'Back off!' Gardener yelled, brandishing his sword. 'Back off!' The expression on his face was so terrifying that the youth blanched and froze in his tracks.
'Gardener, chill,' Mallory said. 'They're just normal-'
'Witches,' Gardener said, with restrained fury. 'Bloody Satan-worshippers. Come on, Mallory, you know the score. They're probably the reason the Adversary is after us. They're probably helping him!'
'You're talking bollocks now.'
Gardener rounded on him, eyes blazing. Mallory could see in them the frightening depth of Gardener's bigotry, fuelled by fear and ignorance. 'What's wrong with you?' Gardener snarled. 'Are you on their side? Is this some kind of trap?'
'We're all on the same side,' Mallory said as calmly as he could muster, 'against that stuff out there.' He waved his hands towards the dark city.
'No.' Gardener was not ready to listen to reason. Mallory's heart leaped as Gardener began to back towards the boundary. One step beyond the invisible line and he would be easy prey. 'The Bible says-'
'Suffer not a witch to live, I know. Fuck it, Gardener, I'm not going to get into some theological argument with you while we've got the Devil at our backs.' Gardener halted; Mallory took a breath, relieved that his blatant manipulation had worked. 'Remember why we're here.' He gently lowered Hipgrave down to lie on the grass.
Gardener surveyed his wounded captain, clearly torn. Finally he said, 'I'm not going to move from here. And if any of them come near me-'
'Fine, fine,' Mallory interrupted hastily before any of the travellers heard Gardener announce that he was going to slice them into bloody chunks. 'You stay here… guard Hipgrave. I'll… I'll…' He shook his head wearily. '… tell the enemy to keep their distance.'
He marched up to Scab who quavered at the insistence of his approach. Mallory shook his head curdy and said from the corner of his mouth, 'Get out of here before he starts spouting scripture.'
There was a split second before the youth registered Mallory's complicity, and then he lightened and hurried away amongst the tents.
*
Mallory and Gardener sat in uncomfortable silence for several hours. Their only hope of getting back to the cathedral was to wait until daybreak, but it was a long time in coming. For some reason no one could explain, Sophie was unavailable, but Mallory managed to get food and some basic medication for Hipgrave.
Eventually, he couldn't contain his desire to see Sophie any longer and went off in search of her. Rick, the dreadlocked youth Mallory had met on his first visit to the camp, was loitering outside the leader's tent under the fluttering two-dragon flag. He sucked anxiously on a joint as he wandered back and forth, jumping in shock when he saw Mallory.
'What do you want?' he said, with drug-fired paranoia.
'Peace on earth, good will to men. Where's Sophie?'
Rick jerked his head towards the tent door. 'She hasn't got time for you. Not tonight.'
'What's up? Big spell? Lots of nude dancing? I'm up for it.'
Rick bristled. Before he could respond, the tent flaps were thrown open and Sophie stepped out. She looked pale and distracted, and Mallory thought she might have been crying. 'I thought I heard your voice.'
'What's wrong?' The sarcasm ebbed from his voice as he responded to her mood.
She took a gulping breath, her eyes widening. He was shocked to see the confidence and control falling from her until she resembled, briefly, a young girl lost in a frightening place. He stepped forwards to comfort her, but she backed off, aware of Rick's eyes on her. He dropped his arms. It wasn't the time, or the place; and prejudice was everywhere. She composed herself quickly, weighed the moment and turned her back on Rick, holding open the tent flap for Mallory to enter. Rick began to protest, but she flashed him a look so ferocious that the words died in his throat. He took a heavy hit on his joint and stomped away.
Inside, Sophie sagged, free from the need to present a front. Though concerned at the extent of her suffering, Mallory was secretly pleased that she made no attempt to hide her emotions from him. He hesitated, then reached out again. She let him place his hands on her shoulders, but didn't fold into him as he had hoped. 'What's happened?' he asked.
She took another breath that blatantly suppressed a sob. 'Melanie's dead.' Her voice was like the wind under the door.
