'The new cathedral was entrusted to Nicholas of Ely, a master mason, who encoded many mysteries in the sacred geometry of the building, utilising the vast secret knowledge of numbers, angles and harmonics passed down through the masonic guilds of medieval times,' James commented as they stood in the south quire aisle. 'They say the great secrets of our religion were locked in the stone, but much of the knowledge has since been lost. Who knows what the length of this column, or the angle of that beam, was meant to imply? What we do know is that the building itself was seen as an act of worship. Here, God is in the detail and in the greater design.'
'Is that why you made your base here?' Mallory asked. 'What was wrong with Winchester? Or Glastonbury?'
James thought deeply before replying. 'Those places were certainly considered, as were several others. In the end, the decision was made to come to Salisbury for one very important reason.'
Mallory read his face. 'But you're not going to tell us what it is.'
James grew serious. 'We like to keep a few secrets.' He winced as if he'd said too much, and Mallory was intrigued to see him change direction, leading them now up a winding stone stairway rising from the south transept.
'We have an excellent library here,' James said rather awkwardly, as if continuing the previous conversation. 'Its most famous item is a copy of the Magna Carta, but it has long been praised by academics for its ancient manuscripts, including a page of the Old Testament in Latin from the eighth century and two Gallican psalters from the tenth century.'
'I'll have to book those out on a quiet night,' Mallory said.
'The more important books are less well known,' James continued. 'Within, there are sacred texts the outside world has never been allowed to see since the cathedral was established. Indeed, part of its reason for existing was as guardian and protector of old truths — or lies, depending on your point of view.'
'Surely the great Church wasn't afraid of a few words on paper?' Mallory said. 'Or was it that these things were too dangerous for the common man to find out?'
James laughed quietly. 'I'm just a lowly member here. But I've heard it said that the potency arises not from any individual volume, each of which presents one particular view, but in the totality. Each is a fragment that together reveal a large secret.'
Miller appeared troubled at this. 'Religious secrets?' he asked anxiously.
'Not wholly,' James replied. 'The library also contains a collection of the earliest scientific, mathematical and medical books, including William Harvey's De Motu Cordis, which identified the circulation of the blood for the first time. They were bequeathed by Seth Ward, who became bishop in 1667. But before that he'd been Professor of Astronomy at Oxford and a founding member of the Royal Society.'
'I thought scientists and the religious were always at each other's throats,' Mallory said.
'Apparently not in the old days.' James' smile was enigmatic.
At the top of the stairs they were confronted by two men installing large locks in the door that led to the library; through the opening they could see the stacks of ancient books and smell the warm atmosphere of dusty paper. The workers were being overseen by a man in his late fifties, overweight beneath his black robes, with a balding pate and a goatee beard. His eyes were dark and piercing and instantly fell on the new faces.
'Good morning, Stefan,' James said brightly. 'What have we here?'
'The library is now off limits, on the orders of the bishop.' Stefan tried to return James' smile, but it was an awkward attempt that looked out of place on his face. The shadows under his eyes suggested a saturnine nature, and he quickly returned to a gloomy countenance.
'Oh?' James said, puzzled. 'I can't understand that. The library is a vital resource for everyone here.'
'Nevertheless, the decision has been made. Requests for specific books can be presented to the librarian who will put them to the new library committee for consideration.'
'That sounds like an unwieldy process. How often does the committee meet?'
'We haven't yet reached agreement on all the details, but as chairman of the committee I will certainly do my best to expedite matters.'
James nodded and smiled, but as he moved Mallory and Miller on, he was plainly uncomfortable with what he had heard.
'Looks as if your back-to-basics approach is gathering speed.' Mallory couldn't resist prodding. 'What next — services in Latin?'
'I think I'll raise this with the bishop myself,' James said. 'Those books are so important in these days when knowledge is at a premium. The people here need-' He waved a hand to dismiss his thoughts, though they obviously lay heavily on him.
'Stefan's another big-shot?' Mallory said.
'He's the chancellor. He looks after the education of everyone here. Like all the Principal Persons, he was instrumental in bringing the Church to Salisbury.'
As they exited the cathedral, it was as if some tremendous gravity was reluctantly releasing them. Outside, there was an ethereal quality to the bright morning sunlight. James took them into the sprawling mass of houses, now fully alive with men of all ages cutting wood, feeding cattle and chickens and cleaning out pigsties. 'This is where we house all those who have come to us since we established our new base,' James noted. 'As you can see, we've just about reached the limits of occupation. Quite what we're going to do from here is open to debate, though we are loathe to allow our own to live beyond the walls for fear of victimisation.'
'Is there much of that?' Miller asked apprehensively.
'Not a great deal, though there have been several severe incidents. There are some that see us as a threat, others who feel our time is done. In the light of all that has happened, it appears everyone has their own peculiar belief system to try to make sense of the upheaval. I think they feel let down by the Church because we did not explain the events, or care for them in their hour of need, or simply because they feel what we offer has no relevance to the difficult times we all live in. What need a hidden, mysterious God when solid, physical gods have walked amongst us? Obviously the answers to that question are easy for us to voice, but who has the time or inclination for theological argument? The only way we can win them back is by playing a long game, by letting the Word filter out organically. And that is where the knights come into the equation.'
Finally, James took them to an area at the rear of the former Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum where the knights were sequestered. Several men were learning the art of sword-fighting, while others attacked scarecrows with halberds. All faces were intense and deeply introspective, the movements fluid and powerful. Distinctive uniforms marked them out: black shirts bearing the Templar cross in red against a white square on the breast and right shoulder, hard-wearing black trousers, heavy-duty boots and black belts.
There was another cadre of knights removed from the core group who duelled with each other with a frightening ferocity, at times lithe, then vicious, their speed and dazzling turns and dives revealing skills that set them apart. Their uniforms were also slightly different, with a blue stripe gleaming on the left shoulder.
The commander stood off to one side, watching the activity, his authority apparent in his rigid bearing. Up close, Blaine had a face that registered such little emotion that at times he resembled a wax dummy. He was in his mid-forties, his black hair badly dyed. Hard muscles filled out a uniform carrying the red Templar cross more prominently on the front. His heavy brows cast a shadow around his eyes so that he appeared on the verge of sickness, yet there was a street-hardness about him that gave a commanding presence.