'Times are hard.' It wasn't enough of an answer, but the guard turned away before Miller could ask him any more.
Mallory was intrigued by what he saw within the compound. He'd seen photos of the cathedral in the old days, had even caught the last of a TV Christmas carol service broadcast from there, seen through an alcoholic haze after a late night at the pub. The serenity of the expansive lawns that had once surrounded the cathedral was long gone. Now wooden shacks clustered tightly, some of which appeared to have been knocked up overnight, offering little protection from the elements. Mallory also spied vegetable and herb gardens, stables, a small mill and more. The grass was now little more than churned mud with large cart ruts running amongst the huts. The entire scene had an odd medieval flavour that discomfited him.
The houses appeared to consist of only a single room, two at the most, with small windows that could not have allowed much light inside. They were arranged, more or less, on a grid pattern, the cathedral's own village, although there were still a few remaining lawns around the grand building to form a barrier between the sacred and the profane.
Once they were well within the site, they could see that fortifications had been continued on all sides to create a well-defended compound. Most of the wall was original, constructed in the fourteenth century with the stone from the deserted cathedral at Old Sarum, but where gaps had appeared over the years, makeshift barriers had now been thrown up. Abandoned cars, crushed and tattered, building rubble, corrugated sheets, had all been riveted together to become remarkably sturdy. Of the original gates, three remained, all as secure as the one through which Mallory and Miller had passed.
Enclosed within the new fortifications were several imposing piles that lined the Cathedral Close, including the museums on the western edge, which appeared to have been pressed into Church use. The weight of history was palpable, from Malmesbury House, partly built by Sir Christopher Wren and where Charles II and Handel had both stayed, to the grand Mompesson House with its Queen-Anne facade, through the many stately buildings that had offered services to the Church. Beyond the houses, the enclosure ran down to the banks of the Avon past a larger cultivated area providing food for the residents.
And at the centre of it was the cathedral itself. Dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the grey stone of the gothic medieval building gleamed in the morning light, its perpendicular lines leading the eye towards the four- hundred-foot spire that spoke proudly of the Glory of Almighty God. Even in that broken world, it still had the power to inspire.
They were led through a door near the west front to an area next to the cloisters that had once held a cafe. The surly guard guided them to a windowless room containing three dining chairs and a table. He sent in some water and bread before leaving them alone for the next hour.
'What do you think?' Miller asked in an excited whisper.
Mallory tore a chunk off the bread and inspected it cautiously before chewing. 'They're worse off than I imagined.'
'What do you mean?'
'All that graffiti on the walls — looks as if they've had a falling out with the locals. And the walls themselves, what message are they sending out?'
Miller wasn't going to be deterred. 'Still, it's great to be here, finally,' he said with a blissful smile.
'You really are a glass-half-full kind of person, aren't you.' Mallory spun one of the chairs and straddled it. 'They'd better not bury us in rules and regulations. You know how it is with God people. Thou shalt not do this, thou shalt not do that. Bottom line for me: no vows of celibacy, no abstinence from the demon drink.'
'We might not get accepted.'
'Right,' Mallory said sarcastically. 'We're going to get accepted.'
'How can you be sure? They might think we're not… devout enough. We're supposed to be champions of God's Word.'
'So what does God want? That His Word gets out there. Do you think He really cares if it's being transmitted by some cynical money-grabbing toe-rag who doesn't believe one syllable of it?'
'Of course it matters!' Miller stared at Mallory in disbelief.
'Why? The job's still getting done. People are still being led away from the dark side to the Path of Righteousness. Or is it more ideologically pure if the unbeliever doesn't do it and they all stay damned?'
'It… matters!' Miller looked as if he was about to burst into tears again. Mallory's weary attempt to backtrack was interrupted when the door swung open, revealing a man in his late forties, balding on top, but with long, bushy grey hair. He carried with him an air of tranquillity underpinned by a good-natured, open attitude visible in his untroubled smile. He wore the long black robes of a monk.
'My name is James,' he said. 'I realise things may seem strange to you here. It's strange for all of us.'
'We want to be knights,' Miller said firmly.
'It's my job to greet the new arrivals,' James continued. 'Help them adjust to the very different life we have here, facilitate an easy transition from the world without to the one we are attempting to build here in the cathedral precinct.'
'So you're the official counsellor,' Mallory said.
James didn't appear troubled by the less than deferential tone. 'I suppose that's one way of describing my work.' The cast of his smile suggested he knew exactly what game Mallory was playing. 'Come, walk with me and I'll show you the sights, introduce you to a few people. And I'll explain why things are the way they are.'
'Getting your apologies in first?' Mallory said.
'I think it's true to say things are probably not how you expected them, how we all expected them to be. But everyone is still coming to terms with the Fall.' The euphemism for the chaos that had descended on the world made Mallory smile. James continued, 'It has necessitated a particular approach which may be… surprising at first impression.'
Mallory gestured for him to lead the way. 'I love surprises.'
James took them into the cathedral nave, crossing himself briefly as he faced the altar. Inside, the building was even bigger than Mallory had imagined. The magnificent vaulted roof soared so high over their heads it made them dizzy when they looked up, dwarfing them beneath the majesty of God as the original architects had intended. Further down the quire, a few men knelt in silent prayer.
'It will be packed at vespers,' James noted with a sweep of his hand from wall to wall.
'I haven't seen any women since I came in,' Mallory said.
'No.' James appeared uncomfortable at this observation, but he didn't give Mallory time to follow up. 'This is the last outpost of Christianity, at least in Great Britain. Within this compound you will find Anglicans, Catholics, Methodists, High Church, Low Church, representatives of the fringe evangelical movements, all worshipping side by side in a manner that could never have been anticipated at a time when the Church was thriving. Then, there were too many rivalries. Now we are all forced to work together for the common good.' He smiled benignly at Mallory. 'I'm sure there is a lesson in there somewhere.'
'The last outpost?' Miller appeared to be hearing James' words in a time-delay.
'What happened over the past year and a half shattered the Church.' James led them slowly along the nave. 'Even in our darkest moment we could never have foreseen…'He shook his head dismally.
'It obviously wasn't as strong as you thought,' Mallory said.
'The Church remains as indefatigable as always,' James parried.
'Then perhaps the people didn't live up to your expectations.'
James thought about this for a moment, but did not deny it. 'With miracles happening on every street corner all day every day, with gods… things that call themselves gods… answering the calls of anyone who petitioned them, it was understandable that there would be a period of confusion.'