'I'm sorry.' He cursed his awkwardness and inability to express honest emotion, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to connect with her.
She didn't seem to mind. 'She was a good person, Mallory.' She stared into the too-bright light of several candles blazing in one corner of the foyer. 'Goddess, she was the only thing holding us all together.' She pulled away from him, her knuckles involuntarily going to her mouth.
He replaced a supportive hand on her shoulder, and it lost its stiffness at his touch. 'When did it happen?'
'An hour ago. I haven't told anyone yet… except Rick… haven't dared tell them.' She looked up at him with moist eyes. 'She was so strong, Mallory. She had such a clear view of where we were going… what was expected of us… Everyone was relying on her.'
'Don't think about that now,' he said. 'This is the time for grieving for her, for Melanie. Everything else comes later.'
'We don't have that option. There's too much at stake. She wasn't just a friend, she was the leader of everybody here.' She caught another breath. 'They're all here because of her.' There was a long pause, and then she said, 'And now they're going to ask me to take over. But I'm not up to it, Mallory. I'm not up to it at all.'
'Then don't do it. Leave.'
She was plainly puzzled by this. 'I can't walk away. I've got responsibilities now.'
'You're telling me they can't get on without you?' He briefly entertained the fantasy that at daybreak he and Sophie could find a horse and ride away from the increasingly dangerous mess that was growing around them.
'I'm sure they could get on without me, but that's not the point. When you're part of a tribe there are structures in place to facilitate the survival of the community.'
'And you're the wise-woman-in-waiting.'
'My abilities with the Craft are important for everyone here. Melanie invested a lot of time and effort teaching me, and I accepted that role and the responsibilities that went along with it. It would be immoral to turn my back on people who are relying on me.'
She noticed the anxiety in his features and caught herself. 'Listen to me, going on about myself. Selfish bitch. Why are you here? Is there something wrong?'
Her concern triggered pent-up doubts and fears that surfaced unbidden; for the first time in a long while he felt there was someone with whom he could talk honestly. 'We're in deep shit in the cathedral,' he said, suddenly weary. 'Those things have got us under siege… the food's getting low, and I can't see them finding a way out. There's something else going on, too, in the background. I can't figure out what it is, but I don't reckon it can be any good.' His shoulders sagged at the release. 'I think it's going to get really bad.'
She forced a smile. 'What a pair, eh? If this was before the Fall…' She caught herself; there was no point talking about could-have-beens. Yet in her comment Mallory sensed a connection: they were a pair, two people burdened by problems who would rather be a hundred miles away. Together.
The notion was underlined dramatically when she caught the neck of his cloak and pulled his head down to plant a firm kiss on his mouth. It was filled with passion, desperate yet restrained at the same time. It went on for a full minute, and Mallory responded in kind. After so long without female contact, he felt himself hardening instantly, but before it could develop into anything else, she broke the kiss and walked away a few steps.
'That was…' She had taken him so much by surprise he couldn't find the words.
'Life's too short for playing stupid games, Mallory,' she said, lighting another candle to replace one that had guttered out in a pool of wax. 'We both know there's something between us, despite our very obvious differences. There's no tim
e for flirting.'
'So does that mean we're stepping out? His irony was a reaction to the feeling that he had lost control of the situation; and he always thought he was completely in charge.
'It was a recognition of what we feel, that's all. What happens from here is anybody's guess. Quite honestiy, you might get on my tits — a likely prospect given your very unfortunate nature — and I'd be forced to curse you for all time.'
Mallory really didn't know if she was joking.
'Now, thanks very much for the visit, but I've got a funeral to prepare.' She peeked through the flap into the rear of the tent and when she looked back at him tears filled her eyes again. 'Besides,' she continued throatily, 'I would think you'd be pretty much engrossed in sorting out your own crisis.'
'Yeah. Any idea what's happening there?'
'Well, you've certainly pissed off someone in high places. At least it keeps you all in one place where you can't do any more damage.' She couldn't mask her bitterness.
'Don't tar me with the same brush.'
