Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

'Life's too short for playing stupid games, Mallory,' she said, lighting another candle to replace one that had guttered out in a pool of wax. 'We both know there's something between us, despite our very obvious differences. There's no time for flirting.'

'So does that mean we're stepping out? His irony was a reaction to the feeling that he had lost control of the situation; and he always thought he was completely in charge.

'It was a recognition of what we feel, that's all. What happens from here is anybody's guess. Quite honestiy, you might get on my tits — a likely prospect given your very unfortunate nature — and I'd be forced to curse you for all time.'

Mallory really didn't know if she was joking.

'Now, thanks very much for the visit, but I've got a funeral to prepare.' She peeked through the flap into the rear of the tent and when she looked back at him tears filled her eyes again. 'Besides,' she continued throatily, 'I would think you'd be pretty much engrossed in sorting out your own crisis.'

'Yeah. Any idea what's happening there?'

'Well, you've certainly pissed off someone in high places. At least it keeps you all in one place where you can't do any more damage.' She couldn't mask her bitterness.

'Don't tar me with the same brush.'

'You wear the uniform. You carry the weapons, eat the food, sleep under the same roof. Don't be naive, Mallory. You might pretend to yourself that you're apart somehow-'

'They're not all bad,' he protested. 'Mostly, they're harmless. Well meaning.'

'Then you ought to do something about the ones that aren't, oughtn't you? I thought you knights were supposed to be the police force of the New Christian Army. Or is it one rule for you, and one for the rest of us?'

Though hardly surprised by the strength of her response after Melanie's death, Mallory couldn't find any way to answer her. Instead, he peered out into the night. The red light of dawn tinted the horizon.

'We might stand a chance of getting back in daylight,' he mused. 'If we're lucky.'

A startled cry followed by angry yells broke out not far away. Instinctively, Mallory knew what it was. He was already out of the tent and running before Sophie could enquire what was happening.

His worst fears were realised as he made it back to the camp boundary. One of the travellers lay face down, unmoving though probably not dead, Mallory guessed. Worse, Gardener had Scab pinned against him, a dagger to his throat. Gardener was overcome with righteous anger.

Mallory motioned to the angry crowd of travellers to hold back, but that only convinced them to turn their rage on him.

'There's no talking to them, Mallory,' Gardener shouted.

Mallory found himself herded closer to Gardener. With a sickening sense of fatalism, he saw Sophie approaching. 'What are you doing, you Geordie idiot?' he snapped.

Scab rolled his eyes in abject fear. As he writhed, Gardener pricked him with the dagger as a warning and he almost fainted. 'They offered me a drink,' Gardener said darkly.

'Good call. After that it would have been lentil stew and then we'd all be on the way to hell.'

'It was a potion. The bastards were trying to put a spell on me!'

'Or maybe it was just a drink.' Mallory was shoulder to shoulder with Gardener now. About thirty travellers ranged in front of them. Some looked scared for Gardener's prisoner; others, who had patently had their fingers burned before, were murderous.

'Look at this one.' Gardener motioned to a pentacle hanging on a chain around Scab's neck. 'Devil-worshippers. The moment our backs were turned, they'd have had us.'

Mallory cursed under his breath; the false propaganda Gardener had absorbed during his evangelical background was unshakeable. At that moment, Scab decided to break free, probably driven more by fear of what might happen than any real desire to escape. He kicked at Gardener's shins with his heels, writhed like a madman and then attempted to yank his head down through Gardener's grip.

In the confusion, his neck was driven on to Gardener's dagger, or vice versa. A geyser of arterial blood arced towards the massed travellers.

The crowd was stunned into silence. Shock locked Gardener's face; Mallory wished he had seen some compassion there, or guilt, for his own peace of mind. Gardener took a step back, examining his crimson hands as if they belonged to someone else.

Mallory reacted instinctively. He stepped forwards and hit Gardener so hard in the face he went down as if he'd been pole-axed. It was undoubtedly the best thing Mallory could have done, immediately deflating the furious rage that had enveloped the crowd and saving them from a lynching.

Instead, the travellers turned their attention to their comrade who flopped like a dying fish in a pool of blood that seemed too big, too dark. Mallory knelt down to help, knowing there was nothing that could be done, but someone smacked him aside and he went over, seeing stars. When his vision cleared, Scab had stopped moving and everyone was staring at Mallory as if he had committed the murder himself.

Sophie threw herself through the crowd, all the grief of Melanie's death erupting in one instant. 'See?' she screamed. 'This is what happens if you do nothing! Nobody has the luxury of sitting on the fence! If you don't stand up for what you believe in, someone always pays the price.'

There was no point in trying to calm her; he was lucky to get away with his life. Gardener was just coming around. Mallory gave him an unnecessarily rough shove that propelled him out of the camp and then collected Hipgrave, who had been slumped in a daze nearby, and dragged him away.

He could still hear the sound of crying, even when the camp had fallen from view.

As they hurried along the road in the ruddy light, Gardener began to say, 'He deserved it,' but Mallory turned on him so ferociously the words died on his lips.

His anger evaporated as he paused at the bridge, aware of the threat that lurked on the short route to the cathedral gates. A guard waved to him from a new section of the walls overlooking the river. His voice floated down. 'Don't move!'

As they waited, a group of Blues ran out on to Crane Street at the turning to North Gate. They were armed with crossbows and longbows.

'What the bloody hell's going on?' Gardener said.

The group's captain barked an order and one of their number moved along the ranks with a torch. As he passed, the tips of the notched arrows burst into flames.

'Looks like it's a cremation for us,' Mallory said. 'And I'd got my eye on such a lovely headstone.'

Gardener grunted, 'I think-'

'I know what they're doing,' Mallory snapped. 'Get your arm around Hipgrave. And I just want to say that if these are the last moments of my life, I really am pig-sick I'm spending them linked to you two.'

There was some communication between the captain and the guard who had moved out of sight near the North Gate. A second later, the guard reappeared and shouted, 'Now!'

Mallory and Gardener moved as fast as they could; Hipgrave's heels didn't even touch the ground. The Blues raised their weapons. Mallory kept his vision trained directly ahead. The buildings on either side passed in a blur, still swathed in shadows, the dawn light only limning the edges.

Halfway along the street, the shadows became movement on either side. Still Mallory didn't look. Fear would take the strength from his legs, threat would deflect his single-minded purpose and there would be little point in standing and fighting. Drained from the night's exertions, his breath burned in his throat.

The smell of something that had lain in damp soil rose up around him. He had the fleeting sense of fluttering wings, frightened birds in flight, of red brake-lights, of a striking cobra and a dog's snapping jaws.