Fay smiled across at him, reassuringly, during the applause.
The King stood up with a little bow of acknowledgement to Norman and the applause cut off quickly.
'Thank you very much, Mr Godwin – ladies and gentlemen… Mr Godwin needn't worry; I haven't the faintest idea of the protocol for such a situation, either. I don't think it's arisen before. But believe me, for anyone as hungry – and I will admit it, frightened – as I and my family were this morning, this has been a very royal welcome… I won't speak for long, for a very practical reason; I'm probably the only helicopter pilot present (it has become an hereditary skill of our family, fortunately) and it occurs to me that the sooner we get that machine under cover and out of sight, the safer we all are from any reconnaissance sorties that may be out searching for me and my family, as they probably will be soon enough. Beehive has several concealed helicopter bases which is how we managed to escape – and that should tell you a good deal about the situation in which we found ourselves… In brief, as Sovereign, I can no longer regard the Beehive administration as being the legitimate authority of this country and therefore – if the Crown has any function left at all – I have a duty not to appear to be its formal head. For that reason, I got out. Fortunately I was able to bring my immediate family with me. Any man would want to do that, of course, but I had an additional reason; if Beehive should claim that I have abdicated or died and should try to impose as my successor some relative of mine who is still in its power, it would have to compel some unfortunate cousin. And since my son and my elder daughter are both of age – and, as you can see, in good physical and mental health – such a manoeuvre would be rather unconvincing… Mr Godwin has asked what my plans are. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I do not know yet. I hope the time will come when I shall know. Meanwhile, if you will have us -and if you feel our presence docs not add to your own dangers – we would very much like to stay with you…'
The rest of his sentence was drowned in an outbreak of applause. When it had died down, he went on: 'Thank you for that; we appreciate it very much. This is, after all, our home, or one of them – I don't mean that in the sense of economic or constitutional ownership which has become pretty irrelevant these days, but in the sense that we love it. And our more intimate knowledge of the place might even be useful in your admirable work to conserve it… Ithink it will be best if we neither regard ourselves as your guests nor think of you as ours, but instead regard all of us as one working community… One day, perhaps, what is left of our country will find once more a useful function for a Sovereign or perhaps not. I can't foresee the answer to that question. If it does, I will hold myself ready to fulfil that function. If not – and in the meantime in any case -my family and I will do our best to make our own contribution, as individuals, to the survival and rebirth of our tragically tiny nation. One thing I will not do, ladies and gentlemen – I will not be paraded as the figurehead of a corrupt and dictatorial clique, cowering underground in comparative safety until it feels ready to emerge and take control, by force, of those who have done the real work of surviving.' He paused and then suddenly turned and smiled. 'And now perhaps, Mr Godwin – will you and some of your friends help me to hide that chopper?'
Two or three hours later, the King and Norman were walking round the Castle precincts, the King answering the shy greetings of the people they passed. They found themselves at the entrance to St George's Chapel and the King went in, Norman following him. They stood for a moment looking along the nave and up at the delicate tracery of the fan-vaulted roof.
'You're witches,' the King said at last. 'You know what they say about the Order of the Garter?' 'Yes, sir.'
'I've often wondered if it's true – that Edward III was really a supporter of the Old Religion?'
'There seems to be quite a case for thinking so…'
‘I know, I've read Margaret Murray too.' He chuckled. 'I was totting up, a week or two back, sitting angry and frustrated in Beehive – apart from my own family, there are just two Garter Knights still alive so far as we know and one of them is senile.… Perhaps if I do ever get my job back, I'll recruit some rather more interesting new blood into it. After all, since Disestablishment stopped me being Head of the Church, I can be far more elastic in matters of religion. If anything, I have an obligation to be ecumenical… Wasn't there a controversy in your Craft, oh, about forty years ago, over whether there was such a thing as a King of the Witches?'
'Quite a heated one.'
'Wouldn't it be ironical if people started calling me that?'
24
'What are we going to do with Bill Lazenby?' John asked, after he and Karen had been riding for some minutes in silence.
'He tried to desert, John. That can't be forgiven.'
'Of course not. He's got to be punished, as an example. But he can't be re-absorbed afterwards. He'd be unwilling and resentful and a weak link… Oh, I know resentment can be harnessed and channelled, as a source of power -but not continuously in an operation like ours. We'd have to waste too much attention on him.'
'Of course.'
'And we can't just banish him because then he would escape. Join a white group somewhere – and we can't have that because he knows too much.'
'A great deal too much.'
'So we have to punish him and afterwards… Karen, there can't be an afterwards for him.' 'In other words, he's got to be executed.' John sighed. 'Yes.'
'I'm glad you recognize it, darling… Come on, race you!'
She spurred her horse and was away but John was soon beside her, for riding was one acomplishment in which he equalled and even excelled her, and in his more analytical moods he sometimes wondered if she gave him opportunities to prove it as a calculated sop to his self-respect. She was his superior in magical power, in ruthlessness and in charisma – he had long accepted that – but she still needed him so she took care to nourish his pride.
He was still captivated by her, more so than ever (Joy was a ghost from the golden past, too painful to dwell on), but he could look at her reasonably objectively. Could admire, at this moment, as she galloped with streaming hair towards Stonehenge, the brazen effectiveness of her barbarian-chieftainess image which indeed he had helped her to create, for he had a good eye for theatrical effect. Always side-saddle and black-booted, from the waist down she was fashion-plate Edwardian, but she had topped it with a startlingly flamboyant, close-fitting blouse of scarlet brocade, covered in bad weather by a scarlet cloak. A sheath-knife hung from a silver belt. For ten or fifteen kilometres around, this extraordinary figure, with its long black hair unbound in-fair weather or foul, had become the symbol of the awe in which the Angels of Lucifer were held. Once she had become known, she had only to make an appearance and people hurried to do as they were told.
At Beltane, the Angels of Lucifer had lit a huge bonfire, on high ground near their village, which was visible through the night from border to border of their territory; their subjects within those borders had looked towards it uneasily, and drawn their curtains. May Day itself had dawned fine and warm and Karen had astonished them with an action which, in some way that none of them could explain, increased their superstitious fear of her still further. She had ridden the bounds of her realm, erect and regal, with John beside her and an escort behind. Skirt, boots, belted knife, and side-saddle were as always, but from the waist upwards she was naked except for a large silver inverted pentagram that flashed between her breasts. Her nipples were painted as scarlet as her lips. The total effect, which other women might have made absurd, she made terrifying.
Since Beltane, rain or shine (she seemed impervious to either) she had always ridden abroad like that. She was an intensified symbol of the Angel's power and men quailed before it. But she insisted on being its unique focus. When Jenny, the ex-Banwell nurse, riding with her one morning, had presumed to strip off her own shirt in imitation of her leader, Karen had merely looked at her in commanding silence. Jenny had flushed and replaced her shirt. Since then, no one had dared.