Their attention was caught by an area of brightly coloured tents and tepees on a park on the other side of a river bridge. They clustered tightly together like a nomadic enclave within the wider city. A flag bearing red and white intertwined dragons flew over the largest tent.
They followed the High Street past the shells of Woolworth's and Waterstone's. The horse's hooves echoed dully on the flagstones; the atmosphere in that area was strangely melancholic.
But as they came up to High Street Gate, the historic entrance to the Cathedral Close, they were confronted by ten-foot-high gates of welded metal sheets, the ancient stone surround topped with lethal spikes and rolls of barbed wire. Beyond it, the cathedral looked like a fortress under siege.
Chaptep Two
Opus Dei
'A man's character is his fate.'
— Heraclitus
The reinforced gates were rust-eaten, stained and covered with foul graffiti. Mallory tried to decide whether they had been erected out of fear, or strength; to keep the outside world at bay, or to keep those inside pure. Whichever was the right answer, first impressions were not of an open religion welcoming all souls into a place of refuge from the storm of life. He'd only been there a moment and he already doubted the judgment of those in charge. Situation normal.
He could feel Miller's uncertain gaze on his back, urging him to do something to dispel the disappointment his companion was starting to feel. With a shrug, Mallory strode up and hammered on the gates. When the metallic echoes had died, a young man with a shaven head and an incongruously cherubic face peered over the stone battlements.
'Who goes?' he called, with a faint lisp.
Mallory turned back to Miller. 'Well, that's scared me off.'
'We want to join you,' Miller shouted.
The guard eyed them suspiciously, focusing particular attention on Mallory.
'We want to be knights,' Miller pressed. His voice held a faint note of panic at the possibility that after all he'd been through he still might be turned away.
'Wait there.' The guard bobbed down. Several minutes later, they heard the scrape of metal bars being drawn on the other side. The gates creaked open just wide enough for Mallory and Miller to pass through in single file. On the other side were five men armed with medieval weaponry: pikes, swords and an axe, which Mallory guessed had been taken from some local museum.
The guard stepped forwards. 'Enter with humility before God.' An implied threat lay in his words.
Mallory looked at him askance. 'Does everyone talk like that around here?'
Miller gazed back at the fortified gate uncomfortably. 'Why all that?' he asked.
'Times are hard.' It wasn't enough of an answer, but the guard turned away before Miller could ask him any more.
Mallory was intrigued by what he saw within the compound. He'd seen photos of the cathedral in the old days, had even caught the last of a TV Christmas carol service broadcast from there, seen through an alcoholic haze after a late night at the pub. The serenity of the expansive lawns that had once surrounded the cathedral was long gone. Now wooden shacks clustered tightly, some of which appeared to have been knocked up overnight, offering little protection from the elements. Mallory also spied vegetable and herb gardens, stables, a small mill and more. The grass was now little more than churned mud with large cart ruts running amongst the huts. The entire scene had an odd medieval flavour that discomfited him.
The houses appeared to consist of only a single room, two at the most, with small windows that could not have allowed much light inside. They were arranged, more or less, on a grid pattern, the cathedral's own village, although there were still a few remaining lawns around the grand building to form a barrier between the sacred and the profane.
Once they were well within the site, they could see that fortifications had been continued on all sides to create a well-defended compound. Most of the wall was original, constructed in the fourteenth century with the stone from the deserted cathedral at Old Sarum, but where gaps had appeared over the years, makeshift barriers had now been thrown up. Abandoned cars, crushed and tattered, building rubble, corrugated sheets, had all been riveted together to become remarkably sturdy. Of the original gates, three remained, all as secure as the one through which Mallory and Miller had passed.
Enclosed within the new fortifications were several imposing piles that lined the Cathedral Close, including the museums on the western edge, which appeared to have been pressed into Church use. The weight of history was palpable, from Malmesbury House, partly built by Sir Christopher Wren and where Charles II and Handel had both stayed, to the grand Mompesson House with its Queen-Anne facade, through the many stately buildings that had offered services to the Church. Beyond the houses, the enclosure ran down to the banks of the Avon past a larger cultivated area providing food for the residents.
And at the centre of it was the cathedral itself. Dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the grey stone of the gothic medieval building gleamed in the morning light, its perpendicular lines leading the eye towards the four- hundred-foot spire that spoke proudly of the Glory of Almighty God. Even in that broken world, it still had the power to inspire.
They were led through a door near the west front to an area next to the cloisters that had once held a cafe. The surly guard guided them to a windowless room containing three dining chairs and a table. He sent in some water and bread before leaving them alone for the next hour.
'What do you think?' Miller asked in an excited whisper.
Mallory tore a chunk off the bread and inspected it cautiously before chewing. 'They're worse off than I imagined.'
'What do you mean?'
'All that graffiti on the walls — looks as if they've had a falling out with the locals. And the walls themselves, what message are they sending out?'
Miller wasn't going to be deterred. 'Still, it's great to be here, finally,' he said with a blissful smile.
