Evans to Betsy (21 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evans to Betsy
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Evan noticed they were using the past tense, as if they had mentally already accepted that she was gone from them.
Mrs. Riesen rummaged in her purse and produced a photograph. “That’s her, playing with the orchestra at home. Second from the left. She was assistant concert mistress. Very talented. You should have heard her play—it brought tears to your eyes sometimes, didn’t it, Frank?”
Mr. Riesen merely nodded.
As they reached the gate of the Sacred Grove, they saw that their way was blocked by an ambulance. Evan jumped out and ran ahead.
“What’s going on?” he yelled.
The security guard went to yell something back, then noticed his uniform and recognized him. “Nasty accident, Constable. One of the girls got trapped in the steam room. She was dead by the time they found her. Poor little thing.”
“Betsy?” Evan pushed past the guard, ready to run down the path.
“No, not Betsy. That wasn’t the name. It began with a B though—Bethan. That was it!”
 
 
Evan was back in Llanfair by early afternoon. He was sure that it hadn’t been an accident and had hinted as much to Glynis. Fortunately, she was ready enough to believe him. She had the spa area cordoned off and the body sent for immediate autopsy. Again Evan was impressed with her coolness under stress. He had to admit that she had been promoted ahead of him not because she was female or dating the chief constable’s nephew, but because she was bloody good.
Glynis had asked him to drive the Riesens, visibly shaken, back to their hotel in Bangor, while she stayed on and waited for D.C.I. Hughes to join her. Evan paced around his tiny police station, unable to settle. The hospital was still maddeningly uncommunicative about Bronwen and he was also worried sick about Betsy. In the light of today’s tragedy, Betsy’s incident in the steam room the day before had most probably not been an accident either. He wished she would have let him drive her home, but Rhiannon had interrupted when he was talking to her. “She is needed for a very important ceremony tonight. There is no question of her leaving early,” she had said. “But don’t worry. I’ll see she is taken good care of. We don’t want anything to happen to her.”
Rhiannon’s assurances had done little to still Evan’s fears. He had no reason to trust her any more than the rest of them. But he had to admit that Betsy was probably safe for the rest of that day. There would be a forensic team arriving from police headquarters at some stage, and lots of people due for a big ceremony that evening.
At least he would have a chance to go to the hospital, as soon as he finished his day’s work at the police station. He tidied the papers on his desk before leaving. Rhiannon’s book,
The Way of the Druid,
was lying on his desk, as yet unread. Evan fingered it uneasily. It had a picture of a robed figure standing in an oak grove on the front cover. He couldn’t make out what the figure was holding but it could have been a knife. He picked up the book and stuffed it into his pocket. Something had made Rebecca interested enough in Druids to seek out the Sacred Grove. Maybe the book
would give him the insight that had been lacking. It would also help him pass the time down at the hospital if they wouldn’t let him see Bronwen straightaway. Knowing hospitals, he’d have some waiting to do.
 
“She’s resting at the moment.” The starchy ward sister blocked his access to Nightingale Ward, where he had been told he’d find Bronwen. “We’ll let you know when she wakes. She was severely dehydrated, you know. It took us ages to get a vein up enough to put the IV in.”
“Do they know what’s wrong yet?” Evan asked.
She looked at him as if he were a visiting worm. “Patient records are entirely confidential,” she said. “Now please take a seat. We’ll let you know.”
Evan sat. The chair was orange vinyl and not big enough for him. Did they actually design hospital chairs to be uncomfortable, just so that people wouldn’t hang around too long? he wondered. Part of National Health cost-cutting measures, maybe. He looked around for a magazine. There was a choice of
Golf Digest
and
Woman’s Weekly
. Then he remembered the book in his pocket. He took it out and started to read. An hour later he still hadn’t been called and he had reached chapter 10.
 
