‘So are you all just going to sit and wash your hands of the whole affair?’ I asked.
‘What more can we do?’ answered Simon with a shrug. ‘We’ve tried, but no one listens to us any more.’
For the rest of the day a sort of hiatus descended on the encampment. None of those who remained were inclined to do any work, and instead they passed the time gathered together in small groups, kicking their heels and chatting. I spent a while ambling around the clay beds, repositioning planks and so forth, but soon I, too, lost momentum.
The buckets on the hoist swung empty and unused as Steve and the others continued their conversation around the table. From a distance I noticed Alison Hopewell emerge from beneath the tarpaulins and approach them. She had a rather agitated manner, I thought, and was pacing around the table gesticulating with her hands. Something had clearly upset her, so I began walking over to see what was wrong, but suddenly she went marching away along one of the footpaths. I followed for a few hundred yards, unable to catch up, and finally decided that she most likely wanted to be left alone. For this reason I turned back.
At some point in the afternoon it occurred to me that Michael would most probably have left too early to be aware of the further decrease in numbers. I knew that his presence alone could reverse the situation, and with this in mind I set off to find him and Mary Petrie. I met them a little later, strolling side by side in the direction of the camp, but obviously in no hurry to arrive there. When they saw me coming they quickened their pace.
‘What is it?’ asked Michael.
‘Well I think you should get back as soon as you can,’ I replied. ‘There’s hardly anyone left.’
This was borne out when we drew near and saw the tarpaulins flapping unattended in the early evening breeze. The tables were deserted, as were the nearby walkways. It appeared that even Simon, Steve and Philip had gone, and when we glanced towards the ladders we saw the last of the defectors receding over the top. Michael halted and stood gazing round at the work he’d begun, but which now seemed doomed to failure. The whole place lay silent and desolate beneath the canyon walls that were to have sheltered his people. Even the clay beds, opened so very recently, were fast becoming cracked and dry. The prospects for building a great new city looked slim indeed.
All of a sudden Michael turned to us and clapped his hands together. ‘Very well!’ he declared. ‘If they won’t come to me, I’ll just have to go to them!’
Next instant he was striding across the canyon floor towards the ascent route, with Mary Petrie following close behind. She’d said little since returning, and instead spent most of the time listening intently to what Michael had to say. In her eyes was a look I’d never seen before. I, too, felt a desire to accompany Michael, not least because without him I couldn’t face the ladders. He was already halfway up the first one when I arrived at the bottom, so I seized the rungs and climbed blindly after him. There were no reassuring words to help me on this journey, as there had been coming down, so I had little choice but to do exactly as he did, putting my hands and feet where he put his, and resting when he rested. Mary Petrie did likewise, and the three of us climbed steadily up the ladders and ramps before finally emerging onto the plain. At once I felt on my face the harsh wind that until a few weeks ago had been so familiar, but which I’d gradually forgotten in the benign climate below. As my companions went ahead, I paused a while and took a last look into the canyon, certain now that I would not be going back. Then I turned and set off in pursuit of the others.
I wasn’t sure whether Michael intended to go direct to the tin city, or call first at his own house, which as I said before was set some distance apart. Perhaps, I thought, he would go there to rest and prepare himself, or maybe rehearse a speech, prior to approaching his absent followers. If so I’d get the chance to see at first hand the finest tin house of them alclass="underline" the one chosen by the man himself. This was something I’d wanted to do ever since I’d first laid eyes on the place, but as it turned out I never even got near to it. While I’d been walking I had gradually become aware of much activity outside the city walls, and by the time I caught up with Michael it was apparent that a vast throng had gathered there.
‘Looks like they’re having some kind of meeting,’ I said. ‘What do you think that’s about?’
‘Well, we’ll soon know,’ he replied. They’ve seen us coming.’
Even as he spoke we heard a shout, and next moment some members of the crowd began to surge towards us. Others, however, continued milling around where they were, and seemed to waver before eventually following the general flow. The result was a ragged procession of people coming towards us, a procession whose purpose appeared far from certain.
‘Be careful, won’t you?’ urged Mary Petrie, as Michael went forward to meet the vanguard.
‘It’ll be alright,’ he said. ‘They just need a few words of guidance, that’s all.’
I wasn’t so sure. From where I stood this leading mob looked to be getting enough guidance already. At its forefront strode Patrick Pybus, with Jane, Sarah and their band of associates all close at hand, talking in loud voices and offering raucous encouragement to one another. Ignoring the hesitancy of those further back, they forged quickly ahead as if having taken matters into their own hands. This was confirmed when Patrick marched up and presented himself as spokesman, clasping Michael in a brotherly embrace and making a great show of welcoming him.
Then he said, ‘We’re glad you’re here because we’ve just arrived at an important decision. All it needs is your approval.’
‘I see,’ replied Michael. ‘Well then. Tell me what it is you’ve decided.’
‘We think we should have the freedom to choose between tin or clay.’
Patrick made his announcement in a steady tone which was neither demand nor request. Instead, he talked as though he was stating a fact, uncompromising and simple, the sanctioning of which would be a mere formality. He seemed quite pleased, nonetheless, when Michael said, ‘Yes, of course you’re free to choose.’
‘You’ve no objection then?’ asked Patrick. ‘If we stick to tin?’
‘None at all,’ came the reply. ‘If you wish to stay here on this plain it’s entirely up to you.’
Patrick’s face fell. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘You misunderstand me. We want to move into the canyon.’
‘But that’s not possible,’ said Michael.
‘Why?’
‘Because I won’t allow it.’
During this brief conversation numerous other people had come along and begun gradually to surround us, while still more were closing in from behind. Judging by their expressions they didn’t all share the opinion of Patrick and his accomplices. Some clearly disagreed: others remained undecided. Soon these various factions were joined by the many who had caught nothing of what was being said, and who were now straining hard to listen, jostling one another for a better place. On their faces were looks of sheer bewilderment. They crowded together in a huge seething mass, confused and fearful of the momentous choice that awaited them.
‘You won’t allow it?’ somebody asked in a mocking tone. ‘You won’t allow tin houses?’
It was the voice of Jane Day, and when I glanced in her direction I knew at once that she was enjoying every second of this encounter. She stood in the thick of the mob, sneering with glee as she awaited Michael’s response. For my part, I was alarmed by his high-handed manner. Over the past weeks I’d been most impressed with the subtle way in which he’d dealt with his followers, always allowing room for dissent and never speaking down to them. Now I realized that even Michael had his limitations. These circumstances clearly demanded the utmost diplomacy, yet suddenly he appeared to be digging his heels in. It was almost as if he was deliberately placing himself in a predicament, and Jane Day was quick to recognize the fact. ‘Come on!’ she demanded. ‘Give us an answer!’ ‘You already know the answer,’ replied Michael. ‘You cannot come into my canyon unless you build from clay.’