The Devil in Green (84 page)

'Geomancers? In the Church?'

'You see? Everyone thinks they know history, but they don't. And this has been well documented.' James went to the stacks and removed a volume. '
Les Mysteres de la Cathedrale de Chartres
by Louis Charpentier. Chartres Cathedral stands on a large prehistoric mound over a buried chamber, which Charpentier identifies as a confluence of four streams of this serpentine earth energy, named by him as
woivres.
A very powerful site indeed, and the Christian geomancers built the cathedral there to be a massive collector of that energy, to empower worshippers and to spread it out into the local area, in much the same way that the builders of the stone circles did. And if you find that hard to believe, I should point out that the cathedral site was also the home of the great Druidic university of Gaul, where ancient wise men were initiated into the mysteries of the Blue Fire. The same place, the same potency, within different belief systems. As you said earlier, coincidence?'

Mallory felt a tingling at the base of his spine; a pattern was beginning to emerge.

'These are the secrets I was privy to as a Watchman - the places of power, the spiritual energy in the land that ties people to it, the importance of it in the Great Scheme,' James said. 'There are books in this library that hint at it, some . . .' He tapped the French volume, '. . . that speak of it directly. Guided carefully, a good student could piece together much that has been hidden for millennia.'

'That's why the first Christian churches were sited on pagan places of worship. Not because of some kind of spiritual hegemony, but because those places were a source of tremendous energy that could be used to invigorate the religion. And that's why they keep you locked up here with the books - because you know so much about it. And that story about the siting of this cathedral by the fall of an arrow—'

'It is an allegory that tells of the Christian geomancers' art. Old Sarum was a strongly powerful spot, but there was some . . . trouble . . . there, and it was felt this location was even more propitious.'

'So we're all here because of this spiritual energy in the land. And that's why the travellers have set up their camp here as well.' Mallory tried to develop the information James had given him to understand what was happening, but one thought dominated. 'The pagans outside the compound are right: they've been demonised, marginalised, and everything they believe in has been stolen. The Church is a sham.'

'No,' James stressed. 'You misunderstand. The philosophy of

Christianity is unmatched, a powerful, powerful force. It was the first religion to offer the concept of charity, of selfless devotion to others. That cannot be denied. It has had many dark periods . . . many times when those who profess to be Christians have warped the intrinsic beliefs . . . but that shining light at the heart of it still shines through. It transcends all earthly transgressions.'

Mallory shrugged. 'Whatever you say, James. But I can't help thinking that a religion that allows itself to be open to corruption is on pretty shaky ground.'

'We are a force for good, Mallory, despite ourselves.'

Mallory could see that James believed this deeply, but he was sick of religion - all religion - with its ability to cause strife and suffering in its wake. 'You're not very good at keeping secrets, James,' Mallory said with a smile. 'I come in here, ask a couple of questions and you blurt it all out.'

'Because I don't believe in keeping secrets. Nobody asked me to. It was implied, but nobody came out and said it. I believe the Church would work better if it put everything out in the open and trusted its followers. But you can't take the politics out of any organisation. That is human nature.' He offered more tea, but Mallory declined; he could almost hear Blaine's fury already. 'You're a good man, Mallory,' James said out of the blue.

'Right. I'm just looking out for myself, James.'

'All of us are two separate people, Mallory. We're the materialistic, rational person on the surface, and we're the ghost inside who moves our hands when we're not thinking. The ghost is the true
us,
our essence, freed from the petty influences of this world. And your ghost is good, Mallory, I know that.'

'I wish I could have called him up to scare a few people on Hallowe'en. Might have got some more treats amongst all the tricks.'

James laughed heartily and waved him away. 'I enjoyed our little chat. It feels good to get things off one's chest, you know?'

Mallory felt strangely reluctant to leave. The conversation had reminded him of his own life, when he'd had the time and the inclination to ruminate over weighty matters of philosophy; but that was before he discovered how pointless it all was. He was halfway to the door when he turned back. 'Thanks,' he said simply.

'Do your best, Mallory,' James replied. 'We all need a saviour.'

As everyone feared, Julian's death had a terrible effect on the brethren. Whereas before there had been some hope of salvation, the new murder had unleashed a slowly rising tide of fatal resignation. The main target was the cathedral leadership, though few had any workable alternative plans. Dissent was heard on the way to prayers, or over the refectory tables. Furious arguments cropped up regularly, shattering the atmosphere of pious devotion, and on occasion there were even fights. There was a general feeling that death and destruction were only just around the corner.