 
Chapter x. Sacrifices.
Sacrifice as a usual part of Druid ritual, although most sacrifices involved animals, not humans. Human sacrifice, greatly exaggerated and distorted by ancient Roman observers, did take place, but only in exceptional circumstances. Prisoners were ritually sacrificed so that their death twitches could be observed and the way they fell could provide divination answers to the oracles. Oracle Druids also disemboweled living victims so that their entrails could be read for answers from the gods.
Small numbers of ritually sacrificed bodies have been found throughout Britain, showing that ritual sacrifice was only performed in very special circumstances. Several bodies have been discovered, perfectly preserved, in bogs. The way they were decorated and the fact that their arms were
bound with leather thongs show that they were put into the bog to die, although whether this was meant as punishment or as an appeasement to the gods is not certain.
In times of extreme emergency, or when the high priests felt that the gods were displeased or unapproachable, a perfect specimen from the tribe would be selected as an appeasement sacrifice—usually a young warrior or a virgin. In some locations they would be killed on a stone table with a ritual knife, but this does not seem to have been the preferred method in Wales or Ireland.
The more curious phenomenon of the Wicker Man has been reported by many ancient observers and was surely a part of the fire rituals, although whether on a regular basis or only in times of war is not known. The Wicker Man described in ancient literature was a figure made of willow branches and stuffed with straw. It was burned rather like our Guy Fawkes, on a bonfire to insure prosperity, fertility, or the success of the crops or as an offering to the gods in war. It is suggested that live victims were at times placed within the Wicker Man, although whether these were captives or victims selected from the tribe for a specific tribute is not clear.
 
