpectedly and Miller skulked in, checking over his shoulder. Mallory's first response was suspicion - was this the thing from Bratton Camp come to slaughter him while he hung? - but after a while, his weakened state meant he didn't have the energy to worry about anything beyond his capacity to control.

'I didn't know I had visiting privileges,' he said weakly.

'You don't. They won't allow anyone near you.' Mallory was surprised to see tears in Miller's eyes. 'The guards were all called away - I don't think they could spare them any more. And they don't bother locking the door.'

Mallory rattled the chains. 'It's not as if I'm going to do some kind of Houdini trick with these.'

'Are you all right, Mallory?' Miller said gently. He wrung his hands together impotently.