“I’m delighted to hear it. Perhaps we might have some details?”
“You know old Pierce Gwyn Mawr?”
“The prophet Habakkuk? But of course I do. He belongs with my favourite childhood memories. I hadn’t heard of him lately: I assumed he was dead.”
“He isn’t dead. On the contrary, if you please. This morning he began to prophesy again.”
“Excellent. I’ll go and listen to him straight away. But what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, that the entire village has assembled, and they are completely beside themselves. All work has come to a standstill.”
“And what is Pierce telling them?”
“Mainly, that the end of the world is at hand, and they should repent.”
“And what is his source of information? Are there perhaps omens in the sun and the moon?”
“He says there are none yet, but there soon will be. Only, in the mean time … ”
“Well …?”
“The four horsemen of the Apocalypse have appeared. He watched them all night, circling around Llanvygan House, and then they rode off towards Pendragon.”
“I saw them myself,” said Maloney. “But how do you know they’re eucalyptic?”
“This is becoming interesting,” said Osborne, rising from his chair. “The doctor also saw them, and there isn’t the slightest tendency to the prophetic in him.”
The vicar’s already pale face showed increasing signs of unease:
“And my sister, too, heard the clatter of hooves … She had a terrible night, poor girl, as she always does when the wind is up. I thought she had just imagined it. What explanation can you offer for all this?”
“None at all, for the moment. But is it so surprising that someone should be riding around the house?”
“So in fact … in fact … ” stammered the vicar, firmly gripping his chair, “you too think there is something in what old Pierce is saying …?”
“Of course,” replied Osborne. “But don’t you think, vicar, that it might be a little parochial to assume that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse might begin their European tour at Llanvygan? Wouldn’t they be rather more likely to open in London, or Paris, somewhere more central? Or in Rome, where the Antichrist himself sits on the papal throne?”
“That’s not the issue, sir … I’m thinking about something rather different … about something that might be quite specific to Llanvygan. But it’s rather difficult for me to mention.”
“Why?”
“In view of … with regard to … the family.”
“Which family?”
“The Pendragon family.”
“I cannot imagine what you are thinking,” said Osborne, after a protracted silence.
The vicar stood, wringing his hands. At last he began, in a mournful voice, like someone reciting a lesson.
“We are all aware of the family legends, and other local traditions and stories attaching to Asaph Christian, the sixth Earl of Gwynedd. These stories, moreover … ”
“The midnight rider!” exclaimed Cynthia, jumping up.
“Indeed,” said the vicar, with a bow. “Miss Pendragon and I have for some years been trying to collect all the folkloric data connected with him. According to the superstitious notions of simple people, the same deceased gentleman appears whenever some great turning point is about to occur, either in the country as a whole, or in the house of Pendragon. He was last seen in 1917, when the Germans began their submarine offensive against Great Britain.”
“Yes,” interjected Cynthia, “but we’ve since then more or less concluded that it could have been a mounted patrol on its way to the coast.”
“Oh yes, we’ve concluded,” the vicar mused … “the devil we’ve concluded!” he burst out, and turned crimson. “Ten years I’ve been vicar here, and never yet have we concluded anything; in fact …… I beg your pardon; I humbly beg your pardon. These days my nerves are in shreds. I really am terribly sorry … ”
And he gestured like a man about to sink with shame.
“At any rate, I’m off to see old Habakkuk,” said Osborne. “Won’t you join me?”
And we made our way down to the village.
The prophet was seated in an armchair outside his house, surrounded by a large throng of people, all straining to catch his disconcertingly quiet utterances. With his flowing beard, he certainly looked the part.
This was not the wild and hysterical ranting I remembered from Hyde Park Corner or from charismatic Salvation Army rallies. He neither rolled his eyes nor spoke in tongues, like his transatlantic colleagues who have developed prophecy into a successful line of business. His speech was as regular and deliberate as that of any elderly peasant recounting his experiences.
“And this is how it will be, unless you change your way of life. I don’t wish to accuse any individuaclass="underline" you all know I am speaking in the common interest. You can see for yourselves how it is across the whole of Wales. They have shut down the mines in Pembroke and Caernarfon. Tens and tens of thousands are unemployed, and the Devil finds work for idle hands. Someone from Rhyl told me that the sea is very different from what it used to be. Anglesey fishermen have caught a fairy-child who declared that a famine is on its way …
But I had no idea what all this meant until two weeks ago, when I met the Dog myself.
I had climbed Moel-Sych, and night was falling. I was sitting on a rock, when suddenly I saw him, up on the meadow, at about a hundred paces. His coat was snow-white, his ears blood-red, just as in the old tales I heard from my grandfather, Owain Gwyn Mawr. He was digging, digging … I did not dare to go over to see what it was he was digging … but of course I knew — he was digging the grave of some important person. Many, many will die, in Wales and in England, people who think now that they will live their full span on earth … ”
He drew a Bible from his pocket and read from the Book of the Apocalypse. He declaimed a chapter as far as the words ‘and I shall give him the morning star’, then continued reciting from memory.
“And they brought forth the Book of the Seven Seals, which no man might open, only the Lamb of Sacrifice. And when the Lamb had broken open the seals, the Angel sounded his trumpet, and behold, the Horsemen appeared. The First Horseman rode a white horse, and in his hand a bow, and on his head a crown. The Second Horseman rode a red horse; to him was given the power to take away the peace of the world. The Third Horseman sat on a white horse, and in his hand a pair of scales. The Fourth Horseman sat on a horse that was mortally pale, and his name was Death. And those who do not bear the sign on their brows will be trodden in the dread winepress of the wrath of God. Every island shall vanish, and the mountains will be no more.
“Last night, I saw the Horsemen. The horses’ heads were the heads of lions, and from their mouths came forth fire and brimstone. For the day of reckoning is at hand.
“Repent ye, therefore, before it is too late. Except ye do this, woe unto ye, oh people of Wales: your days are numbered.”
My second night got off to a better start than the first. There was no wind, and after dinner I went for a moonlit stroll in the park with Cynthia. My thoughts had become decidedly more positive than they had been the day before.
Cynthia told me about her childhood — all very boring, but I took it as a good sign. If you wish to attain intimacy with members of the opposite sex, you make an effort to share your past with them, to make them no longer strangers, newcomers to your life.
I fell asleep early, and remained that way until one in the morning, when I was woken by loud voices in the corridor, both male and female. At first I was very angry at having been disturbed. “Do they really have to stage their little folk festival outside my door?” I wondered, still not fully awake. “The Singhalese hold it a crime to wake a sleeping dog. Next time I’ll go there.”