 
As he read, Evan had been experiencing a growing uneasiness. Why was Rhiannon suddenly showing such an interest in Betsy? “She needs me to help her with the big ceremony.” Evan flipped back to the chapter on Beltane. “Beltane, the ceremony of new fire. Sometimes sacrifices were performed to ensure success of the crops and fertility of the herds.” He heard Betsy’s soft whisper from the previous night: “Promise not to tell another soul in the whole world. I’m still a virgin.”
The big ceremony tonight! Evan jumped to his feet. “Oh my God!” he gasped as he ran down the echoing tiled hallway. Beltane was tonight. The Wicker Man. He had to get to the Sacred Grove before it was too late.
He hadn’t ridden down on his motorbike this time, because there was still a chance of rain, and his own old bone-shaker didn’t do more than fifty miles an hour without protesting groans. He pushed
it as hard as he dared along the expressway to Caernarfon, then on the coastal road to Porthmadog. Across the estuary, where the setting sun streaked the outgoing tide with pink, then into the twilight of the oak woods, and finally to the gate of the Sacred Grove.
As he approached the security gate, figures loomed out of the gloom and surrounded his car. They were waving placards and Evan soon recognized the song they were singing. It was ‘Cwm Rhondda.’ “Strong redeemer, strong redeemer, I will ever cling to thee!”
“Go back, Satan. Back to the place God has ordained for you!” shouted a voice and Evan saw Mrs. Powell-Jones brandishing a sign as if it was a weapon. The sign read, DRUID WORSHIP IS DEVIL WORSHIP. Other signs proclaimed, PAGANS GO HOME. KEEP WALES
CHRISTIAN. NO HEATHEN CEREMONIES.
Evan wound down his window. “Let me get past, Mrs. Powell-Jones. It’s me. Constable Evans.”
“Constable Evans! Well, I never … I hope you don’t intend to participate in the heathen orgy?”
“No, I want to try and stop it! Let me get past.”
“Good man. Good luck to you! I hope they’ll let you in. They closed the gate as soon as we got here.”
Evan pushed the intercom button. “Let me in. It’s Constable Evans. It’s very urgent.”
“I’m sorry, Constable,” came the scratchy voice through the intercom. “I’ve had orders not to open this gate. There’s a lot of raving loonies out there. If you can radio for police backup to keep the loonies out, then I’ll let you in, but until then it’s more than my job’s worth to open this gate.”
“The ceremony?” Evan shouted over the hymn singing and chanting going on around him. “Are they going ahead with the ceremony?”
“Oh, yes, that will have started by now. They were heading down to the oak grove about an hour ago.”
“Where is it? Where is this oak grove, man?”
“Not exactly sure. Over toward the point, it must be. That’s where they were heading.”
“Send someone over there and stop it before it’s too late!” Evan shouted.
“I can’t do that. There’s only me on duty and I can’t leave my post.”
“Call someone. Get someone over there, man, do you hear?”
“All right. All right. Keep your hair on, Constable. I’ll call them at the big house. What’s all this about then? What will I tell them?”
“To stop the bloody ceremony before somebody gets hurt, that’s what!” Evan shoved the car into reverse and backed through the milling crowd, making them scatter before him as he sounded his horn. Then he drove a mile or so back along the road, parked the car on the muddy verge, and ran through the woodland. He had to be able to reach the point from here. The property was on a narrow strip of land between two estuaries. It couldn’t be very wide at this point. It was just a question of cutting across at the right place. Darkness was falling rapidly now and trees loomed like ghostly figures, reaching out spiky arms to grab at him as he ran past. His breath started coming in gulps as he reached the crest of a hill and got his first view of the estuary beyond. At least he couldn’t see the glow of a bonfire yet. Maybe he was in time and they hadn’t started the ceremony.
He plunged down the other side of the slope, his feet swishing through unseen bracken, stumbling over tree roots, and tearing through gorse bushes. Then he heard the voice. It was colder and deadlier than ever before, but he recognized it and made for it through the darkness.
“I have cast the circle. The seen and the unseen are now one. Now I call the four quarters. I call the East, quarter of the air. I call all winged things, inhabitants of the air, to our circle. Come birds, come angels, be one with us. And I offer up the blade, tool of the East.”
The voice echoed through the woodlands. Still there was no fire and Evan could only push on, guided by the voice.
“I call the North, quarter of the Earth, quarter of winter, midnight, darkness, and death. I invite anything that walks on the earth, two legged, four legged, to join us. I invite rocks, stones, leaves,
branches to be one with our circle, one with us, and I offer up the sacred stone to be part of our ceremony.
“I call the West, quarter of water. Come tides, come dolphins and whales and fishes. Be one with us. And I place in the center of the circle the cauldron, tool of the West.”
The cold, clear voice rose in pitch. “And last I call the South, quarter of fire, quarter of today’s feast. Come lions, come dragons, salamanders and be with us. Be one with us. Be one with us as we make the new fire. Fire that purifies and cleanses and strengthens.
“I take the flint and I light the new fire.”
Suddenly a glow appeared in front of Evan and he could hear the crackling as the bonfire came to life.
“Twin fires for Beltane—for Calan Mai. Whoever passes between the two fires will be purified and made fruitful for the coming year.
“I stand at the middle of the cone of power. We are all one in the cone of power and our power rises to be one with the power of the universe. A bridge has been made between natural and supernatural, between human and divine.
“This is Calan Mai—time of new plantings, new fruitfulness, and young womanhood. Tonight is the festival of fire—the union of the Goddess with the Horned God. I call on them to come down among us and accept our sacrifice, just as our ancestors sacrificed to them back until the dawn of time.”
Evan was close enough to see them now—a group of shadowy figures in white robes stood around twin bonfires. Between them there was something on a pole. It looked like a large basket, but as he came closer he saw that it was fashioned in the shape of a crude human. The central figure, who had to be Rhiannon although she was hooded and robed, plunged a torch into the fire, then held it up above her head. She threw back her hood. She was wearing a torque around her neck, which shone in the firelight.
“Accept our sacrifice!” she intoned. “Cleanse your people. Make us fruitful. Let our religion be fruitful and grow and prosper. We give you what is living and perfect. Take it. Make it yours!”

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