'I tell you this. No eternal reward will forgive us for wasting the dawn.' Mallory cracked his knuckles.
'What's that?'
'Words from an old singer.'
'You like music?'
'That's a funny question. Doesn't everyone?'
'No, not really,' Miller said.
They walked out into the inner bailey, the ruins and windswept trees now grey ghosts. The rain had blown away and there was an optimistic bloom to the edge of the sky. The monkey-creatures were nowhere to be seen.
The morning had the fresh smell of wet vegetation. Mallory took a deep breath, still surprised at how sweet the air tasted now that it was pollution- free. They made their way back along the track and prepared to walk the short distance into Salisbury. As they breached the crest of the hill and headed down into the city, the mother sky turned golden, framing the majestic spire of the cathedral protruding through the treetops ahead. Miller was overcome with a rush of Glory and turned to Mallory, beaming; Mallory shook his head and looked away.
The corpses of the monkey-creatures ploughed up by the car had vanished. A little further on they came across Miller's horse, grazing at the side of the road. Miller patted its flank affectionately.
'We can take it in turns to ride,' Miller said brightly.
'It's all yours. I like a good walk of a morning, gets the blood flowing.'
They took the empty road slowly and within the hour the outskirts of Salisbury drew around them. It was still odd for both of them to see the empty houses and factories, the abandoned petrol stations and corner shops without any of the trappings of the modern world. No vehicles moved, no electric lights burned, no fast-food wrappers blew up and down the streets. Instead there was the smell of woodsmoke hanging in the air and some homes were illuminated by candlelight. The air of the makeshift lay across the city: handmade signs pointing to the farmers' market or the council offices, piles of wood obviously prepared for night-time beacons, repairs carried out to broken windows with plastic sheets. Wild dogs roamed the streets and furtive rats skulked out of front gardens.
They came upon a sentry box roughly constructed out of crates and perspex. A grey-faced man in an adapted police uniform was boiling some water on a small fire. As they approached, he rose suspiciously, holding a handmade truncheon close to his thigh.
'What's your business?' His eyes were hard on their faces.
'We're going to the cathedral,' Miller said with bright innocence, 'to become knights.'
The guard didn't attempt to hide his disdain. 'Good luck,' he sneered, rolling his eyes.
'The police are still going?' Mallory asked.
The guard glanced down at the uniform, which had SPM sewn on to the left breast. 'I used to be with the Force,' he said. 'Still got my warrant card. These days it's the Salisbury People's Militia.' He waved them through, nodding towards the spire. 'I don't think you'll get lost.'
'Have many people come to join up?' Miller asked as he rode by.
The guard laughed indecently loudly. 'I shouldn't worry about having to queue.'
'It's early days yet,' Miller said when they were out of the guard's earshot.
'Look on the bright side,' Mallory replied wryly. 'At least the standards will be low.'
At that same time of day, the outskirts of the city were deserted. In the bright dawn light, it could have been any time before everything changed; the fabric was, in the main, intact, although a few shops had been burned out in looting, and others had been adapted to fill more immediate needs. An electrical goods store had been converted into a cobblers and leatherworkers. A video shop now housed carpenters and builders.
They made their way down Castle Street and before they had got to the end of it they could hear loud voices, jocularity, cursing, life going on. The farmers' market was in the process of being set up, with red-faced workers loading piles of cabbages and bags of potatoes on creaking stalls. Many places appeared to have quickly established a local economy and regular food supply, but everyone was still fearing the winter, Miller noted. Mallory pointed out that nothing would have worked if the population hadn't been decimated.
Their attention was caught by an area of brightly coloured tents and tepees on a park on the other side of a river bridge. They clustered tightly together like a nomadic enclave within the wider city. A flag bearing red and white intertwined dragons flew over the largest tent.
They followed the High Street past the shells of Woolworth's and Waterstone's. The horse's hooves echoed dully on the flagstones; the atmosphere in that area was strangely melancholic.
But as they came up to High Street Gate, the historic entrance to the Cathedral Close, they were confronted by ten-foot-high gates of welded metal sheets, the ancient stone surround topped with lethal spikes and rolls of barbed wire. Beyond it, the cathedral looked like a fortress under siege.
Chaptep Two
'A man's character is his fate.'
The reinforced gates were rust-eaten, stained and covered with foul graffiti. Mallory tried to decide whether they had been erected out of fear, or strength; to keep the outside world at bay, or to keep those inside pure. Whichever was the right answer, first impressions were not of an open religion welcoming all souls into a place of refuge from the storm of life. He'd only been there a moment and he already doubted the judgment of those in charge. Situation normal.
He could feel Miller's uncertain gaze on his back, urging him to do something to dispel the disappointment his companion was starting to feel. With a shrug, Mallory strode up and hammered on the gates. When the metallic echoes had died, a young man with a shaven head and an incongruously cherubic face peered over the stone battlements.
'Who goes?' he called, with a faint lisp.
Mallory turned back to Miller. 'Well, that's scared me off.'
'We want to join you,' Miller shouted.
The guard eyed them suspiciously, focusing particular attention on Mallory.
'We want to be knights,' Miller pressed. His voice held a faint note of panic at the possibility that after all he'd been through he still might be turned away.
'Wait there.' The guard bobbed down. Several minutes later, they heard the scrape of metal bars being drawn on the other side. The gates creaked open just wide enough for Mallory and Miller to pass through in single file. On the other side were five men armed with medieval weaponry: pikes, swords and an axe, which Mallory guessed had been taken from some local museum.
The guard stepped forwards. 'Enter with humility before God.' An implied threat lay in his words.
Mallory looked at him askance. 'Does everyone talk like that around here?'
Miller gazed back at the fortified gate uncomfortably. 'Why all that?' he asked.
'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.
