they could see its colour and consistency.
Eventually, Julian found his voice, a cracked, pathetic thing that sounded like winter. 'Cornelius has been murdered,' he said.
Chapter Nine
'There is a saying uttered in sacred rites that human beings are in a sort of prison, from which we should not attempt to escape'
At first, it looked like a pile of abandoned laundry lying behind the altar. Only when Mallory closed on it did he see the white hand twisted upwards from the clothes. In the stillness, the drip-drip-drip of blood falling from the altar table was unbearably loud.
'Oh, Lord!' Daniels hissed as he examined the body over Mallory's shoulders. It had been torn apart, was barely recognisable as a man.
Gardener and Miller helped Julian between them; he was almost delirious with shock. 'He… he said he wanted to pray,' the precentor stuttered. 'He often came here on his own…' His voice ended in a small, strangled cry as his eyes fell on the body.
Miller dropped to his knees, eyes screwed tight so he couldn't see the polluting sight; he looked like a small boy praying at the side of his bed.
'Who'd do a thing like that?' Daniels said, aghast.
To Mallory, that was a question with ramifications to shatter the community: who would have committed such a terrible crime? Not any of the supernatural creatures that waited beyond the walls; they couldn't walk on the sacred ground. But could any of the brethren do such a thing? He couldn't imagine that either. The image of the army of tiny people waiting for something to happen lay heavily on his mind, along with the ghostly impression of the Devil appearing over Salisbury at the moment the murder was discovered. They knew. Somehow, in some way.
'Get back! Get back!' Blaine's harsh voice echoed into the far reaches of the cathedral roof. He arrived with Hipgrave dogging his steps, Blaine's face torn by a cornered-animal expression, part fury, part fear; he assimilated the entire scene in an instant, and it didn't seem to affect him at all. Mallory noted Blaine's response carefully. Hipgrave looked as if he'd just woken from the deepest sleep. 'Who found him?' Blaine whirled, cold eyes flashing over each of them in turn.
Julian staggered forwards. 'Me. I did. I… I came looking for him… thought he might need a hand getting back to his residence. He still wasn't a hundred per cent.'
'He was like this?' Blaine snapped. 'You didn't touch anything?'
'Well… I… I touched him. I tried to stop the blood. I tried to save him!' His voice rose to a sob, and then he covered his eyes, smearing Cornelius's blood across his face.
Blaine had no time for Julian's grief. 'Did you see anybody else?'
Julian gulped air. 'No… no…' he said, composing himself. 'Look, we must do this later. We have to care for the body…' He covered his eyes again.
Blaine shook his head contemptuously, cursing under his breath but loud enough for Julian to hear. There was more activity further down the nave. The crowd that was hanging back from the awful scene parted like the Red Sea to allow Stefan to sweep through, followed closely by Gibson, the Canon of the Pies, sweating and blowing as he attempted to keep up.
Stefan was ashen-faced when he arrived, but his eyes had a dark avarice about them. Stefan silenced Blaine with a curt wave before he could open his mouth. He went directly to Cornelius's body and knelt beside it in prayer. There was a theatrical note to his action that irked Mallory, but no one else appeared to notice. After a long silence, Stefan dipped his hands in the blood and smeared it on his black robes. 'We have lost something great and Godly this night,' he said in a quiet, strained voice. Tears ran down his cheeks. 'A devout man, the father of us all.' He paused before booming angrily, 'This crime shall be avenged!'
The act of pantomime was not lost on the crowd gathered further down the nave; cries of support echoed back. Stefan rose and addressed them directly. 'This crime is not just against our beloved bishop, nor against us, but against Christianity itself. Someone… something… has aimed a blow at our very heart, hoping we will fall aside… that we shall turn our backs and flee to the shadows. That must not happen! The times ahead will be harder still, and we shall all be called on to stand firm. Trials and tribulations will be inflicted on all of us, but if we each fulfil our role, if we hold our heads high in the Glory of God, then we shall overcome. Go now, in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and carry word of what has happened to all our brothers. Let the period of mourning begin. The time for action shall come.'
His words were perfectly chosen. They resonated in the hearts of those watching and as one they turned and hurried from the cathedral.
'Good show,' Gibson said when Stefan turned back to them. 'Gravitas. Perfect. We need to steady the hand on the tiller in this dark time.'
Mallory looked to Julian, who had as much right to leadership as Stefan, but Cornelius's advisor and friend sat hunched on a pew, broken by his grief. It was a time for the hard men, Mallory thought.
Blaine turned to Mallory and the knights. 'You lot, find a sheet to wrap the… ah…' He struggled for a word with decorum, but could only come back to body. 'Take it up to the infirmary and see what Warwick can find out. Then report to the great hall.' He turned to Stefan. 'I'm getting all the knights together… arming up. This might be the first strike in a war. Those things could be attacking even as we speak. We've got to be ready to knock 'em back.'
'Well said, Mr Blaine,' Stefan agreed. 'I have every faith in you to oversee our defence. Go to it.'
Blaine marched away with Hipgrave scurrying and jumping behind him. Stefan and Gibson followed without a backward glance at Cornelius, as if he wasn't there at all.
'Hard men,' Mallory said, echoing his earlier thought, 'for hard times.'
Miller was crying quietly, still in prayer with his eyes shut. He looked as though the final supports of his life had been kicked away. Gardener, too, looked tattered, uncommonly emotional; he wouldn't meet anyone's gaze.
'Better get to it, then.' Daniels' shoulders had sagged. He tried to make a hopeful face at Mallory, but it wouldn't fix. 'I suppose this isn't the end of it,' he sighed.
'No,' Mallory replied. 'I'm betting it's just the start.'
The infirmary was lit by several lanterns that gave an odd, too-bright distortion to all the white tiles. Warwick emerged from a back room wearing pristine white scrubs. He took one look at the leaking sheet slung between Mallory, Gardener and Daniels, then down at his clothes and gritted his teeth.
'Get it on the table,' he snapped.
The knights laid the body out carefully while Warwick stood in the background, muttering with irritation. But when the sopping shroud fell away revealing the face, the medic started, his eyes widening. He looked around at them as if someone was playing a particularly vicious prank on him.
'Murder,' Gardener said grimly. 'No suspects. Yet.'
'What's it all coming to?' Warwick said under his breath. He gingerly lifted the sheet to see the extent of Cornelius's wounds, stared blankly for a moment, then dropped it.
'I think they were hoping for an autopsy,' Daniels ventured.
'An autopsy?' Warwick raged. 'He's dead. What more do they need to know?'
'What weapon was used. How the attack was carried out,' Mallory said. 'Who did it.'
'I'm a surgeon, not a coroner. That kind of examination requires specialist knowledge.'