'You really are a glass-half-full kind of person, aren't you.' Mallory spun one of the chairs and straddled it. 'They'd better not bury us in rules and regulations. You know how it is with God people. Thou shalt not do this, thou shalt not do that. Bottom line for me: no vows of celibacy, no abstinence from the demon drink.'
'We might not get accepted.'
'Right,' Mallory said sarcastically. 'We're going to get accepted.'
'How can you be sure? They might think we're not… devout enough. We're supposed to be champions of God's Word.'
'So what does God want? That His Word gets out there. Do you think He really cares if it's being transmitted by some cynical money-grabbing toe-rag who doesn't believe one syllable of it?'
'Of course it matters!' Miller stared at Mallory in disbelief.
'Why? The job's still getting done. People are still being led away from the dark side to the Path of Righteousness. Or is it more ideologically pure if the unbeliever doesn't do it and they all stay damned?'
'It… matters!' Miller looked as if he was about to burst into tears again. Mallory's weary attempt to backtrack was interrupted when the door swung open, revealing a man in his late forties, balding on top, but with long, bushy grey hair. He carried with him an air of tranquillity underpinned by a good-natured, open attitude visible in his untroubled smile. He wore the long black robes of a monk.
'My name is James,' he said. 'I realise things may seem strange to you here. It's strange for all of us.'
'We want to be knights,' Miller said firmly.
'It's my job to greet the new arrivals,' James continued. 'Help them adjust to the very different life we have here, facilitate an easy transition from the world without to the one we are attempting to build here in the cathedral precinct.'
'So you're the official counsellor,' Mallory said.
James didn't appear troubled by the less than deferential tone. 'I suppose that's one way of describing my work.' The cast of his smile suggested he knew exactly what game Mallory was playing. 'Come, walk with me and I'll show you the sigh
ts, introduce you to a few people. And I'll explain why things are the way they are.'
'Getting your apologies in first?' Mallory said.
'I think it's true to say things are probably not how you expected them, how we all expected them to be. But everyone is still coming to terms with the Fall.' The euphemism for the chaos that had descended on the world made Mallory smile. James continued, 'It has necessitated a particular approach which may be… surprising at first impression.'
Mallory gestured for him to lead the way. 'I love surprises.'
James took them into the cathedral nave, crossing himself briefly as he faced the altar. Inside, the building was even bigger than Mallory had imagined. The magnificent vaulted roof soared so high over their heads it made them dizzy when they looked up, dwarfing them beneath the majesty of God as the original architects had intended. Further down the quire, a few men knelt in silent prayer.
'It will be packed at vespers,' James noted with a sweep of his hand from wall to wall.
'I haven't seen any women since I came in,' Mallory said.
'No.' James appeared uncomfortable at this observation, but he didn't give Mallory time to follow up. 'This is the last outpost of Christianity, at least in Great Britain. Within this compound you will find Anglicans, Catholics, Methodists, High Church, Low Church, representatives of the fringe evangelical movements, all worshipping side by side in a manner that could never have been anticipated at a time when the Church was thriving. Then, there were too many rivalries. Now we are all forced to work together for the common good.' He smiled benignly at Mallory. 'I'm sure there is a lesson in there somewhere.'
'The last outpost?' Miller appeared to be hearing James' words in a time-delay.
'What happened over the past year and a half shattered the Church.' James led them slowly along the nave. 'Even in our darkest moment we could never have foreseen…'He shook his head dismally.
'It obviously wasn't as strong as you thought,' Mallory said.
'The Church remains as indefatigable as always,' James parried.
'Then perhaps the people didn't live up to your expectations.'
James thought about this for a moment, but did not deny it. 'With miracles happening on every street corner all day every day, with gods… things that call themselves gods… answering the calls of anyone who petitioned them, it was understandable that there would be a period of confusion.'
Miller turned in a slow circle, dumbfounded. 'This is all that's left?'
'The congregations fragmented. Yes, some became more devout because of the upheaval they witnessed, but many lost their way.' He took a second or two to choose his words, but could find no easy way to say it. 'Including many of our ministers.'
The sun gleamed through the stained-glass windows, but without any electric lights to illuminate the loftier regions there was still an atmosphere of gloom.
'With the lines of communication shattered, the situation rapidly became untenable,' James continued. 'Belief was withering on the vine. The leaders… the remaining leaders… of the various churches held an emergency conference, a crisis meeting, at Winchester.' He had led them to the Trinity Chapel where the window glowed in blues and reds in the morning sun. Slender pillars of marble rose up on either side to support a daringly designed roof of sharply pointed arches. 'It was decided that a period of retrenchment was necessary. The Church would fortress itself if necessary, re-establish its strength before taking the Word back out to the country.'
Mallory examined the images on the windows. The design was called Prisoners of Conscience. 'You really think you can do it?'
'If faith is undiminished, anything can be achieved.' James watched him carefully. 'And why are you here?'
Mallory didn't look at him. 'Food, shelter. Security.'
'Is that what you believe?'
'You are looking for knights?' Miller ventured hopefully.
