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Moments later, I was pulling away from the vicarage and driving north to meet the main road. The drive to Newton was uneventful, but there is always one point in the journey that lifted my soul. As you approach the city from the Amble Valley, you crest the last hill before the city and are treated to a panoramic view of that ancient town. The cathedral soaring above the houses, its twin towers catching the evening sun, the lead of the nearly quarter-of-a-mile long nave roof glinting dully. It was from here that I could always appreciate the wisdom of the choice of our forebears in siting the cathedral where it was - the view and the lines of the cathedral drew your eyes ever heavenward.

I pulled into a parking space in a side street near my old family home and walked briskly around to the West Front of the cathedral. Even though Bishop George's phone call had sounded urgent, I had to stop for a moment to admire fine tracery carved into the ancient and mellow stones; to look at the carved faces of the saints that adorned the cathedral. I hurried in to the echoing coolness of the Galilee porch and on through the West Doors. As my eyes adjusted to the light inside the nave I was greeted by the sight of Bishop George, Dean Grayson, and the cathedral precentor standing in a huddle near the font. As I came closer, I could hear a muted conversation, which came to an abrupt halt when the precentor saw me.

Now, the precentor was a good friend of mine - we had both trained together and had worked together on the cathedral's choir project. He was a slightly built and highly strung hare who had a bad habit of pulling on his ears when he was nervous (which, for as long as I had known him, was most of the time). He beckoned me over.

'Thank you for coming, Francis.' He said.

'Indeed - good to see you.' Added Bishop George.

I smiled and said my good evenings. My smile faded as I was caught in the withering gaze of the Dean. Now, everyone I knew loved Dean Grayson, she was an elegant timber wolf and a wonderful pastor, but behind her back she was generally called the Ice Wolf. This stemmed from her often rather distant manner, but we only ever called her that in jest; as she was one of the kindest priests in the diocese. This look she was giving me, though, was different. If I hadn't known her better, I would have said she hated my guts, but this was worse: she was scared.

'Father Shepherd,' She said, 'We've got a serious problem. Bishop George thought that you might be able to help.'

Behind her, the precentor jigged from paw to paw.

'It's Harry!' He blurted out.

'Sorry Charlie?' I said, 'Harry who?'

By now Charlie was wilting under the combined stares of the Bishop and the Dean. He pulled on his ear again, his face melting slowly into panic.

'You know,' He mumbled 'Harry Cormack, from seminary - he took over your dad's old parish.'

Dean Grayson put a paw to her eyes and let out a sigh.

'Please do shut up, Hopes.' She said, 'Before our precentor babbles anymore, I think that we should move to my study. The cathedral proctors are keeping an eye on Reverend Cormack. If you would be so kind My Lord?'

This was to Bishop George, as she began to propel him gently towards the north door of the nave. As we passed back out into the sunlight, I grabbed Hopes' shoulder.

'What's going on?' I asked, 'why is the Ice Wolf so worried?'

'Can't say!' Squeaked Hopes, 'I hope Harry doesn't do something, erm... Silly.'

'Harry? You don't mean Harry Cormack? The action-adventure lynx?' I said as it sunk in.

'Yes!' It looked as if Hopes was about to faint dead away.

Now I was beginning to be worried. Harry Cormack was the most level-headed students from my time at seminary. He was ex-army and an outdoors nut. I remembered how, in our first year, he persuaded me, Charlie Hopes and Brian Strix to go on what he called a 'camping weekend', but it turned out to be a forty-eight-hour survival course in the middle of nowhere. He just exuded an air of quiet, unflappable competence, unlike most of us at seminary.

My worries continued to mount as we entered Dean Grayson's study. It was tidy. Normally the Dean's study was scattered around with books, it was rumoured that she had somehow worked out an efficient system of mess. This untidiness shocked anyone who had only met her officially - it just didn't seem to fit with the Ice Wolf. As far as I knew she only tidied when she was worried. We all took seats around the low coffee table. Dean Grayson looked to Bishop George and he cleared his throat:

'Reverend Harry Cormack came into the cathedral this afternoon. He didn't say a word to anyone, but at some point he managed to force the lock on the door to the south west tower and got into the triforium. It was then that he shouted down to one of the proctors that he wanted to speak to me and to you, Father Francis.

'Since then he has gone quiet again. He has barricaded himself in the triforium, but we've got the proctors keeping an eye on him from ground level. Needless to say we are all very worried.'

