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.
'After that period, the physical and weapons training will be confined to the early morning, after prime. Then you'll be studying herbalism for treatment of wounds out in the field. The supply of drugs won't last long and there's no infrastructure to manufacture any more. Astronomy is… difficult.' His jaw set. 'But you'll need to navigate by the stars. And then there's the Bible study and philosophy classes. Those are the main ones.'
He brought them into a large oak-panelled room on the first floor. On one wall was fixed a plain wooden sign carved with the legend: 'Let nothing have precedence over divine office' — The Rule of St Benedict.
At the other end of the room was a heavily fortified door beside a window that opened on to a small office stacked with boxes. The knight hammered on the windowsill to attract the attention of a man with a scar that turned his left eye into a permanent squint. He was introduced as Wainwright, the knights' quartermaster.
'Two uniforms?' he said, mentally measuring Mallory and Miller before disappearing into the bowels of the store. He returned a second later.
'Perfect for a torchlight rally,' Mallory said, holding the black shirt up for size.
'Uniforms are to be worn at all times,' the red-haired knight said. 'And that means all times. Being caught without it means the disciplinary procedure.'
Mallory considered asking what this entailed, but he knew it would only depress him further.
The rest of the day was spent in a process that fell somewhere between induction and confession: names, education, abilities, criminal record, past transgressions, hopes, fears. Miller gave them a detailed account of his relationship with his parents and the breakdown of his romance, the catalyst that had propelled him towards Salisbury. Mallory changed his story several times, often during the same strand, before delivering a complex list of dates, times, names and anecdotes that would have taken days of investigation before it was discovered that it made no sense at all.
'They were very nice,' Miller said afterwards, as they picked their way amongst the huts towards the refectory, a large, newly constructed building a stone's throw from the cathedral.
'When you say nice, do you mean prying, interfering, compulsive control freaks?'
Miller looked at him, puzzled. 'No. Nice. They were nice. Didn't you think they were nice?'
'I worry about you, Miller. You're going to be the first person ever to die of unadulterated optimism.'
Miller sighed. 'I don't know why you came here, Mallory. We're going to be part of something big and good. Something important. All you've done is criticise. You're a cynic.'
'You say that as if it's a bad thing.'
'Look, there's Daniels.' Miller nodded towards the knight sauntering ahead of them; he carried himself with confidence, seemingly above the bustle he passed. Mallory noted how many looked at Daniels with respect, if not awe; was it the uniform or the person? 'Come on, let's catch him up,' Miller continued.
'So how long have you been here, Daniels?' Miller asked as he skipped up beside him.
'Two months.' He eyed Miller's skittishness wryly. 'It was this or the circus.'
'That must be when the call first went out. Where were you?'
Daniels looked bemused at Miller's effervescent questioning. 'Bristol.'
'I heard some of the cities were tough in the early days,' Mallory said.
A shadow crossed Daniels' face. 'It was, in some parts, for a while. The riots had died out by the time the call filtered through — no one had the energy left. But there were still some parts of the city you didn't go into, if you know what I mean.' He looked across the huts at the darkening sky.
Daniels had an impressive charisma that underscored his bearing. Mallory could imagine him in his civilian days, well groomed, wearing expensive, fashionable clothes, maybe in some professional job; maybe a lawyer.
'How are you finding it?' Miller had such a bright-eyed-puppy manner that Daniels couldn't help but lighten.
'Hard, but rewarding.' He smiled. 'You'll enjoy it here.'
'Any missions yet?'
'No, but it's only a matter of time. They want to be sure before they send anyone out there.'
'What made you come?' Mallory asked.
'You don't think I came out of obligation? An overarching desire to give something back to Christianity? To the world?' Daniels eyed Mallory as if he knew exactly what was going through the new arrival's head.
'Don't mind him,' Miller said. 'He's just an old cynic.'
'No,' Mallory replied. 'I don't.'
Daniels shrugged in an unconcerned way. 'My partner was killed in the fighting. We'd been together for a while. It left… a big hole.' He chose his words carefully. 'There was nothing for me in Bristol. I thought there might be something for me here.'
'I'm sorry,' Miller said. 'Were you planning on getting married?'
'Gareth was the religious one,' Daniels said directly to Mallory. 'He was the one who went to church every week. I could take it or leave it. But he died with such dignity. Faith right up to the last. That was my moment of epiphany.'
'That's a good enough reason,' Mallory said.
With some land of unspoken agreement made amongst them, they set off together for the refectory.
'You don't seem much of a Christian, Mallory,' Daniels noted wryly.
'I'm not much of anything.'
'Yes, he is,' Miller said brightly. 'He just doesn't know it yet.' He proceeded to tell Daniels how Mallory had saved him.
'Self-preservation,' Mallory said. 'Two were a better defence against those things.'
'Pants on fire,' Miller gibed.
They joined the queue filing into the refectory. The aroma of spiced hot food floated out into the cooling twilight, setting their stomachs rumbling. The air was filled with the hubbub of optimistic voices, the sound of people who still couldn't believe they were getting a square meal.
'Tell me,' Mallory said to Daniels, 'when we met Blaine earlier, there was another group of knights in training, away from the main lot. They had a blue flash on their left shoulders.'
'The Blues? They're the elite. I think they used to be squaddies stationed at one of the army camps out on Salisbury Plain — it would take me years to get to their level of training. Blaine keeps them apart from the rest of us, but that's OK by me — you can see it in their eyes.' He waved a pointing finger in front of Mallory's face. 'Army eyes. You know what I mean?' Mallory did. 'Anyway, they're involved in some on-going mission. They go off for days at a time. Come back exhausted and filthy.' 'Oh?'
'Don't bother asking questions, Mallory. You'll soon find that no one tells you anything here.'
The refectory was a long, narrow barn with a high roof and open beams permeated by the smell of new wood. They picked up trays and cutlery before passing by tables at one end where the kitchen staff loaded up plastic plates with a stew of carrots, potatoes, parsnips and oatmeal, bread and a small lump of cheese.
'No meat?' Mallory protested.
'Once a week,' Daniels said, 'They're keeping a tight rein on supplies. Just in case.'
'In case of what?'
Daniels shrugged.
They sat together at the end of a long trestle table reserved for the knights, away to one side. On the other tables, about a hundred and fifty people packed into the first sitting, their freedom from the day's chores making their conversation animated. Gardener joined them soon after, taking a seat opposite Mallory with a gruff silence.