of before. In this world, then, where faith is an engine of change, what wonders could our relics bring?'
His smile brought gasps from the crowd as understanding of his words slowly surfaced. He gestured towards the reliquary. 'In here lie the bones of Saint Cuthbert. Our brave knights faced undreamed-of dangers to bring them from Durham Cathedral. We prayed over them for seven days and nights. We had hopes… We had so many hopes.'
With a trembling hand, he motioned for Roy to come forwards. The tearful supplicant knelt before the bishop and kissed his hand with adoration.
'Word has just reached me of Brother Roy's cure. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.' He rested one hand on Roy's head. Tears streamed down faces on every side. 'Let us hope this is only the first of many miracles. The light of the Lord shines brightly once more across this land of darkness.
'Even for the devout, faith is not always easy. We are tested at every turn, and over the last year and a half we have been tested more than ever. But now…' He paused for dramatic effect. '… faith has been renewed.'
A loud cheer erupted.
'This is the first step in our mission to reaffirm the Word. Once more to bring the love of our Lord to the people. To build Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land. Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say amongst the nations, the Lord reigneth.'
The noise was deafening. Many fell to their knees, sobbing openly. Others hugged their fellows or bowed before the reliquary in quiet prayer.
As Mallory departed, a line began to build as those with ailments ranging from the minor to the debilitating waited to be cured.
Daniels brushed away a tear as they walked towards the infirmary. 'Things are going to get better.'
'You think?' Mallory breathed slowly; his ribs felt bruised, not cracked, but it wasn't worth taking any chances.
'We all need a little hope. That's what I came here for. That's why most people are here.'
Mallory felt a surprising twinge. He'd locked himself in the present for so many months that whenever any echoes of the old days came back it felt like touching a live wire. 'Do you miss your partner?'
Daniels looked startled by the question. 'Every day. We'd been together eight years, since university. He was the first person I'd really felt anything for.'
'Gary, wasn't it?'
'Gareth.' He paused. 'It feels strange saying his name again. You forget, with all the shit that happens in life. You don't have the time to think about what you shared. That's a mistake.' He wiped his eye again. 'Sorry. I'm a little emotional after all that with Roy.'
'It's OK.' Mallory felt oddly encouraged that Daniels felt no need to hide his sensitivity.
'What about you, Mallory? Anybody you left behind?'
'I don't think about the past. No point. It's gone. Same as there's no point thinking about the future. You just have to deal with what's going on around you.'
'You see, that's what I'm talking about. I can't agree with that. We need to hold on to the good things from the past, to give us some perspective. Especially now, with all this.' He gestured to the wide world.
'You just have to deal with things, Daniels. That's all it comes down to.'
'No, that's wrong. Your memories are your guide. They let you create a framework so you can tell good from bad. Without that kind of compass, who knows how you're going to end up dealing with things} You see society out there: it's fallen apart. No rules or regulations. All we've got is what's inside us.'
'That's all we ever had.'
They reached Malmesbury House where the infirmary was situated. The grand Queen-Anne facade sported a remarkable blue and gold sundial, the rococo interior too delicate for the use it had been assigned.
The infirmarian was a former surgeon named Warwick. He was in his fifties, with a brusque manner and the crystal pronunciation of a public- school education. Without any unnecessary chat, he made Mallory lie on a table in a white-tiled room filled with stainless-steel medical instruments oddly juxtaposed against jars of dried herbs and bottles of odd-looking concoctions. It was as if a modern doctor shared office space with an Elizabethan alchemist.
Mallory winced as Warwick examined the various bruises and abrasions. 'So, with the back-to-basics thing that's going on here, can I expect some blood-letting and leeches?' he said.
'As much as I would like to oblige,' Warwick replied tartly, 'we still adhere to the basic tenets of modern medicine. Though there is an element of make-do, depending on what treatments are available.' He checked Mallory's ribs closely then grunted, 'No breaks. Who gave you a going over? Or is this part of basic training?'
'It was a test.' Mallory saw Blaine's face, felt a dull burst of anger. 'Which I passed with flying colours.'
Warwick snorted and turned to the shelves that lined one wall. 'Practising medicine in these times is difficult enough without dealing with self-inflicted injuries. If this happens again, you deal with it yourself.' He delved into various jars before wrapping the contents in a small cloth package. 'Infuse these in boiled water and drink it four times a day for the next three days.'
Mallory sniffed at it; the contents were fragrant. 'What's in it?'
'Would it really make any difference if I told you?'
Daniels surveyed the jars. 'Heard any news from outside, Warwick?'
'Like what, exactly?'
'I know you hear everything in here. You get a snippet of information from everyone with an ailment. It's like a little spider's web, with you at the centre, collecting information.'
'Thank you for the flattering analogy,' Warwick said contemptuously.
'What about the Government?' Daniels asked.
'Not heard anything.'
'Somebody must be trying to put things back in place.'
'Well, they obviously haven't got very far, have they?'
'No power on the horizon, then?'
Warwick removed a jar from Daniels' hands and replaced it on a shelf. 'There's no oil coming in. They shut down most of the pits in the nineties.
And I heard that all the nuclear power stations went off line during the Fall.'
'Yeah, I wondered why we hadn't had a China Syndrome experience,' Daniels mused. 'I hear you've got one of those clockwork radios tucked away.'
Warwick shifted suspiciously. 'Who told you that?'
'I just heard.'
'You know how they feel about technology here.' He rearranged the jars for a moment before adding, as if as an afterthought, 'I've heard that all frequencies are dead. There's nothing coming in from the Continent at all.'
'So either everybody's suffering the same all over the world,' Daniels said, 'or England's the only place with people left alive.'
'Well, that's a thoroughly depressing thought,' Warwick said, with a cold smile. 'The survival of the human race might be down to us.'
'And aren't we good representatives?' Mallory chipped in.
For the next three nights there were heavy frosts. The night office, the lauds of the dead and prime were all torturous in the freezing confines of the cathedral, where breath plumed white and the plainsong was disrupted by shivering until the mass of bodies raised the temperature a little. The bishop took the decision to limit the numbers of those who wished to pray before the bones of St Cuthbert due to the queues that built up throughout the day. Many, he said, were not seeking God's help with their ailments. They simply wanted a sign of God's power and it was wrong to test Him.
It was in the early evening that Miller overheard a commotion at the gates, which had not been opened since the attack. The torches blazing permanently around the entrance area cast a dull red light across the guards who leaned over the walls to talk animatedly with someone attempting to gain entrance.
The anxious note in the exchange drew Mallory from his path back to the barracks. He had a sense that here was something important, so he stood in the shadow of the nearest hut, stamping his feet against the cold.
After a few moments' debate, the guards sent word back for advice; they had obviously been told not to open the gates for anyone. The runner returned with James, who appeared agitated. He listened at the gate for a