The mood was not helped by the repeated collapse of the tunnel under the wall, killing two diggers. Accusations of incompetence were levelled; why couldn't the bishop do something about it? Food was running out; there was no time for failure. On the surface, Stefan took the criticism with humility and stoicism, but behind the scenes, subtle and worrying changes were taking place. Unable to carry out their true role, the knights were ordered to patrol the cathedral, dampening down disputes and reporting back to Blaine the names of any troublemakers. Most took this job reluctantly, but some, most notably members of the Blues, accepted it with unfortunate relish. The Inquisition of Heretical Depravity took an increasingly active role overseeing the 'questioning' of the active dissenters. Their offices in the shadowy heart of the new buildings came to be feared, and the inquisitors themselves were only discussed in whispers in case comments were reported back to them.

But the creeping repression was the least of their worries. As December crawled along and a bitter chill set in, the nightly attacks increased in intensity and lasted longer, sometimes until first light. For some reason, the hordes outside had become more successful; walls were repeatedly damaged and much of each day was spent carrying out repairs with rapidly diminishing resources. Against it all was the constant background of fear that the murderer within the cathedral could strike at any time. Nowhere was safe; no one was safe.

'Things continually shift between being united by love and divided by strife.'

- Empedocles

The snow started again on December the sixth, floating down from a grey sky just before prime. It was a display of such ethereal charm that it prompted even the depressed and hungry brothers to raise their heads from their struggle and enjoy the moment. By lunchtime, a thin coating had transformed the cathedral and its bleak gothic buildings into a fairy-tale palace, glowing soft and white. Across Salisbury, the rooftops gleamed; everywhere sound and light took on a new quality.

And still the snow fell. By mid-afternoon, brothers were hastily assigned to clear the paths, the crunch of their boots and the scrape of their shovels echoing around the compound. Afterwards, they gathered in the shelter of the west front, stamping and steaming, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed, cracking jokes and swapping tales.

Mallory watched them as he returned from a patrol around the bishop's palace, quietly marvelling at how something as simple and natural as a snowfall could have such a transformative effect on human nature. Briefly, they had forgotten the Devil at the gates, though the oppressive nature of the threat had unbalanced several minds in recent days, especially after the horned shape had been glimpsed once again hovering over the city. The apocalypse, they all felt, was now sickeningly close.

The snow provided a break, too, from his own thoughts as they continually turned over the many facets of the mystery without finding any connecting factor; but he was close to a solution, he knew that. A little further on, he spotted Gardener crouching down in the middle of the lawns, occasionally swinging his arm back and forth. Mallory realised he was surreptitiously feeding the birds a few bits of dry bread left over from lunch. In their increasingly dire situation, some would have considered it wasteful, but Mallory found it oddly touching: Gardener, gruff, hard-faced, occasionally unpleasant, locked in a moment of simple sacrifice for lesser creatures.

He watched until the Geordie had finished, then was overcome with a devilish idea. As Gardener trudged away, Mallory rolled a snowball and hurled it with devastating aim, hitting Gardener squarely at the base of his skull. Gardener whirled, eyes blazing, but when he saw Mallory his face went blank. Mallory had a sudden sense of his miscalculation until Gardener dipped down, rolled a snowball and launched it with one lightning move. It struck Mallory in his chest, showering snow across his face.

For a second, everything hung, and then they both exploded with raucous laughter, leaping into a frenzied bout of snowball-throwing. Within moments, they heard a whoop as Miller and Daniels ran up. Gardener and Mallory hit them both before they were halfway across the lawns.

For the next fifteen minutes, they forgot all the pressures of the daily strife in complete childlike abandon. Mallory joked, 'Stay on Daniels' blindside!' while Miller darted back and forth among them, whirling snowballs as if he were crazed. By the end, when they were all covered in white from head to toe, even Gardener was laughing. They collapsed into the snow, exhausted but still in high spirits.

Three members of the Blues walked by, watching their ridiculous fun with disdain. One of them sneered that they were bringing the knights into disrepute, following his comment with a whispered disparaging remark that brought mocking laughter from his colleagues. Mallory gave them the finger, while Miller threw a snowball in their direction. The Blues rounded, spoiling for a fight until the ringleader calmed them and led them on their way.

'Wankers,' Mallory said.

'No sense of humour,' Daniels added. 'Always a bad sign.'

Suddenly something struck Mallory, so obvious that he wondered why he hadn't considered it before. 'Why are they called Blues?' he asked. The blue flash on their shoulders had set them apart from the very first.

No one knew, but after his conversation with James, Mallory had an idea. Their very existence, all the mysterious missions on which they regularly embarked, had something to do with the Blue Fire: they were an elite squad in more ways than one.

His thoughts were interrupted by the acrid smell of smoke drifting across the compound accompanied by the sound of crackling fire. Filled with curiosity, they made their way around the side of the new buildings to its source near the gates, where a large bonfire was sending up thick black clouds.

'What are they wasting all that fuel for?' Daniels asked.