Thankfully, four years after his meeting with Rufus, Grey isn’t yet crusading against the rest of Britain in a holy war. So we can only hope his weapons production never got off the ground.
According to Rufus, James Grey, a one-time hospital worker, came down to Salisbury from his hometown, the City of Durham, where the Cathedral and many churches had been taken over and, in Grey’s words, ‘desecrated by the masses.’ They were being used either as places of shelter, as fortresses, or they had been targeted by terrorists, demolished or dismantled.
‘… But nowhere, nowhere I tell you, were they being respected as Houses of God. Blasphemy everywhere I looked!’ Luc’s Uncle had pounded the table with his fist to add weight to his impression of Grey.
Grey was both furious and upset with this blatant disrespect to his God, but he received word from his sister, who lived outside Salisbury, that their ancient Cathedral was still intact. She could still see its four hundred and four foot spire from her little house. Rumour spread that it was being protected against terrorists and other ignorant heathens, by people such as himself, who were flocking to its aid to ‘preserve Christianity in these barbaric times.’
After he received this message from his sister, Grey felt something he had never felt in all his thirty nine years – hope, in the form of a spiritual calling. He packed up his sparse belongings and trailed his frightened wife and four children more than halfway across the inhospitable country until they reached the little village on the outskirts of the City where his sister lived.
His sister was missing and her house had been demolished, so they assumed the worst. They hiked the five extra miles to the Cathedral Close to find it bolted shut from the inside against the outside world. No amount of begging, cajoling or shouting gained him entrance from the guards. He and his family were forced to make camp outside the walls, along with the hundreds of other homeless families and pilgrims, many of whom were injured, mortally ill or clinically insane.
He made sure he and his family camped well away from the others, wary of attracting the wrong sort of attention or catching some vile disease. Occasionally, one of the gates would open to allow somebody out, or back in, but he could never catch a glimpse of the person, as they would always be surrounded by a heavily armed security force. Grey traded some of their precious food for a map of the Close.
He prayed night and day for God to admit him to His place of worship and one day, seven months later, his prayers were answered. The inhabitants of the eighty acre Cathedral Close were struck down by an unknown illness.
One morning, the gates opened wide and a robed man staggered out calling for a doctor. Weak, crying and sweating profusely, he had hideous, swollen lumps on his neck and black bruises on his face. He suddenly broke down into a coughing fit, which had him bent double and clutching his chest in agony. As soon as Grey saw the distraught man he knew what he was looking at – the Plague.
He went straight to find his wife, children and meagre possessions and they left the area. They slept rough for several weeks and avoided all contact with other people. One day they stumbled across a deserted, mouldering two-bedroom mobile home hidden by trees in the corner of a field. They cleaned it up and moved in. Grey waited patiently, planning his next move.
Three months later, he was confident Salisbury Cathedral would be his to restore to the good Christian people of Britain. He told his family to remain in the mobile home for their own protection. He said he would return for them within a year. If he did not come back within the allotted time, they were to ‘make a life for themselves.’ (He never saw them again. When he finally did send someone to find them, the messenger returned saying the mobile home was empty with no sign of recent habitation. Grey assumed they must all be dead, kidnapped or fled).
When he returned to the Cathedral Close, the area outside the walls was as he had expected it to be – deserted. The stench of rotting bodies overpowered him, and Grey was repeatedly sick every time he tried to approach the St Anne Gate. However, he persevered and, when he reached it, he found it unlocked.
And so, after months of waiting, he had finally made it into the Close. At the entrance, a shallow pit had been dug, now overflowing with partially burnt, decaying bodies. He jogged quickly past with his face averted, but he knew he would soon have to deal with it.
He saw deserted buildings – Bishop Wordsworth’s School, The Sub-Deanery, Sarum College; he knew the buildings and the layout by heart, from the worn and crumpled map he kept in his pocket. He went straight into the cavernous cathedral and dropped to his knees to give thanks to God for entrusting him with this holy task to undertake.
Over the next few days, he began the unforgiving and near impossible task of burning the corpses. He slept each night in the North Canonry and scavenged food from the empty buildings and gardens. One day, he hit the jackpot and found huge rooms in The Bishop’s Palace piled high to the ceiling with bottled water, tins of fruit and vegetables and all manner of supplies that would have taken an army several months to get through.
But then, during that first week, he contracted strong flu-like symptoms. He knew this was inevitable and had expected it to happen. A couple of years previously, after the initial terror attacks, he’d had the foresight to steal an array of medicines from his place of work. He prayed for forgiveness every night, but saw the theft as a minor transgression, needed in case he or his family should need treatment in the future.
So, sweating and in fear, he prepared a syringe and gave himself his first shot of antibiotic, straight into his thigh. He had enough for two shots over a ten day course and prayed this would be enough to protect him from the disease.
He sweated it out, not having anticipated feeling so dreadful. He thought he would die, but the plague didn’t manage to take hold of him. He was ill for two weeks, with dizzy spells and a strange deafness and light-headedness that disorientated him. But he attributed this to the pitiful amount of food he had consumed. The food was abundant, he just hadn’t the energy to eat it.
At the end of his second week, he had a visitor – a middle-aged man who turned out to be one of the Cathedral Close gardeners by the name of Dickinson. He had survived the plague without the help of antibiotics. But, unlike the other survivors who had fled, he remained, not sure what else to do. When he found Grey on the brink of death, he took on the task of nursing him back to health.
Soon, Grey’s mind cleared enough to focus upon the huge task ahead of him. Although he was impatient to start, he knew that he would have to get fit and healthy before the real work could begin. Dickinson offered to help him. It took months.
First they daubed the exterior walls will the words ‘PLAGUE, KEEP AWAY’. Next, they dug pits and burnt the dead. It was exhausting, stomach-churning work, but they kept at it until every last corpse was just a charred remain. Thankfully, there can’t have been that many people within the walls in the first place, but even so, it was almost six months before Grey decided to remove the warning graffiti and open the gates.
During that time he amassed a small group of some twenty five or so followers. They had each ignored the warnings and entered the Close by cunning or brute force; either because they had already survived the plague, or because they felt it worth the risk. Either way, they were greeted warily by Grey, who interrogated each of them at gunpoint while deciding whether or not to let them remain. They all ended up more-than willing to do Grey’s bidding. How or why? Who knows? Were they brainwashed, bribed or threatened?
These first inhabitants became his core disciples and Grey considered them to have been chosen by God for him, as they had made it into the Close without fear of the Plague.