Dean Grayson leant forward:

'We are going to close the cathedral to visitors. I have moved the regular services into the Lady Chapel for the rest of the day. Hopes has called the Fire Brigade, but at the moment there's nothing more we can do. He wants to talk to you, Father Shepherd. He has said that he will only talk to you and that he wants Bishop George present.'

She leant back again, her tail twitching slightly as she studied my features. I scratched my muzzle.

'So now what?' I asked.

'We need to wait until the cathedral is clear.' She replied, 'I think it would be for the best if you would take Canon Hopes home and try to calm him down. I'll send a proctor for you once they've got everyone out of the building.

And with that, I was dismissed. I nudged Hopes and we left the room. As the door swung shut behind us, I heard Bishop George start to speak:

'Well, of all the clergy, I wouldn't expect...'

I walked slowly across the courtyard with Hopes. At his front door he fumbled with his key and let us in. Hopes waved me distractedly towards the sofa and disappeared through into the kitchen, presently I heard the rattling of crockery and the sound of the kettle being filled. It always amazed me how, even in the worst of situations, so many clergy and parishioners would default to making tea as a distraction. I have lost count of the times I had had to sit with the bereaved, with parishioners slowly dying and all they could think of was to make a cup of tea. I looked around Hopes' living room: every flat surface was covered with little devotional knick-knacks - it seemed that his collection had grown somewhat since I had last seen him.

A few minutes later Hopes reappeared with two mugs of tea and plonked them without ceremony on his coffee table. He sat down in the arm chair opposite me and looked at me, his whiskers twitching. I reached out for a mug and was grabbed by the paw. I looked up to find Hopes' nose inches from the end of my muzzle. I yelped and started backward, Hopes jumped and folded up into his armchair.

'Sorry,' He said, 'I'm just worried about Harry, have you spoken to him recently?'

I thought for a moment, and then said:

'No, I haven't spoken to him since Christmas, I think.'

'I haven't spoken to him in a while either.' Said Hopes, 'It seems funny to say that, what with him living just the other side of the cathedral.'

At that moment, there is a sharp knocking on the door which caused Hopes to jump out of his chair. Once he had regained his composure, he wrenched the door open to reveal the figure of one of the cathedral proctors. The proctor cleared his throat and scratched the tip of his nose with one claw before saying:

'The Dean says Father Francis is to go to the cathedral now. We think that Reverend Cormack is in one of the galleries in the South transept.'

I thanked Hopes for the tea and asked him to keep his mobile switched on and then followed the proctor back to the cathedral. The sinking sun had all but disappeared behind the houses of the close and the building stood in semi-darkness - here and there, there was a splash of light and colour as a ray of sunlight lanced through one of the stained glass windows. I could make out Bishop George and Dean Grayson standing under the crossing both looking up towards the ceiling of the South transept. I joined them and they both nodded to me. No further instruction seemed to be forthcoming so I decided to take the initiative. If Harry Cormack wanted to talk to me I would let him know I was there.

'Harry!?' I shouted, 'Are you up there?'

The Dean glared at me, she clearly had a plan of action worked out, but before she could berate me an answer floated down from the heights of the cathedral roof.

'Francis? Is that you? Come further into the transept so I can see you properly.'

I admit that I jumped at the sound of Harry's voice. I always remembered him as being full of confidence and calmness, but now his voice was shaking and weak. I stumbled slightly as the Dean pushed me into the transept. I looked up and could just make out a faint shape among the crowded pillars and railings of the gallery.

'Yes Harry, it's me. I'm told you want to speak to me.' I shouted.

'I do, but I only want to speak to you: you'll have to come up to me. I won't shout this across the cathedral.'

I looked back to the Dean and the Bishop and they both offered eloquent shrugs that spoke as loudly as words the message:well, we don't know what to do now - you might as well go up there. As it seemed that no help was coming from my senior colleagues I let myself into the cathedral sacristy and headed up the winding spiral stairs to the triforium.

By the time I had reached the triforium, my ears and tail were covered in dust and cobwebs. I stood for a moment then sneezed violently. I made my way along the cramped passageway. As I walked, I tried my best to remove the cobwebs that had tangled themselves around my ears and in my fur. A few steps further and the passageway turned abruptly right. On my right side I now had a vertiginous view some eighty feet down to the marble floor of the transept. Ahead, I could see Harry, slumped against one of the pillars. As I neared, he looked up. I was shocked, Harry looked haggard, his fur was unkempt and his shoulders drooping. He smiled at me wanly.

'Hello, Nerd.' He said.

I smiled to hear my nickname again - it went with the territory: I came to seminary with two large cases - one of clothes and one full of computer.

