Chapter Thirteen
'All punishment is like therapy for a soul that has gone wrong.'
From the singing pain in his limbs and ribs, Mallory could tell he'd been worked over by a few boots after Roeser had knocked him flat. It was a strain to get to his feet, and when he attempted to walk he was shaky. But he didn't have to try, for two Blues caught him under the arms and dragged him through the thick snow towards the new buildings. But his thoughts were for Sophie, not himself. There was no sign of her, and though he asked his captors, they ignored him as if he were a piece of wood they were hauling to the fire.
As his boots bounced down the stone steps to the basement level, he tried to comprehend how it all could have gone wrong so quickly. The Blues dragged him along a gloomy corridor to a row of small cells with covered grilles punctuating doors secured by large padlocks. The third cell was open. They threw him inside. Dirty straw had been spread on the floor, aged manacles fixed to the walls.
'You've been ready for this,' he noted. 'How long have you been planning to round up the usual suspects?'
The Blues pushed him against the damp wall, yanked his arms back and closed the manacles about his wrists so that he was suspended in a crucifix position. They departed without comment, and Mallory didn't have the inclination to make smart remarks at their backs.
When he had first arrived at the cathedral, he could have coped with his current situation with the same blase acceptance with which he faced all the myriad miseries life threw at him. But now that Sophie had entered his sphere he was troubled by hope, and desire, and the nagging feeling that life might be worthwhile after all.
He had little contact with the outside world for the next three days. The passing of time was marked by the appearance of meals: porridge on the first day, but after that it was a return to the thin vegetable gruel they had been eating for too long. He could get some sleep hanging in the manacles, but the pain in his joints and in his wrists where they had been rubbed raw woke him regularly. Occasionally, he would be stirred by a deep rumble through the cold stone: the attacks from the forces without were intensifying. He wondered what plans Blaine would be making to combat them now that the new route out had been opened up.
He felt physically weak, but after the initial shock and despair wore off, his emotional equilibrium had returned and his thoughts grew colder, his anger harder. The guards refused to answer any of his questions — Blaine and Stefan had clearly decided not to have anyone who knew him overseeing his imprisonment — so in the end he took to mocking and abuse. It was childish, but it made him feel better and countered some of the impotence he felt.
They came for him in the afternoon of the third day. The guards dragged him out, blinking, into the snow- white world, still glittering in the fading sunlight. His hanging position had begun to disable him even after such a short time, so that he found it difficult to walk. Little nuggets of constant pain glowed throughout his frame.
As soon as he saw the faces of the brothers he passed he realised something was wrong. Instead of the jubilation he had expected at newfound freedom and food, he saw only grey misery etched into the features, weighing on the bowed shoulders, even worse than before. He looked around for clues, but the gaping black mouth of the tunnel was still there in the white, and the walls still stood firmly.
The guards prodded him towards the imposing Queen-Anne facade of Mompesson House, not far from the north gate. Outside the grand building, a makeshift stage had been built out of stacked tables. A small crowd gathered before it, not all the brothers by a long way; many drifted away at the fringes, plainly disinterested in what was happening.
Mallory was forced to stand at the back of the stage alongside another heavily guarded figure. It was shrouded in robes and hooded so that it was impossible to see any sign of its form, but when it tilted its head towards Mallory, he realised from the body language that it was Sophie. Her appearance reminded him of the burka-clad women in fundamentalist Muslim countries, their shape obscured so as not to inflame the passions of the men; the woman as devil, agent of temptation.
Miller, Daniels and Gardener waited to one side of the crowd with a group of other knights. Mallory entertained a brief fantasy that they would respond to the clear injustice and rush forwards to his aid, knowing in his heart it would never happen.
They shuffled around in the cold for another five minutes until Stefan and Blaine emerged from Mompesson House. They both attempted to maintain an air of confidence and control, but the fact that Mallory could see that it was an act told him how uneasy they were. What had happened to shake them so? They'd achieved everything they'd planned.
Without glancing at Mallory or Sophie, Stefan climbed on to the stage and addressed the crowd. 'Our Church has been under attack,' he began. 'Not only from the forces of the Devil, which we know all too well, but from more subtle attacks within our community — subtle attacks which can often prove more dangerous. Those who deviate from the path our Lord has shown us can destroy everything we hold dear by a thousand little knocks, continually chipping away at the edifice of our religion. And when that structure falls, it cannot be erected again. So we must strike now, to root out the weeds choking the vine. We must remain pure and remove from our midst those who attempt to corrupt that purity with sly words or thoughts, or with open opposition. The Adversary waits beyond the gate — many have seen his evil form looming up over the city. He feels his time is near. By purifying the light within us all, here, we can keep the darkness at bay for ever.'
Stefan kept his gaze fixed on the crowd, but made a slight motion with one hand at his side. Mallory was shoved forwards on to the stage, with Sophie beside him.
'Here now, a sight to make a good Christian weep,' Stefan continued. 'One of our own who has turned his back on God to embrace the Devil and all the Devil's works.'
Mallory thought to speak out until he felt the guard's dagger pricking his back.
'And at his side, the woman who tempted him from the path of righteousness, hidden from our eyes so she cannot work her spell on us. A witch. Yes, the Devil's own. She makes no secret of her use of Dark Powers to bring corruption and sickness and death to us all-'
Mallory heard Sophie protest, but the hood muffled her voice so that the crowd couldn't hear her. The guard at her back twisted her wrist until she cried out.
'In our current situation, charges of sedition could be levelled at them. Their actions, whether directed against us or not, could weaken us or bring us to our knees,' Stefan said. 'In wartime, certain liberties must necessarily be put to one side for the sake of the greater good. However, it is still our intention to give these two a fair trial in a Church court. They will be able to present their defence, or plead for God's mercy. Justice will be seen to be done.'
Stefan paused as if he expected some kind of applause or encouragement, but he was only met by a weary acceptance.
Mallory suddenly saw through it all. They were planning a show trial, another of Stefan's little manipulations to divert attention from the hardship everyone was feeling; in the end, in whatever establishment, discipline and fear were the only way to maintain power. But how long would Stefan be able to carry on distracting and obfuscating before his attempts became so transparent that they lost their potency? Mallory wondered.
'We must be pure. We must be devout. It is the only way we can bring God back into our lives.' Passion filled Stefan's voice. 'The slightest weakness brings the Devil to our door. This one…' He pointed to Mallory. '… is not the only traitor in our midst. There are others. Though I implored you to be true to the path, it has come to my attention that there are still practising sodomites here.'
Mallory flinched. Suddenly he could see what was coming next: Stefan wasn't relenting at all.
'I call now on the true and righteous amongst you to speak out. If you know of any sodomite, identify them. It is our only hope. We can show no mercy to them, for the Bible tells us it is a sin against nature.'
A witch-hunt, Mallory thought. More fear, more divisions, all to throw the brothers off-balance so they