'You wear the uniform. You carry the weapons, eat the food, sleep under the same roof. Don't be naive, Mallory. You might pretend to yourself that you're apart somehow-'
'They're not all bad,' he protested. 'Mostly, they're harmless. Well meaning.'
'Then you ought to do something about the ones that aren't, oughtn't you? I thought you knights were supposed to be the police force of the New Christian Army. Or is it one rule for you, and one for the rest of us?'
Though hardly surprised by the strength of her response after Melanie's death, Mallory couldn't find any way to answer her. Instead, he peered out into the night. The red light of dawn tinted the horizon.
'We might stand a chance of getting back in daylight,' he mused. 'If we're lucky.'
A startled cry followed by angry yells broke out not far away. Instinctively, Mallory knew what it was. He was already out of the tent and running before Sophie could enquire what was happening.
His worst fears were realised as he made it back to the camp boundary. One of the travellers lay face down, unmoving though probably not dead, Mallory guessed. Worse, Gardener had Scab pinned against him, a dagger to his throat. Gardener was overcome with righteous anger.
Mallory motioned to the angry crowd of travellers to hold back, but that only convinced them to turn their rage on him.
'There's no talking to them, Mallory,' Gardener shouted.
Mallory found himself herded closer to Gardener. With a sickening sense of fatalism, he saw Sophie approaching. 'What are you doing, you Geordie idiot?' he snapped.
Scab rolled his eyes in abject fear. As he writhed, Gardener pricked him with the dagger as a warning and he almost fainted. 'They offered me a drink,' Gardener said darkly.
'Good call. After that it would have been lentil stew and then we'd all be on the way to hell.'
'It was a potion. The bastards were trying to put a spell on me!'
'Or maybe it was just a drink.' Mallory was shoulder to shoulder with Gardener now. About thirty travellers ranged in front of them. Some looked scared for Gardener's prisoner; others, who had patently had their fingers burned before, were murderous.
'Look at this one.' Gardener motioned to a pentacle hanging on a chain around Scab's neck. 'Devil-worshippers. The moment our backs were turned, they'd have had us.'
Mallory cursed under his breath; the false propaganda Gardener had absorbed during his evangelical background was unshakeable. At that moment, Scab decided to break free, probably driven more by fear of what might happen than any real desire to escape. He kicked at Gardener's shins with his heels, writhed like a madman and then attempted to yank his head down through Gardener's grip.
In the confusion, his neck was driven on to Gardener's dagger, or vice versa. A geyser of arterial blood arced towards the massed travellers.
The crowd was stunned into silence. Shock locked Gardener's face; Mallory wished he had seen some compassion there, or guilt, for his own peace of mind. Gardener took a step back, examining his crimson hands as if they belonged to someone else.
Mallory reacted instinctively. He stepped forwards and hit Gardener so hard in the face he went down as if he'd been pole-axed. It was undoubtedly the best thing Mallory could have done, immediately deflating the furious rage that had enveloped the crowd and saving them from a lynching.
Instead, the travellers turned their attention to their comrade who flopped like a dying fish in a pool of blood that seemed too big, too dark. Mallory knelt down to help, knowing there was nothing that could be done, but someone smacked him aside and he went over, seeing stars. When his vision cleared, Scab had stopped moving and everyone was staring at Mallory as if he had committed the murder himself.
Sophie threw herself through the crowd, all the grief of Melanie's death erupting in one instant. 'See?' she screamed. 'This is what happens if you do nothing! Nobody has the luxury of sitting on the fence! If you don't stand up for what you believe in, someone always pays the price.'
There was no point in trying to calm her; he was lucky to get away with his life. Gardener was just coming around. Mallory gave him an unnecessarily rough shove that propelled him out of the camp and then collected Hipgrave, who had been slumped in a daze nearby, and dragged him away.
He could still hear the sound of crying, even when the camp had fallen from view.
As they hurried along the road in the ruddy light, Gardener began to say, 'He deserved it,' but Mallory turned on him so ferociously the words died on his lips.
