The Murder of Busy Lizzie

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

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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:

‘Herewith I drives out unclean spirits from our circle. This for purity—’ flick, ‘purity—’ flick, ‘this to drive away all evil—’ flick, ‘be gone, you foul ones, gone!’

The dance having ended, Sebastian could see that those visible to him in the candle-light were now facing inwards and had their hands crossed on their breasts. It was not so much their nakedness which impressed him as the utter defencelessness it seemed to imply. The priestess, who had discarded the whip and the censer, now received from one of the circle a goblet which gleamed like gold in the candle-light and, for all Sebastian knew, was made of that precious metal. She raised it on high, turning slowly about so that she faced each of the others in turn, and, intoning the words in the most solemn manner, said:

‘I summon the Mighty Ones. Come, O ye gods who have been since time began! I call you from the north…’ she lowered the chalice as she faced the candle which indicated that point of the compass ‘… the east…’ she turned through the necessary ninety degrees ‘… the south and the west. Ye are the gods of our birth, of our youth, of our flowering and of our death. I summon ye to witness these our rites, and to bless, O Great Ones, your obedient people.’

There was a long pause. At every turn she had made the priestess had taken a sip from the goblet. She now handed it to one of the men and received from him the sacred knife, the athame.

‘Let our aspiring brother stand before the altar,’ she said briskly, changing her tone from one of supplication to one of command. She turned to the east again and raised the athame on high. The candles turned its polished blade to silver, purple and black, and Sebastian almost convinced himself that he could see great drops of blood beginning to drip from it. Two of the circle moved aside, and, by means of the gap thus made, a man came into the candle-light and stood in front of the altar. His back was towards Sebastian, but the boy had caught sight of his profile as he entered the circle and there was no doubt that the neophyte was Ransome Lovelaine. He was wrapped in what appeared to be an ordinary white sheet.

‘I call upon the gods to accept this new member of our sacred coven,’ said the priestess. ‘May they bless him and make him worthy of the honour which is about to be bestowed upon him. May they seal his lips, that he may never betray our mysteries. May they cleanse his heart, that no evil spirit enter it.’

Having delivered herself of these preliminaries, she stepped up to Ransome and, with one magnificent sweep of her arm, she plucked the white sheet from his shoulders, leaving him as naked as the others. Sebastian wondered how they could all bear the temperature, for he himself, in spite of being warmly clothed, found the cave, into whose depths no sunshine ever penetrated, as cold as the inside of a refrigerator. The coven, however, seemed unaffected, and the ceremony of initiating Ransome proceeded to take what Sebastian supposed was its usual course.

From the altar a small dark piece of cloth was taken and Ransome was blindfolded with it. Then, with every evidence of reverence and propriety, a cord was picked up and exhibited to the worshippers. With it Ransome’s wrists were bound firmly behind his back and the priestess put back the knife and took from the altar a long sword. The cord which tied Ransome’s wrists had also been passed round his neck and the horrified Sebastian believed that he was about to witness a ritual killing.

Before he could collect himself, however, the fear was dissolved and the moment of horror passed. Ritual was involved, but not ritual murder. The robed priestess presented the point of the gleaming sword at Ransome’s breast and again began to intone. She reminded him that he was entering a new life and must solemnly promise to be faithful to it and never to betray its secrets.

At this solemn and impressive moment there was a rude and noisy interruption. Without previous warning—they must have moved like cats along the passage—three men leapt, one after another, down the ladder. Fiercely they fell upon the astonished coven. One seized and flourished the athame, the sacred knife which had been replaced on the altar; another flung the priestess to the ground and, as she dropped it, picked up the ceremonial sword. The third man found the scourge and proceeded to lash the naked bodies of the witches, who yelled, shrieked and swore and, seizing any clothes which came nearest to hand, scrambled up the ladder and made off, leaving Ransome, bewildered, bound and blindfolded, still standing helpless in front of the improvised altar.

‘What’s up? What’s happening?’ he cried, twisting his naked body against his bonds. The intruders wasted no time in answering him. Producing more cord, one of them stooped and bound his ankles, then the three of them bundled him towards the mouth of the cave and, hooking his bound ankles from under him, precipitated him full length on to the sand with his head towards the sea and his whole body well below the tide mark to which the water would rise. Then, still without having spoken a word, they returned to the ladder and were gone.

Whereas, so far as Sebastian could tell, all the actions of the priestess, however threatening they might appear, had been innocent and symbolic, the intention of the three intruders was plain. Ransome, bound, blindfolded and helpless, was to be left to drown and to suffer the mental torture, moreover, of knowing that in time the encroaching tide would wash around his body and finally engulf him.

There was a picture in Sebastian’s mind, a vision of the hapless witches clutching armsful of clothes and fleeing, as their predecessors must have done, from their persecutors. Along the tunnel they must be making their panic flight, then between the dark sides of the overgrown quarry. They must be looking like glimmering ghosts, but, unlike ghosts, they must be conscious of the rough going for their bare feet, and the brambles, nettles and stinging branches of low-growing bushes which tormented their naked bodies as they gasped and stumbled in the moonlight to a place of safety.

He wondered where they would make for, but, as these thoughts crowded his mind, he saw another picture and, this time, not a mental one. Less than a dozen yards from his hiding-place he could make out the hapless figure of Ransome, bound and blindfolded. He was in the water, but a faint white blur showed that he was at least face-upwards and not, at the moment, in danger of being drowned. Sebastian crept towards the far end of the cave and, at the foot of the ladder, strained his ears. He could hear nothing, so he returned to the prostrate man and felt for the cords which bound him.

‘Never mind that, whoever you are,’ muttered Ransome. ‘Pull me up above the tide-mark. The tide’s on the turn and it comes in fast.’

He was much bigger and heavier than Sebastian, but the boy, seizing him by the ankles, heaved and strained against the resisting sand. Then, as soon as he had pulled Ransome to a place of safety and rolled him over on to his chest, he wrestled and sweated with the knots until at last Ransome was free. Ransome pulled the bandage from his eyes and stood up.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, for Sebastian, so far, had not uttered a word and he could not see him in the darkness. Sebastian told him.

‘Better come back with me to the hotel,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe enough in my room for the rest of the night.’

‘No, that’s all right. Got a torch, by any chance?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Switch it on while I find my confounded clothes.’

They both looked around, but there were no clothes left in the cave. The witches had snatched up every garment they could lay hands on in their panic.

‘Damn! And I’m frozen!’ said Ransome.

‘Have my jacket. I’ve got a sweater. What are you going to do, then?’

‘Make for my cottage and some trousers.’

‘I could fix you up, I expect.’

‘Couldn’t get into your things. Can’t get into this jacket, for a start.’

‘Have the sweater, then. That will stretch.’ He peeled it off and they made the exchange. ‘I say, what was it all about?’

‘Vigilantes.’

‘Why, what have you been doing?’

‘Nothing. They must think I’m an informer.’

‘Did they really mean you to drown?’

‘Shouldn’t think so. Just a warning, I reckon.’

‘But what could you inform about?’

‘That’s telling, isn’t it? Look, they’ll be back to untie me before the tide’s much higher. Let’s go, while the going’s good.’

‘By the way,’ said Sebastian, ‘is the farmer home again yet? I should like to meet him and his wife.’

‘All in good time,’ said Ransome. ‘He’s there, but Lucy still isn’t back.’