Chester had, if not a faded, then at least a redundant grandeur left from the days when it had been a major hub for the Romans. The gently settling silt had eased the boats patiently away, and Chester, starved of commerce had become a small provincial city trapped in the shell of its former glories. Its brief return to the world stage was unexpected, and, given the circumstances, unwelcome.

The beginnings of the story provide a fine example of the recently fashionable chaos theory. For it's trigger was a seemingly insignificant event early one Tuesday at the start of July. Our particular butterfly was one Janice Jones, a call centre worker for a local bank, who, every morning would follow the canal through the city centre into work. Her daily routine was interrupted today by an unpleasant surprise. Janice, deep in thought about her forthcoming new kitchen, walked with mindless familiarity along the towpath. Emerging from the first of three small tunnels her foot skidded suddenly under her. It was an unpleasantly familiar feeling. Not uncommon considering the number of dog owners that used the conveniently placed path. Looking down however, Janice let out a scream. Embedded on her shoe were the remains of a particularly large rat, clearly dead. Looking up Janice was unfortunately in time to glimpse another livelier example scurrying into the bushes. Janice was shaken, and felt both faint and nauseous. She made her way nervously back towards the nearest road and, once there sat on a bench by a pub trying to recover. She didn't have any particular phobia of rats as such. Friends had mentioned seeing rats by the canal several times recently and it had not bothered her. Coming that close though had left her with a nasty feeling. She looked up at the cloudless sky and decided to take the day of work. She could get things ready for the new kitchen, and maybe even do a bit of gardening. She reached home and called work, though she decided not to mention the rat. She said she had flu instead, hung up and started packing away the mugs.

Peter Collins sat in the cubicle opposite where Janice normally sat. They were friendly; he knew her husbands interests, her kid's names and would alternate in buying her coffee. Fifty-two, extra sugar, in Janice's case.
She in turn kept half an eye on the football scores so they could exchange ritualised banter about Manchester City's ups and downs. They had shared a taxi back from a Christmas do once, but this was as close as they had come.
They were friendly colleagues rather than colleagues who were friends. This did, to some extent, absolve him from what was otherwise a somewhat callous, though private, feeling of joy he experienced when he heard about Janice's illness. Euro 2000 was at hand, which for Peter meant 2 weeks of uninterrupted pleasure. He liked nothing more than cracking open a few beers with his friends in front of his wide screen TV and watching game after game of football. The only thing standing in his way this year was, unfortunately, work. The student life he'd enjoyed four years previously was seriously effected by the demands of work. His time off, three sick days already that year, two of those days on a Monday, had earned him an informal warning, and he was undecided about pushing his luck for the England game the following afternoon. With Janice's 'illness' his mind was made up. The next day found him arms aloft, beer spilling down his arms as England scored for the first time in the championship, not quite as ill as his call that morning had made out....

And so it started, and, normally, little would have changed. Just two more sick days logged on company records. However, in much the same way as there are millions of butterflies but only a few storms, this story did not peter out in the flap of a wing but little by little continued to grow. The virus spread, fanned by the succession of fine sunny days, the feast of football and the start of the school holidays. It spread not just within the bank but to other businesses in the area. Symptoms multiplied and worsened, headaches became migraines, tummy bugs became diarrhoea, and fever crept in and inspired the collective imagination. Doctor's surgeries became crowded as more and more people lined up to secure their all important sick notes. Every where the refrain was heard - 'well, it's going round at the moment isn't it.' At the start of August the virus claimed its first death.

This dark turn was recorded by one Dr Julian Green, a long standing and respected GP wno had ministered to one of the pleasant areas in the west of the city. His patient, although not an employee of the company that had incubated the disease, was however father to two daughters who were. Both the daughters were currently entering the second week of enforced rest and had been in on consecutive days to receive their necessary sick notes.
Although suffering few outward symptoms the doctor was clearly concerned by the description each girl had given of feverish fits, lack of sleep and relentless headaches. When he had been called out in the early hours to see to their father, his suspicions were already forming. He had arrived too late and had little to offer but comfort to the distraught wife. Ordinarily he would have put the death down to a stroke. He had already advised, no, warned his patient that he must change his diet. This sat uneasily with recent events however and discussions with colleagues did little to ease his mind. Two more deaths followed in close succession, normally little more than a chance event in a city of this size but for Dr Green a clear, and none to pleasant picture was beginning to form. Action was clearly needed.

When Dr. Green had finished his speech to the council a heavy silence ensued. The dangers he had outlined, and the evidence he had given was grim to say the least. His timing could not have been much worse either. In the summer Chester packed the tourists through its medieval rows bringing much needed revenue to the city. It's annual music festival was just starting to make a name for itself, Jools Holland was headlining in less than two weeks. News of suspected contagion would hardly be likely to have people dancing in the aisles. However the council recognised the need for precautions. Sensible steps would have to be taken and, if discretion and efficiency were observed then, with luck any problems would be nipped in the bud. Dr Green was appointed to carry out the medical investigations and a small portion of council funds were allocated to allow small adverts to appear in the local press asking sufferers to come forward.

What was not foreseen was the curiosity of the press. Many years reporting on church socials and small-scale local crime had left local reporters hungry for the big story. This keenness, combined with a certain naiveté on the part of Dr Green combined with front-page results. The town, in festive summery mood, was poorly prepared to receive the news of the killer that stalked in their midst. The bank, whose name had been associated with the outbreak of the disease, was particularly badly effected. Staff, fearing for their safety, simply refused to enter the building until the cause of the disease was established and eradicated. Other companies were not immune however, many shops were forced to reduce opening hours and in some cases close altogether. These led to a general quietening of the high street as people took to communicating by phone rather than risk the congested shopping centres. Local TV companies arrived in town to take up the story and the events were followed with close interest each evening.