His anger evaporated as he paused at the bridge, aware of the threat that lurked on the short route to the cathedral gates. A guard waved to him from a new section of the walls overlooking the river. His voice floated down. 'Don't move!'
As they waited, a group of Blues ran out on to Crane Street at the turning to North Gate. They were armed with crossbows and longbows.
'What the bloody hell's going on?' Gardener said.
The group's captain barked an order and one of their number moved along the ranks with a torch. As he passed, the tips of the notched arrows burst into flames.
'Looks like it's a cremation for us,' Mallory said. 'And I'd got my eye on such a lovely headstone.'
Gardener grunted, 'I think-'
'I know what they're doing,' Mallory snapped. 'Get your arm around Hipgrave. And I just want to say that if these are the last moments of my life, I really am pig-sick I'm spending them linked to you two.'
There was some communication between the captain and the guard who had moved out of sight near the North Gate. A second later, the guard reappeared and shouted, 'Now!'
Mallory and Gardener moved as fast as they could; Hipgrave's heels didn't even touch the ground. The Blues raised their weapons. Mallory kept his vision trained directly ahead. The buildings on either side passed in a blur, still swathed in shadows, the dawn light only limning the edges.
Halfway along the street, the shadows became movement on either side. Still Mallory didn't look. Fear would take the strength from his legs, threat would deflect his single-minded purpose and there would be little point in standing and fighting. Drained from the night's exertions, his breath burned in his throat.
The smell of something that had lain in damp soil rose up around him. He had the fleeting sense of fluttering wings, frightened birds in flight, of red brake-lights, of a striking cobra and a dog's snapping jaws.
Fire rained down all around them. Heat seared past Mallory's cheeks, brought starburst trails across his vision. The air was thick with the suffocating stink of burning tar.
Something lashed past the back of his neck, the backwash of air suggesting great weight, barely missing him. The sense of pursuit lay heavy on his back, relentless, drawing slightly closer with each second.
Twice he almost slipped on the slick flagstones as they turned into High Street, only righting himself at the last instant. Gardener kept pace, but Hipgrave swung wildly, threatening to overbalance them. The Blues retreated apace,
still firing.
And then they were at the gates. The Blues backed in, leaving a small tunnel at their centre. Mallory and Gardener didn't stop until they heard the gates swing shut with a resounding clang, and then came the thunder of something heavy slamming into it.
They dropped Hipgrave unceremoniously. Gardener bowed his head in silent prayer, but Mallory looked up to the lightening sky, breathing deeply in relief.
But then he saw the grim faces of the Blues and the growing desperation of the brethren making their way to prime, and he realised the enormity of the trial that lay ahead for all of them.
Chapter Eight
A Thorn In The Flesh
'Everything that happens is just and fair to the gods, but humans regard some things as just and others as unjust.'
— Heraclitus
October passed like the tolling of a funeral bell. In the brethren's makeshift dormitories and the stone chambers of the knights' barracks, the nights crept by with bone-aching cold barely kept at bay by rough blankets. The days were bright and crisp, the wind whistling through the gothic architecture lowering over them with an unsettling character that hinted at sentience. Every night the attacks on the gate continued unabated. Every day brothers would creep up to the walkway to look desperately towards the city centre, knowing things were looking back at them, daring them to venture out into the seemingly empty street beyond. And over it all hung the oppressive presence of the Adversary, felt more than seen, but unmistakably there, watching, waiting, cold and hateful.
Within the cathedral compound, tensions rose at the realisation that the siege was not going to end, while the leaders hadn't yet identified a suitable plan to get them out of the predicament. Rations were tightened, and although there was an ample supply of water from the river, with winter just around the corner they all wondered how long they would be able to last.
Arguments broke out as tempers frayed, and it took all the ministering skills of the elder brethren to maintain the peace. Blaine had suggested posting the knights around the compound to keep order, but word had come down from Cornelius that he didn't want them used against their own; the knights had to remain pure in their ideals as an instrument of the Church.
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