Her scream of rage when the tribe had burst through the perimeter fence still haunted him. But there was no battle.
It was a standoff.
For hours the tribe had held the field. They lounged in patient groups, occupied the trailer, gave balloons to the press and the three bemused policemen who talked to them gravely. To remove them would have meant force, and evidently that was going to be a last resort.
When the TV cameras came back—more than this morning, Rob saw—the whole thing developed into an interview frenzy, with heated arguments and backings-down and denials.
“Of course,” the man called Warrington repeated endlessly to a heckling reporter, “the henge is our first priority. Rumors of the use of a chain saw are totally exaggerated. At most a sliver would be removed....”
Howls of protest drowned him from the tribe. And they weren’t alone. As Rosa had said, people were arriving all the time. There were cars and bikes backed up for miles down the lane. Local Women’s Institute types turned up with garden chairs and sandwiches. Men who looked like archaeologists and birdwatchers and stalwarts of local history societies were everywhere. Somewhere a radio was playing “The Ride of the Valkyries.” Someone said a coven from Swindon was on the way.
“Protest!” Dan muttered. “It’s more like a garden fête.”
Rob nodded absently. Clare was beckoning him.
He went over, stepping between a line of sprawled Hell’s Angels lying across the trampled grass.
“You brought them here, didn’t you?” she said quietly.
He licked dry lips. The quietness of her anger was scary. But he was angry too.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He couldn’t bring himself to explain about Chloe. So he said, “It isn’t right, to take a chain saw to it.”
She nodded, controlled, her cold blue eyes surveying the chaos her site had become. “So we leave it, do we? We live in ignorance. We never know how old it is or who built it or why. We let it rot in the wind and the rain.”
“It’s survived this long. You brought it into the open.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t have?”
He couldn’t say he did. He couldn’t say anything.
Suddenly she stabbed a furious finger at the crowd. “Look at them! Living in dreams, in crazy dreams of druids and UFOs and ley lines. Imagining magic in stones, inventing hopeless lunatic theories of star sitings and earth goddesses. These are the people who condemn scientific progress and go home and switch on their computers and e-mail other nutcases just like them. They hate animal experiments, but give them cancer and they’d be screaming for a cure like the rest of us. Hypocrites, all of them! Knowledge is all that keeps us human, and knowledge costs. That’s why we walked out of Eden.”
“But the Garden of Eden is a myth.” Vetch was leaning behind her, one arm on the metal fence. “And we were expelled.”
She turned instantly, drawing breath. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then she said, “I knew you were behind this.”
He smiled sadly. “You’ve changed, Clare.”
“But you’re the same.” She shook her head. “Still thinking you’re immortal.”
Vetch looked unhappy. “Don’t blame Rob,” he said. “There are things at stake here for him you don’t know about. And speaking of knowledge, yes, you’re right, it costs. It cost us Eden and will cost you the henge, but not the knowledge you mean, of facts and dates. These people you despise want a different knowledge, one that comes from the heart. You remember it. It speaks in myths and stories and dreams. It makes us human.”
She snorted. “If the henge isn’t removed it will rot here. That’s a fact.”
“Then it must rot.” Vetch looked over at some men in suits climbing the gate. “Death is a part of life. It comes to everything.”
“Even you?”
He nodded gravely. “Even me. Fear makes you want to preserve the henge. Fear of losing it. Of seeing it weather down, season by season. Seeing the lichen and the beetles eat it away. But take it out and what have you got? A pile of wood in a tank in some museum. It’s unnatural to preserve life at any cost.”
“Life!” She laughed. “You talk as if it was alive.”
“It is. It’s just been sleeping.”
They looked at each other. Then she said quietly, “You have changed, Vetch. You look ill.”
He laughed, linking his hands so that the three harsh burns were visible. “I’m dying, Goddess,” he said simply.
Dark movement slithered around the henge timbers. Rob turned, gasped.
Clare opened her mouth to screech, until Vetch clamped a hand over it.
The snake was long and green. It flowed out from the timbers of the henge, over the forked entrance, tongue flickering, heading straight for the gap in the metal fence. Rob said, “Is it from—”
“Yes.” Vetch glanced behind. “Don’t let it get out into the field.” Quietly, keeping his voice calm, he said, “Close the gate.”
Rob pulled it to. One of the tribe gave a yell, but Rob waved, and when they saw Vetch was there, the men lay down again, snapping open a new beer can.
Against the inside of the fence the snake turned. Its cool scales rippled against the metal; the sound was a fine slithering, a rattle. It moved astonishingly quickly, so that Clare jumped back and Rob felt sweat break out on his spine.
The snake encircled the henge.
Its length amazed them, its thickness.
It took its own tail into its mouth and lay still, one eye unslitted, watching them.
Clare swallowed. She seemed to have no words left, but Vetch murmured, “In Eden too there was a snake—”
“It’s not real.”
“Touch it. I’m sure you’ll find it is.”
She bent down, then, hesitant, her fingers went out. Rob stared. She had nerve, he thought. Her fingers reached the snake, and felt its scales. It didn’t move. When she drew back, she stood upright and faced Vetch.
He stepped toward her, close, holding her arms. “Goddess—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Clare, then. You know as well as I do where it came from. From the center of the henge, from the tree I have to climb down. From the world you used to believe in, and maybe still do. The world where part of you, the immortal part, is waiting for me.”
She shrugged him off angrily, a strand of hair unwinding from her plait. “Leave me alone, Vetch. You’ve done enough damage.” She marched out and closed the gate behind her.
Dan ran up. “Look out.”
The police were coming over, and Rosa was with them.
“Police. We’re here to arbitrate,” the first man said. “All parties need to get together and talk.” He glanced at Vetch, but Vetch just smiled calmly back at him.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Rosa snapped. “They use a chain saw on this over our dead bodies.”
“I’m sure a full and frank discussion will clear the air. Perhaps in the trailer?”
Rosa took a breath to retort and caught Vetch’s eye. Slowly, she nodded. “All right. I’ll arrange for representatives of all the groups here. But you guard the henge. Nothing is done to it until there’s an agreement. Right?”
The police officer nodded. Then he looked again at Vetch. “You lead these people, I gather?”
The poet shook his head, amused. He scratched his cheek with frail fingers. “I’m a stranger here. I think you’ve been misinformed.”
“I disagree.” Giving Rob a sharp glance, the officer jerked his head at the fence. “Can I see this mysterious henge? It would be helpful to know what all the fuss is about.”
Vetch smiled at Clare. She looked horrified, but before she could open her mouth to say no, he had pushed the gate wide.
The policeman stepped in and looked at the timbers. “Fantastic,” he muttered.
Rob gazed past him, astonished. There was no snake.