News was in short supply though; extensive tests by Dr Green and his team failed to pinpoint the vital cause. Though the deaths slowly mounted the causes each seemed to evade any pattern. The disease seemed to be able to strike at will in he body. The heart, chest, brain were all affected with no distinguishing cause to mark the deaths out of the ordinary. The reams of case notes assembled by the local doctors were equally useless. A mass of effects with no clear cause. Blood samples came back negative, tests on tissue samples the same. As the days wore on, Dr Green worked tirelessly, touring the neighbourhoods, reassuring, calming, ministering to those who, with terror in their hearts, were afflicted with any signs of illness. The worst part for Dr green was the fact that he was unable to take refuge in the usual platitudes of the local GP. For all he knew the runny nose, the slight cough, the rash may been the sign of worse to come. With this knowledge his powers of healing failed. If he could not believe himself then what chance had he of his patient's confidence? As he wrestled with his
burden during those long days and nights he started to fear for his own sanity.

It was clear enough to everyone that this could not stay a local issue for long. Several big businesses had been badly effected, the local hospital was erecting marquees as makeshift wards and the music festival was due to start in a matter of days. Isolated incidents of violence and looting also gave urgency to the situation. Meetings were called, officials were consulted and plans of action were drawn up. The situation was certainly serious, but there were some positive factors. Firstly the death rate had stabilised, and initial projected figures now seemed slightly alarmist. Illness rates which had soared exponentially also seemed to be levelling out, though the numbers not attending work continued to grow and it was hard to know if this was due to sickness or fear. The problem had also stayed remarkably local and one of the first concerns was to ensure that it stayed that way. At the start of August the tanks moved in and for the first time in 300 yrs the city walls were sealed.

Suprisingly, the mood in the city seemed one of relief rather than panic. As the helicopters of the international news crews criss crossed the sky the people trapped beneath adopted an attitude of resignation. Even the alien sight of armed soldiers dressed in chemical suits left residents unfazed. A certain ennui descended, the dark terror that had built up in the climate of uncertainty had broken. Waiting for fate to take its course the citizens of Chester passed the time as best they could.

For some the situation was worse than for others. Tourists trapped far from home and loved ones felt it worst. Their whistle stop tours of Europe cut short by the caprices of nature, the city's quaintness wearing thin as the weeks passed. For others though the catastrophe provided a source of energy. Musicians that had arrived early for the festival started impromptu parties eagerly attended by an increasingly bored youth. The dangers were ignored; even to some degree revelled in. For the more sedate the cathedral now had daily services, and for the first time in many years these were filled to capacity by those that hoped for safety in the power of prayer. Some stayed at home with curtains drawn; others climbed the walls to look out into the normal world for hours on end. All listened for news, and waited for a sign.

In mid August the long hot spell finally broke. Rain came down without stop for two whole days. When it was done it was replaced by a blustery wind that rattled windows and started stripping leaves off trees in a premature autumn. This seemed to be the long awaited sign. As the leaves fell so did the numbers of sick, and as numbers fell so confidence rose. Individual shops started to trade once more and the simple familiarity of the local newsagent once more plying his trade did more to smooth the situation than any number of government announcements. Letters from employers arrived asking for volunteers to start making up skeleton staff to restart the wheels of commerce. With Christmas not so far away and the prospect of double or more pay people started to slowly drift back to work. Although few would have admitted it to themselves the prospect of a return to work was eased somewhat by what had been a long summer of relentless contact with their children. It was certainly hoped by many that schools would follow the example of business and also see fit to reopen in the coming weeks. The streets started to fill once more with the bustle of people, though for once the impersonal pastime of shopping was given the feeling of a collective triumph.

One morning the city awoke to an unnatural quiet, looking upwards they saw that the ever present helicopters that had filmed their every move had all left. That, more than anything else, told the people that the crisis was over. Dr Green looked at the figures with relief and joy. As stealthily as the disease had crept in, so it departed leaving the experts none the wiser. He contacted the government offices for the final time. That afternoon the soldiers followed the helicopters and the town gates were opened once more. The older inhabitants recalled the war years, and contemplated the similarity between people's celebration of liberty, one welcoming an arriving army, and one celebrating an army's departure. The afterglow lasted for many weeks in the city as strangers talked of their experiences united by their common survival. It did not take long for the air of normality to return and as people walked by the street entertainers that had taken the place of the departing soldiers it was hard to believe that the whole affair had not been some strange mid-summer dream. People opened their papers, read about the forthcoming church events, and shook their heads in wonder.

For his bravery and service to the community Dr Green was named on that year's honours list. He frequently sat thinking of his meeting with the queen, and of the extraordinary events that had led him there. He had given up his practise soon in the winter of that year; exhausted by the strain he had put himself under. The press had called him a hero, yet he knew, deep down, that he deserved no such accolade. The control lay not with man but with nature. Many were the nights he awoke from nightmarish dreams of the return of the mysterious disease. It would repeat, he knew. One day it would all repeat.

Our story ends with Janice, once more walking to work along the canal. She harboured no such fears of the disease and thought only of her beautiful new kitchen.

To "The Time of the Naguals"

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