He remained impassive when James introduced him as Blaine. 'It won't be a free ride here,' he said, with a Belfast accent. 'We had a couple in who thought they'd get fed and watered without having to give anything back. They didn't last the week.'
'We'll do what's expected of us,' Mallory said.
'You see that you do… if you want to stay here. You're getting a shot at something people would give their right arm for. There's not much of value out there anymore. But in the next few years you'll see that being a knight will be a mark of respect. The country will come to love you. But you have to earn it.'
'What do we need to do?' Miller asked. The knights had adopted a routine akin to tai chi, with measured, graceful movements, the weapons whipping rapidly around their bodies a hair's-breadth from causing them harm. Their movements looked easy yet unbelievably difficult at the same time. 'How long did it take them to learn that?' Miller continued, agog.
Blaine's gaze flickered lazily towards James. 'You're sure you want to give them a shot?'
'I always go on first impressions. Besides, if we are here for anything, it is to offer hope, to take in those who come to us… for whatever reason… and give them a chance.'
Blaine grunted in a way that implied his complete disagreement with everything James had said, yet without seeming the slightest bit disrespectful. He turned back to Miller. 'You'll get full training. It'll be hard, and fast. We need men out there quickly. I warn you, a lot aren't up to it. We need to get you to the peak of physical fitness. You have to learn how to use weapons you've probably only seen in museums. You've got to learn skills — medicine, astronomy, herbalism, cookery-'
'And don't forget the spiritual guidance,' James said, with a smile.
'And you'll need to know the Good Book back to front,' Blaine continued without missing a beat. 'The poor…' He fumbled for an acceptable word.'… people out there will be looking to you for guidance. They don't want you telling them that Thou Shalt Not Pick Your Nose is one of the Ten Commandments.'
'Don't worry,' Mallory said. 'We'll make sure they don't covet any oxen.'
Blaine laid his gaze heavily on Mallory; it said, I've already got you marked as a troublemaker, and you'll have it knocked out of you in a day.
Mallory didn't flinch.
James was winningly courteous as he took his leave. 'These are desperate times, but also momentous,' he said. 'I feel that the Chinese were correct when they said there are no crises, only opportunities. This is an opportunity to re-energise Christianity and to bring it into the lives of the people once again.' After Blaine, his gentleness was even more pronounced.
Blaine summoned his second-in-command to lead them to their quarters. Hipgrave had barely broken into his thirties, and he appeared much younger. His features carried a permanent sneer, but it looked theatrical, as if he thought it gave him gravitas. 'You'll be out of here before the week's through,' he said in a light voice attempting to disguise its upper-middle-class origins.
'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' Mallory hadn't seen anything he couldn't handle.
Hipgrave gripped Mallory's upper arm and spun him round. 'The knights may be temporal but they operate along strict military lines. There is a chain of command. Insubordination is punished. There's no room in the ranks for weak links.'
Miller flinched, knowing that if Mallory remained true to his nature they could both be ejected. But despite a brief moment of tension, Mallory stayed calm and Hipgrave strutted off in front.
'Please, Mallory,' Miller whispered, 'don't ruin this for me. You don't know how much I need it.'
'Give me credit,' Mallory replied. 'I've got some self-control — I'm not a complete thug.'
Their footsteps echoed along empty corridors as Hipgrave led them to the second floor of the old museum and into a large room at the front overlooking the Cathedral Close. Ten camp beds were laid out at regular intervals beneath medieval wall tapestries. Two other men were already billeted there. One of them, a muscular, good-looking black man, was cleaning his boots with furious brush strokes while the other, a rangy white man in his early fifties, knelt in prayer at a tiny altar beside his bed. They rose and faced the new arrivals for Hipgrave's cursory introductions. Daniels was in his late thirties, intelligent, with an air of amused sophistication. Gardener, in contrast, was a Geordie with a rough working- class attitude, long greying hair tied in a ponytail and a face that had the leathery appearance of meat left out for days in the sun.
When Hipgrave had departed, Mallory chose a bed from the remaining ten and lay on it, staring at the ceiling.
'I wouldn't get used to that position if I were you,' Daniels said wryly. He'd resumed polishing his boots with a verve that bordered on obsession.
'They work you hard?'
'We're twinned with a Soviet Gulag. Their idea of downtime is a face- wash with river water and a turnip to gnaw on.'
'Don't listen to him. He's a soft Southern bastard. Drinks wine with his little finger stuck out,' Gardener called over.
'At least I know what wine is, you beer-swelling Philistine.'
'Aye, you whine all the time.'
Daniels walked over to Gardener, brandishing his brush. 'You know, you'd think some of my innate style and breeding would have rubbed off on you after the weeks we've been stuck here, but I'm starting to think you'll remain a troglodyte for ever.'
'You know you're not supposed to use big words around me. Now bugger off, I'm trying to pray.'
Despite their fractiousness, it was obvious to Mallory that a deep affection underpinned their relationship, a clear case of opposites attracting. In his voice and body language, Daniels seemed gay, though Gardener, as far as Mallory could tell, was straight — at least, he sported a worn wedding ring — and they obviously came from different backgrounds. But the camaraderie made him think it might not be so bad there after all.
Mallory and Miller were allowed only half an hour to settle in before another knight was sent to fetch them. He had red hair and freckles and a fastidious manner that irritated Mallory the moment the knight opened his mouth. He had been ordered to give them a wealth of instructions, none of which he was prepared to repeat, so they had no choice but to listen.
'Everything here is based around discipline,' he said, 'to focus the mind. Your day will be mapped out for you, and it's a long day, believe me. This isn't a place for the lazy.'
He marched ahead of them with the stiff gait of a well-drilled military man, which made Mallory's loose-limbed amble seem even more lazy. Miller hopped and skipped to keep up like a pony on a rope.
'The knights, however, have a slightly different timetable from the rest,' the red-headed man continued. 'There's a lot of studying, a lot of training. For most people out there-' He motioned towards the sprawl of wooden huts visible through the window. '-the day begins at six a.m. with prime. That's a full service in the cathedral, plainsong, the works. The prayer and chant continues through the day, seven days a week. Terce at nine a.m., sext at midday, none in mid-afternoon, vespers at the end of the afternoon and compline at dusk. After that, everyone retires to their rooms for the great silence and the cathedral is locked. At midnight everyone rises for the night office, followed immediately by the lauds of the dead. It lasts about two hours in total, and then you're off on the cycle again. You will be expected to attend services when you are not involved with your other duties.'
Mallory glanced at Miller; the younger man was clearly enthralled at the strict routine that left Mallory feeling an uncomfortable mixture of depression and defiance.
'Your routine will be individually tailored, depending on where your strengths and weaknesses lie,' the knight continued. 'For the first week or so, it will mainly centre on physical fitness and weapons training.' He eyed them askance. 'To see if you have what it takes to meet the exacting standards required of a Knight Templar.'