He thought he had made his preparations quietly, and so he had, but he reckoned without one thing. It suddenly occurred to him that he would need a torch. He had not brought one with him, but he remembered that Margaret possessed one. He stole into the sitting-room and opened the door which communicated with his sister’s room. He had no idea where she kept the torch and he did not want to wake her by putting on the electric light, so he groped his way to the dressing-table and felt for the handles of the top drawer. A loud gasp and a cry of, ‘Who’s that?’ interrupted his manoeuvres.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Where’s your torch?’
Margaret switched on the bedhead light.
‘What do you want it for?’ she asked.
‘I’m going out.’
‘Let me come with you.’
‘Better not. Two of us might be rumbled.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the cave, of course. Where’s the torch?’
‘Top drawer, right-hand side. Seb, I don’t want to be left alone in the chalet.’
‘Oh, rot! You’ll be all right. Lock your outside door.’
‘I always do.’
‘Well, I’ll lock mine and take my key with me.’
‘There are still the windows. Somebody might force them open.’
‘Look here, what is all this?’
‘Oh, Seb, I’m sure Aunt Eliza was murdered, and I’m scared.’
‘We don’t know yet what happened to her. I expect we’ll get a ’phone call from The Tutor as soon as the inquest is over.’
‘Please, Seb!’
‘Well, what?’
‘Don’t leave me here alone.’
‘Oh, hell! What’s biting you? Look, I must go now, or they’ll arrive before I’m in position.’
‘If you go, I’ll follow you. I swear I will.’
‘All right, then, shove some clothes on, but you’ll queer my pitch, you know.’
‘Will you really lock your door if I stay behind?’
‘Of course. I should have done so in any case.’
‘Well, all right, then. I don’t want to spoil your fun. Don’t be too long, though, will you?’
Sebastian, having found the torch, made a reassuring promise, went back to his room with a feeling of relief and let himself out, locking the door behind him and trousering the key. He had been out by moonlight before, but never in the direction of the quarries. It was astonishing, he always found, how different everything seemed by night, especially as he did not want to use the torch until he was at the entrance to the cave passage.
The descent into the quarry was tricky, for the moonlight made treacherous shadows, but he reached his objective without disaster, stood in the passage opening for a moment to listen, heard nothing except the muted booming of the sea, switched on the torch and made his way downwards towards the cave.
At the top of the ladder he halted and listened again, but it was plain that the cave was untenanted, so he shut off the torch, pocketed it and groped his way from rung to rung until both his feet were on the floor of the cave. Then he switched the torch on again, found the outcrop of rocky wall about three-quarters of the way towards the sea, settled himself in hiding, and wondered how long he would have to wait for the witches to appear. He also wondered whether they would appear at all.
chapter twelve
Ordeal by Water
‘Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done;
The Day will come too soon.’
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
« ^ »
He had timed his arrival pretty well, for he had only just begun to realise that it was very cold in the cave when, above the booming of the sea as it met the edge of the rocky shelf outside, he caught the sound of voices. He peered round the granite wall of his hiding-place, but at first he could see nothing. Then somebody lit a storm lantern and, the participants having entered the cave, the preparations began. The trestle table was set up and covered with the snowy cloth upon whose pristine laundering Margaret had commented.
Ten or more people had climbed down into the cave, but the majority of them remained in shadow while two or three seemed to be making all the preparations. Peering out, Sebastian could make out the dim figures moving to and fro as they placed upon the table what he assumed were ritual objects. Then a woman’s voice said,
‘Now all be prepared, so stand you still and be counted.’ She counted up to the number thirteen, but only five of the motionless figures were sufficiently thrown into focus by the lamp-light for Sebastian to decide which of them were men and which were women. ‘Now,’ the woman went on, ‘you what want to take the oath, we hope as you do fully understand what you be taking upon you.’
‘Ay, that do I,’ replied a voice which Sebastian vaguely recognised, although, at the moment, he could not attach to it a name.
‘So long as you be sure. Well, now, let’s be at it. But first it behove me to remind him who is to be our new brother to think deep on the things wherefrom spring our belief. The light out, first. I needs to speak in the darkness which seemingly was the world before the old gods made their call and gave us to be their followers.’
In spite of the homely accents and countrified, uncultivated voice, there was something of dignity and feeling in the woman’s speech and this impression was intensified as she went on, her words punctuated by the rhythmic crash of the breakers outside the mouth of the cave and the threatening snarl of the undertow as the waves retreated. Listening to the sounds, Sebastian thought of legions reforming, after an attack, to renew their assault on the island.
‘Us meet in the name of the Earth Mother and of the Hunting God, him of the Three Faces that bear the horns of the moon upon his head. To them, and to our brothers and sisters, be we always honest and true, calling upon the old gods in the words as was taught us from the beginning: Eko, Eko, Azarak. Eko, Eko, Zamelak. Eko, Eko, Eko, Eko, Eko!’
These strange words were repeated with great reverence, and in the low tones of prayer, by the others. Then the priestess went on:
‘Let the circle be consecrated with salt and water and may him as we worships be lord of the dance, as was known, and is known, and shall be known. Herewith I lights up the four candles, marking the north, the south, the east and the west, as is laid down in the Old Book.’
This was done and, by the tall flames which rose straight into the air at the windless end of the cave, Sebastian could see that the rest of the witches had formed a circle and that at some time during the discourse they had all stripped off their clothes and had joined hands around their leader. She was now standing in the centre of the circle, and was robed in white with her dark hair unbound and falling to her shoulders. To add to her air of authority she held a whip in her right hand and a censer in her left and, to the incongruous background music of a gramophone playing the Eton Boating Song, a solemn dance began. The censer swung, attempting to keep time with the music, and the whip flicked about the dancers’ naked bodies, more, it seemed, to encourage them than to do them much injury. The purpose of the bizarre punishment was made clear by the priestess, who, as she ritually whipped the others, intoned: