The Devil in Green (11 page)

'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.