James turned to him with a pleasant aspect. 'At the same Council of
Winchester, the decision was taken to re-establish the Knights Templar. Do you know of them?'
'A bit,' Miller said uncertainly.
'According to historical sources, most notably the Frankish historian Guillaume de Tyre, the Knights Templar were formed by nine knights under the leadership of Hugues de Payen in 1118,' James began. 'After Jerusalem fell to the Crusaders in 1099, it became a Christian city and the nine, under the name of the Poor Knights of Christ and die Temple of Solomon, vowed to devote themselves to the protection of all pilgrims travelling along the dangerous roads to the Christian shrines. They took quarters next to the temple and from then on became known as the Knights Templar.'
James led them from the Trinity Chapel into the presbytery and then into the quire, the 'church within a church' where the canons' stalls faced each other beneath the shining pipes of the organ.
'Ten years after their establishment, their fame had spread,' James continued. 'No lesser an authority than Saint Bernard, the abbot of Clairvaux, wrote a tract declaring the Templars to be the epitome and apotheosis of Christian values. They were soon officially recognised and incorporated as a religious-military order, Christ's militia, if you will, soldier-mystics, warrior-monks, combining the spirituality of the Church with a fighting ability that struck terror into Christianity's enemies.'
'Until the God-fearing royals of Europe had the Church brand them heretics,' Mallory noted wryly, 'because they had the misfortune to become too successful, right? Too rich and powerful… a challenge to the established order. Had their leader slowly roasted alive in the square of some French city… nice… had the knights hunted down and slaughtered, launched a propaganda assault to completely destroy their reputation.'
'You're obviously an educated man. But don't confuse the Church with the people who claim to administer God's Word,' James cautioned. 'Humans are fallible.'
'Pardon me for pointing it out, but you seem to have had your fair share of the fallible in your history,' Mallory countered, unmoved.
'We are all fallible.' James turned his attention to the high altar at the focal point of the cathedral. 'The decision to re-establish the Knights Templar was taken for practical reasons, and for symbolic ones. The new Knights Templar will protect our missionaries as they move out across the country. It's a dangerous land out there… worldly threats, supernatural threats, spiritual threats…'
'That's a tough job,' Mallory said. 'You'll need tough men.'
'Tough, yes. Not just physically or psychologically, but spiritually. It will be demanding, with little reward in this world.' There was pity in his smile. 'Many who wish to join will not be suitable. You need to understand that. But there will always be a role here for people willing to carry out God's Word.'
'Not many perks, though,' Mallory said.
James laughed. 'Sorry, no company cars! On the plus side, the Council decided not to continue with the strict rules under which the original Templars existed — shaven heads, beards, poverty, chastity and obedience — though we have adopted a distinctive dress for our knights so that everyone will know them when they see them coming.'
Mallory pointed to James' habit. 'You've got your own strict dress code as well.'
'Indeed. It was felt, with the various… strands… of the Church coming together, that a uniformity was necessary to bind everyone here into a single community.' He was choosing his words carefully, Mallory noted.
'You had some friction, then? A little local rivalry?'
'There was a danger of that, yes. So it was decided that we adopt elements of the Rule of Saint Benedict, which was written in the sixth century as a guide to the spiritual and administrative life of a monastery. Although we are not a monastic order — we are a chapter of canons — it was agreed that a certain level of… discipline was necessary.' He didn't appear wholly to agree with this, although he attempted to mask it with a smile. 'But you'll find out all about that later.'
As they turned to leave the quire, they were confronted by two men who had been
making their way towards the altar. One of them was very old, possibly in his eighties, Mallory estimated. Hunched over his walking stick, he resembled a crane, both awkward and frail; he didn't appear to have the strength to walk any distance at all. Helping him along was a man in his late twenties with shoulder-length black hair and a long, pointed nose that reminded Mallory of some forest animal.
James knelt and formally kissed the hand of the old man. 'Our bishop,' he said, when he rose.
The old man smiled; his eyes were uncannily bright and sharp. 'Cornelius,' he amended in a rural Scottish accent. 'New arrivals?'
'More recruits for the knights,' James said. 'They're growing fast. It shouldn't be long before we have a full complement.'
'Then our community here owes you our gratitude,' Cornelius said to Mallory and Miller. 'You are our future. Your bravery will not go unrewarded.'
He began his slow progress along the aisle, but his companion held back. With a surreptitious glance at the bishop, he caught James' arm and said, 'The dogs have started to gather.'
James' expression darkened. 'Surely they won't make their move yet.' He, too, glanced after the bishop. 'Surely not yet.'
'They're driven by ideology. Common sense doesn't come into it.' He moved off quickly to catch the bishop's arm.
'Who was that?' Mallory asked.
'Julian. A good man. He's the precentor, responsible for the choir, the music and a few other recently added duties, mainly to do with the services and spiritual life of the cathedral. He's one of the four Principal Persons who oversee the Chapter of Canons, our guiding body.'
James appeared briefly distracted, then, sensing Mallory's interest, shepherded them quickly away before they could ask any more questions.
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