Within seconds the Sabbat Fire blazed skywards, borne aloft by a roar of triumph from hundreds of throats. Moira hugged Daniel happily, and Diana, squealing anew, drummed her heels on his chest. That "fire, Moira rejoiced, would be seen for miles, like it was in the old days, marking, honouring, reinforcing the cycle of the year… This was really something to be part of, this reborn brotherhood; no grovelling self-abasement, no exploited hysteria – just this proud communal delight, this willing communion with the rhythms of nature, this joy before the Goddess.
She realized suddenly that she had drifted off into formless-thought, into an involuntary firelit meditation, when she felt Daniel turning beside her. She pulled herself together, smiling; minutes must have passed. The solar High Priest was already in position behind the Great Altar, silhouetted and almost dwarfed against the white statue of the Goddess. The Sabbat Queen, sword in hand, was already on her way round the perimeter, casting the Great Circle, while the covens turned with her, each in its own little Circle. This took time, for the Great Circle was a good half-kilometre round but no one was impatient; everyone was mentally backing Joy, willing the 'meeting-place of love and joy and truth' into being.
Down the slanting road, perhaps a kilometre away, a motor-cycle revved up briefly. Moira felt and shared the flicker of annoyance around her; then silence fell again and the interruption was forgotten.
Now the Sabbat Queen was once more before the Altar, facing the High Priest across it. Her voice rang out in the night: 'Great One of Heaven, Power of the Sun, we invoke thee in thine ancient names – Michael, Balin, Arthur, Lugh, Herne; come again as of old into this thy land. Lift up thy shining spear of light to protect us. Put to flight the powers of darkness. Give us fair woodlands and green fields, blossoming orchards and ripening corn. Bring us to stand upon thy hill of vision, and show us the lovely realms of the Gods.'
She swept her hand towards him in the invoking Pentagram and he walked forward round the Altar to join her. The Maiden bowed before them and handed the High Priest a gilded lance. Together, the Four moved towards the central fire, halting before it at the big iron Cauldron which swung, full of water, from a flower-wreathed tripod. The High Priest held up the glittering lance, point downwards, and lowered it into the Cauldron, calling out in a voice resonant with authority: 'The Spear to the Cauldron, the Lance to the Grail, Spirit to Flesh, Man to Woman, Sun to Earth!'
The silence was absolute as he laid the lance on the ground beside the Cauldron. The Sabbat Queen, smiling, spread her arms wide and high, summoning the covens: 'Dance ye about the Cauldron of Cerridwen, the Goddess, and be ye blessed with the touch of this consecrated water; even as the Sun, the Lord of Life, ariseth in his strength in the sign of the Waters of Life.'
It was the signal; before her voice had ceased, the tide was moving inwards, hundreds of firelit bodies, laughing and calling to each other, weaving between the Circles like shore-foam around rocks, inwards, inwards to the central blaze, linking hands as they reached it, man to woman, woman to man; already the Ring Dance wheeled clockwise round the Midsummer Fire, High Priest, Maiden, and Maiden's Priest leading, till the inward tide ceased flowing and all were in the circling ring, and the head joined the tail, the High Priest catching the last woman's hand to close it. By the Cauldron the Sabbat Queen still stood, sprinkling water on the passing dancers with an aspergill of heather twigs. She had shed her robe and was one of them now, skyclad and laughing like the rest.
Only a scattering of old people and baby-minders were left in the honeycomb of coven Circles, gazing inwards at the dancers, identifying with them. Moira and Daniel squatted with Diana between them, their backs warmed by their own little fire which Dan had just replenished.
'Are you sure you don't want to join them, darling?' Moira asked him. 'I'll stay with Diana. We'll be all right.'
Dan said simply: 'Not without you,' in a voice that left no room for discussion. Moira nodded, glowing with love for him. Not alone. Never alone…
‘Who are those people, Daddy?' ‘What people, love?'
'Over there.' The child pointed behind them, at the edge of the plateau and they turned to look.
'My God!' Dan said. 'Bloody cheek!'
There were perhaps thirty of them, in ordinary clothes, just outside the Great Circle, busy unfurling a banner between two poles; they must have crept up the western slope unnoticed while all eyes were turned inwards. As Dan and Moira watched the banner spread to its full length.
GODDESS WORSHIP IS SATAN WORSHIP
Moira clenched her fists in a moment of blind fury, then unclenched them, deliberately taking a deep breath before she spoke. 'Don't worry, Dan. The cops will move them. They don't like this kind of trouble.'
'Have you noticed something?' Dan said. 'There aren't any cops.'
Moira frowned, puzzled. She hadn't noticed it but it was true. The handful of police outside the Great Circle, amiable or bored, exchanging the odd joke or accepting the odd chicken-leg during the feast if the Sergeant wasn't looking, had become such an accepted part of the Festival scene that she simply hadn't thought about them; yet tonight, she realized, the only uniforms in sight were the usual St John's men and women around their ambulance, fifty metres along the ridge.
'But why?' Moira wondered.
'Perhaps they've decided it's not worth it. After all, they never have anything to do… Jesus! They're coming in!'
The demonstrators, banner aloft, had marched into the Great Circle, trampling straight through the little Circles towards the Cauldron, chanting in unison: 'Goddess worship is Satan worship! Goddess worship is Satan worship! Goddess worship is Satan worship!'
Some of the older people not in the Dance were running forward, trying to stop them. But the demonstrators were young, clothed and booted, and swept the elderly skyclad bodies easily aside. The younger baby-minding fathers, like Dan, hesitated, torn between repelling the intruders and standing guard over their children. Moira grabbed at Dan's arm, restraining him; he shrugged helplessly and acquiesced.
But now the dancers'had heard the chanting and had turned, incredulous anger in their faces. The demonstrators did not pause; they headed straight for the Sabbat Queen, who was clearly their target.
The chanting changed. 'Witch whore! Witch whore! Witch whore!'
That final blasphemy broke the Ring. The dancers swept down on the invaders, boots or no boots. The banner swayed and fell in a mass of clothed and unclothed bodies.
Diana was sobbing now. Moira hugged her fiercely, cried out: 'Dan! Look! The Altar!'
As she pointed, the white statue of the Goddess tottered and fell. More intruders, unnoticed till now, were tearing the fragile polystyrene into great lumps, scattering them about the smashed Altar.
Moira screamed.
It was then that the unbelievable happened. The ground beneath them, the whole of Bell Beacon, moved, throwing attackers and defenders alike off their feet. It only lasted for a few seconds, but in those seconds the hill groaned like a giant in pain. Then it was still.
There was a moment, after the turmoil, of silence, the silence of utter shock.
One of the demonstrators, a wild-eyed woman, was the first on her feet. 'It's the wrath of God!' she yelled. 'The wrath of God, smiting the witches1'
Naked bodies sprang up to drag her down and the fight was on again; then, above the screaming and the shouting and the tears came the sound of the motor-cycles roaring up the long slanting road.
Moira and Dan stood stunned, no longer able to take it all in. Even Diana, clutched between them, was soundless and trembling.