'Hi, Harry,' I replied, 'What's wrong? Why are you up here?'

He sighed and looked down into the cathedral. In the distance visitors were filing into the Lady Chapel for Evensong.

'Is that the Ice Wolf down there?' He asked.

'The very same, well you are sitting almost on the roof of her cathedral.' I said, and added, 'Bishop George is down there as well.'

'Hmm...' Was the only reply that was forthcoming.

We sat in silence for a while: Harry staring at nothing. As we sat, I watched the motes of dust floating lazily in the last rays of sunlight. At the far end of the nave there came a series of clunks and an electric buzzing noise as the lights were switched on.

'I don't think we've spoken since Christmas.' Said Harry quietly.

'Yes,' I said, 'Well, I was busy with moving to my new parish and making sure that Charlie wouldn't get frightened to death by a chorister.'

It was a weak excuse and I knew it. Harry grunted and stared at me:

'Ten years ago today.' He said, 'Ten years since the attack.'

Now I understood. During his time in the army, Harry had been the commander of a light tank company. Captain Harry Cormack - he showed me a photograph once of him and his unit. They were young and happy, fit body of animals. Then they were sent off on a peacekeeping mission. Some small country that had split away from a disintegrating empire. My memory was of unpronounceable names and grainy video footage of grey muddy fields and grey muddy animals.

In that photograph had been someone who looked just like me, the same white flash on his muzzle. When it was taken that dog was the same age as I was when I joined Anskar's University. He didn't get much older.

Harry and his unit had been sent to scout out some local villages, by now merely groups of blackened shells where the houses had once stood. At seminary Harry had told me of one village where only the church had been left standing; of how the weak sunlight gleaming off the gilding of the church's onion dome had been both the most out of place and the most beautiful thing he had seen. Harry's unit had crawled up a steep mountain road hemmed in on either side by thick pine forests. He had told me that it was quite still except for the clanking of the tank tracks and the droning of the big diesel engines. Then the attack came.

Here Harry had stopped speaking. I had felt a chill in his seminary study as he passed me a transcript of the enquiry report. Even these years later I can feel the thin, official paper and see the cold, mechanical typeface.

*** Continues:

576187 Cormack, HR [Captain] and the element under his command were ordered to conduct surveillance of XXXXX. The unit approached XXXXX from the south. Approximately 1.5 kilometres from target, Capt. Cormack's unit came under sustained and heavy fire from rebel forces. Capt. Cormack made best attempt to extract his unit from unfavourable terrain. It is not known how Allied intelligence services were unable to warn of rebel forces operating in the vicinity of XXXXX.

It is the conclusion of this court of enquiry that 576187 Cormack, HR [Captain] acquitted himself with honour and bravery. Furthermore, no blame should be attached to Capt. Cormack for the loss of those serving under him.

This court recommends that 576187 Cormack, HR [Captain] be discharged from military service with honour and a full pension.

ENDS.

Harry was left with fifteen lives on his conscience. He never felt able to pay back what he considered a debt of honour. I realised Harry was talking to me in the here-and-now:

'I see their faces every night, Nerd.' He said, his voice barely a whisper, 'I can't take it. Stress they've called it: Post-Traumatic Stress. But, it's those guys crying out, those guys who died in fear and pain. What can I do, Nerd? I can't even pray.'

By now tears were flowing freely down his cheeks.

'I was going to jump,' He continued, 'Eighty feet and gone, but I can't, I just can't take that way out.'

I laid a paw on his arm and he grabbed it. I thought for a moment, then said:

'Come down, Harry. Let me pray for them. We'll go into Bishop East's chantry chapel and I'll pray. And, I think you need a break from your parish. I'll sort it out with the Ice Wolf and the Archdeacon, but come and spend some time with me in the country.'

Harry said nothing, but stood up and allowed me to guide him out of the gallery and back down to the cathedral floor. As we come out of the sacristy, the Bishop and the Dean hurried over, but I waved them away. We walked slowly to the chantry chapel just off the nave. Inside I knelt beside Harry in silence, praying for each animal who had died in the attack,

We stayed there for some fifteen minutes. When we came out both Garrison and Bishop George were waiting:

'Harry's coming to stay with me for a few weeks.' I said, 'Sarah, could you sort cover for Harry's parish with the Archdeacon? Bishop, I'll phone you in the morning.'

They both nodded. In an unguarded moment, I realised that for the first time ever, I had actually used Dean Grayson's Christian name. I gathered myself and took Harry to my car. Minutes later we were heading back home. We drove home in silence, Harry very quickly falling asleep.