The Devil in Green (60 page)

At first, Mallory thought Julian had been stabbed, but as the precentor
slowly pulled himself upright, it was clear it was his grief that had brought
him to his knees. He didn't appear to be injured at all.

'What's happened?' Mallory yelled above the din. He grabbed Julian
by
the shoulders, shaking him a little too roughly to disperse the glaze of
shock that covered his tear-stained face.

Along the walls, the guards called the midnight hour. Slowly, Julian
raised his left hand. In the half-light it appeared unnaturally dark; a drip
slowly fell from his index finger and splashed in a band of light on the floor
where they could see its colour and consistency.

Eventually, Julian found his voice, a cracked, pathetic thing that
sounded like winter. 'Cornelius has been murdered,' he said.

'There is a saying uttered in sacred rites that human beings are in a sort of
prison, from which we should not attempt to escape' -
Plato

At first, it looked like a pile of abandoned laundry lying behind the altar.
Only when Mallory closed on it did he see the white hand twisted upwards
from the clothes. In the stillness, the drip-drip-drip of blood falling from
the altar table was unbearably loud.

'Oh, Lord!' Daniels hissed as he examined the body over Mallory's
shoulders. It had been torn apart, was barely recognisable as a man.

Gardener and Miller helped Julian between them; he was almost
delirious with
shock. 'He
...
he said he wanted to pray,' the precentor
stuttered. 'He often came here on his own . . .' His voice ended in a small,
strangled cry as his eyes fell on the body.

Miller dropped to his knees, eyes screwed tight so he couldn't see
the polluting sight; he looked like a small boy praying at the side of his
bed.

'Who'd do a thing like that?' Daniels said, aghast.

To Mallory, that was a question with ramifications to shatter the
community: who
would
have committed such a terrible crime? Not any
of the supernatural creatures that waited beyond the walls; they couldn't
walk on the sacred ground. But could any of the brethren do such a thing?
He couldn't imagine that either. The image of the army of tiny people
waiting for something to happen lay heavily on his mind, along with the
ghostly impression of the Devil appearing over Salisbury at the moment
the murder was discovered. They knew. Somehow, in some way.

'Get back! Get back!' Blaine's harsh voice echoed into the far reaches of
the cathedral roof. He arrived with Hipgrave dogging his steps, Blaine's

face torn by a cornered-animal expression, part fury, part fear; he
assimilated the entire scene in an instant, and it didn't seem to affect him
at all. Mallory noted Blaine's response carefully. Hipgrave looked as if he'd
just woken from the deepest sleep. 'Who found him?' Blaine whirled, cold
eyes flashing over each of them in turn.

Julian staggered forwards. 'Me. I did.
I
...
I came looking for him . . .
thought he might need a hand getting back to his residence. He still wasn't
a hundred per cent.'

'He was like this?' Blaine snapped. 'You didn't touch anything?'

'Well
...
I ...
I touched him. I tried to stop the blood. I tried to save
him!' His voice rose to a sob, and then he covered his eyes, smearing
Cornelius's blood across his face.

Blaine had no time for Julian's grief. 'Did you see anybody else?'

Julian gulped air. 'No . . . no
.
. .' he said, composing himself. 'Look,
we must do this later. We have to care for the body . . .' He covered his
eyes again.

Blaine shook his head contemptuously, cursing under his breath but
loud enough for Julian to hear. There was more activity further down the
nave. The crowd that was hanging back from the awful scene parted
like the Red Sea to allow Stefan to sweep through, followed closely by
Gibson, the Canon of the Pies, sweating and blowing as he attempted to
keep up.

Stefan was ashen-faced when he arrived, but his eyes had a dark avarice
about them. Stefan silenced Blaine with a curt wave before he could open
his mouth. He went directly to Cornelius's body and knelt beside it in
prayer. There was a theatrical note to his action that irked Mallory, but no
one else appeared to notice. After a long silence, Stefan dipped his hands
in the blood and smeared it on his black robes. 'We have lost something
great and Godly this night,' he said in a quiet, strained voice. Tears ran
down his cheeks. 'A devout man, the father of us all.' He paused before
booming angrily, 'This crime shall be avenged!'

The act of pantomime was not lost on the crowd gathered further down
the nave; cries of support echoed back. Stefan rose and addressed them
directly. 'This crime is not just against our beloved bishop, nor against us,
but against Christianity itself. Someone . . .
something ...
has aimed a
blow at our very heart, hoping we will fall aside . . . that we shall turn our
backs and flee to the shadows. That must not happen! The times ahead
will be harder still, and we shall all be called on to stand firm. Trials and
tribulations will be inflicted on all of us, but if we each fulfil our role, if we
hold our heads high in the Glory of God, then we shall overcome. Go now,
in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and carry word of what has
happened to all our brothers. Let the period of mourning begin. The time
for action shall come.'

His words were perfectly chosen. They resonated in the hearts of those
watching and as one they turned and hurried from the cathedral.

'Good show,' Gibson said when Stefan turned back to them. '
Gravitas.
Perfect. We need to steady the hand on the tiller in this dark time.'

Mallory looked to Julian, who had as much right to leadership as Stefan,
but Cornelius's advisor and friend sat hunched on a pew, broken by his
grief. It was a time for the hard men, Mallory thought.

Blaine turned to Mallory and the knights. 'You lot, find a sheet to wrap
the . .
.
ah
. .
.' He struggled for a word with decorum, but could only
come back to
body.
'Take it up to the infirmary and see what Warwick can
find out. Then report to the great hall.' He turned to Stefan. 'I'm getting all
the knights together
.
.
.
arming up. This might be the first strike in a war.
Those things could be attacking even as we speak. We've got to be ready to
knock 'em back.'