Their insistence, voiced round the camp fire one evening while they were discussing the next day's work, brought into the open for the first time the question of leadership -and surprisingly, it was Eileen who put it into words. Dan was sticking out for an equal sharing of the shopping sorties when Eileen entered the argument.
'I think Greg's right,' she said, 'for another reason, too. An army doesn't put its generals at risk, if it's got any sense.'
'What do you mean?' Dan asked, a little startled.
'Well, let's face it – we've organized ourselves more or less spontaneously so far. But Dan and Moira have been the real leaders.'
Dan and Moira both protested but Eileen went on: 'You have, you know. Greg's the clever one with material things, making things work, knowing where to dig and that. Sally and Angie talk common sense at us when the rest of us get things out of proportion. Rosemary's a genius at turning a field and a pile of luggage into a home and making it feel like one. Me, all right, I'm camp MO. But whether we're witches or not, Moira's our High Priestess and whatever power it is that makes a priestess, she's got it and we need it. And Dan – he's sort of captain of the ship. He sees what to do while the rest of us are still wondering. And I think he's right oftener than the rest of us – and in an emergency he'd be right quicker… We're a sort of family already, not a dictatorship. But there are going to be emergencies and I think we should agree, now, who to look to when somebody's got to take charge… We can always talk things out round the fire and tell him if we think he's wrong afterwards. But I Vote we elect Dan our Captain and Moira our Priestess. And because- we need them, we don't let them risk their necks more than they have to.'
It was a very long speech for Eileen and Moira had the feeling she had been preparing it in her mind for days. When she stopped, everyone started speaking at once, and all in her support. Before they knew where they were, Dan and Moira were elected.
They both expressed their thanks, with more embarassment than they usually experienced. It was not till some minutes afterwards that Moira realized that Peter, unobtrusively companionable on the fringe as he so often was these evenings, had not opened his mouth.
'What do you think, Peter?' she asked.
'Me? Well, it's not my business, really; it's for you to settle. But Eileen's right, of course.'
Somehow, his quiet but unequivocal endorsement meant a lot to Moira. It meant a lot to Eileen, too, she knew; it had not escaped her notice that Eileen was always following Peter with her eyes and averting them quickly when he looked her way.
Eileen had made one other precise contribution to the group, in the first twenty-four hours. She had told them about the Dust and the vinegar masks, and taken daily care to see that gauze and vinegar were on hand and that everyone knew where they were; and she had included Peter in her insistence, as soon as they got to know him. Typically, Greg had introduced technical improvements; on his first shopping sortie he had bought a dozen cheap rubber hot water-bottles and a supply of cotton wool, and had designed simple but efficient vinegar masks from them, tailor-cut to fit each face snugly – including a little one for Diana. They were held on by straps and left both hands free.
Among the routine drills which Dan instituted was a roster for listening to every radio news bulletin – and (once Greg had rigged an aerial to get at least some sort of reception in this mountain-ringed valley) the TV bulletins on Angie's little set as well. The news they found almost unrelievingly depressing. Anti-witch riots were reported from somewhere almost every day and although the figures were always vague, it was obvious that more witches were being arrested than rioters – and many others were being arrested on charges of 'practising', several of them people known personally to Moira and Dan. The Crusaders were as active as ever, though no successor to Ben Stoddart had been publicly named; Quentin White remained their public spokesman and was on radio and television two or three times a week.
Of the possibility of further earth tremors there was no mention at all; nor – to Eileen's growing concern – of the Dust or the vinegar masks. As the days went by, the lunatics of Banwell began to haunt her dreams again, more and more. The absence of any announcement became an obsession with her and she tended to hover round the radio at news-time whether it was her duty-turn or not.
'Why aren't they telling people?' she cried at the camp-fire meeting one night. 'Does it mean the earthquake danger's past? Or does it mean they know just when it's going to happen and they're going to give instructions a day or two beforehand to cut down the panic?'
'I wish I could believe either of those things,' Dan told her. 'But I can't. I think they're gambling on time – and they don't want to divert people's attention from the witchhunt.'
'Oh, God. If you'd seen those people at the Unit… If they keep putting it off, it could be too late – there might be millions like that!'
'I know, love. But there's nothing you can do, is there?'
'There is something,' Peter said suddenly. 'Not much, I know – but it'd make me feel better, and Eileen too, I think. I could take her down to New Dyfnant and she could tell the people there.'
The suggestion was so unexpected that nobody spoke for a moment. Peter went on: 'I know what you're thinking you're trying not to draw attention to yourselves. But I'd better tell you, there are rumours in the village that there's a group of witches up here in the Forest.'
'Peeping Toms?' Greg asked, worried.
'Could be – I haven't been able to pin it down. When I heard the rumour first, I said thcre'd been a bunch of campers but that they were behaving themselves and doing no harm. It didn't stop the rumours… Don't worry, they're not the rioting kind. Good solid chapel-goers, every one of them. But if there were another earthquake and the country went really hysterical about the witches being responsible – well, I wouldn't swear it couldn't infect them too… But say you'd given them a warning about the Dust beforehand and later on an official announcement proved you were right and had been trying to help them -they couldn't help thinking of you as friends, could they?'
'It's the hell of a risk,' Dan said. 'I see your point – but supposing someone reported that Eileen had told them? We'd have high-level fuzz on us like a ton of bricks.'
Peter shook his head. 'I know these people – you don't. And they know me. If I got them to promise not to reveal the source, they wouldn't. Welsh mountain villages can be very secretive, if they want to. Especially if they think it's to their advantage… Hell, I like them, they're my friends and I want them protected – I'll admit that. But I think I can look at them dispassionately, as well.'
Dan hesitated. 'It's up to Eileen, whether she thinks it's too much of a risk.'
'Oh no, it isn't just up to me,' Eileen said. 'We'll all have to agree what to do, one way or the other. If we all say yes, I'll go.'
The four men and one woman gathered in the Manse parlour looked very Welsh and rather formidable to Eileen.
She knew Peter had selected them as the key figures of New Dyfnant and she trusted his judgement; but she could not help reacting apprehensively when she saw that one of diem was a uniformed constable. However, he was the only one who smiled at her when they were introduced which eased her apprehension a little.
As was almost inevitable in any group of Welsh villagers, two of them had the same name. One, the village council chairman and publican, she found was known as Dai Morgan Forest Inn; the other was the constable, Dai Morgan Police. The Methodist minister was present, the Rev. John Phillips; the village GP, Dr Hugh Owen, seventy if he was a day, but keen-eyed; and a wiry little woman in her forties, Bronwen Jones, who owned the village shop and had already (Eileen discovered later) outlived two husbands. (The second, so the local joke ran, had 'died in childbirth' from the shock of fathering Bronwen's only son.)