Fanny (13 page)

“But it must be us’d in Conjunction with certain Spells.”

“Which Spells?” I askt.

“Fanny, my Dear,” Isobel said, “you cannot learn all of Witchcraft in one Afternoon. Come, we must prepare for the Esbat.”

“The Esbat,” Isobel explain’d, as we two rode on Lustre’s Back o’er the rolling Hills, where the Hedges seem’d dark green Velvet to the bright wet Green of the Lawns, where the Poplar Trees form’d Walls against the Wind, and the stone-roof’d Cottages slumber’d in the Hollows of the Hills, “is the weekly Meeting.”

“’Tis not to be confus’d with the Sabbat,” Joan said, riding close beside us upon an Ass call’d Bottom. “Sabbats are held but four Times a Year—Candlemas, Roodmas, Lammas, and All Hallows E’en.”

“The most important Times being Roodmas and All Hallows E’en,” said Isobel. “And to a Sabbat, many Covens come. The Esbat is only a little Meeting—for weekly Business.”

“But where are we going now?” I askt, as we cross’d a grassy Down where a large Flock of Sheep graz’d in the light Rain.

“We are going to a great Stone Circle where we shall meet the Coven,” Isobel said. “Hush, now. This is more careless Talk than is wise, here on the open Down.”

“But who shall hear us,” I askt, “the Sheep?”

“E’en the Sheep have Ears,” said Isobel.

The County of Wiltshire was then, as now, Belinda, a vast continu’d Body of chalky Hills whose Tops spread out into fruitful and pleasant Downs and Plains, upon which great Flocks of Sheep were fed. Pleasant Rivers flow’d beautifully into verdant Vales where fruitful Meadows and rich Pastures lin’d the Banks. There were innumerable pleasant Towns, Villages, and Houses in the verdant Vales, but upon the Downs the Country seem’d wild and uninhabited—the proper Resort of Witches, Faeries, and all Manner of Gnomes, Elves, and Hobgoblins.

I had heard, of course, the Country Lore that the “Little People,” the green-coated Faeries, and the Witches were wont to meet upon the Barrows and at the Stone Circles; but I had always consider’d ’em mere Country Fictions and Superstitions.

Thro’ my prodigious Reading in Lord Bellars’ fine Library, I had Knowledge of the Dispute about which England’s learned Antiquaries had so puzzl’d themselves, concerning the strange upright Stones of great Antiquity upon Stonehenge Down. Some alleged it to be a Pagan or Heathen Temple, some an Altar or Place of Sacrifice, some a Monument for the Dead, and some a Trophy of Victory. Some held it to be Roman, some British, some Saxon, some Danish, some Druid, and some, before ’em all, Phoenician.

But I had ne’er seen this Place of Wonders, and to be sure, I had ne’er seen it just as the setting Sun was sinking below the Horizon, kindling Fire in the Sky. ’Twas a Sight to strike Wonder in the Heart of a shelter’d Maid of Seventeen!

The Stones seem’d at least twice the Height of a tall Man (i’faith, I was surpriz’d that they were not taller) and there were four Rows of ’em, one within the other, some standing singly, some with great Lintels of dress’d Stone, so rude and rugged they seem’d as if the Devil himself had thrust ’em up out of the Bowels of the Earth. As the fiery Sphere of the Sun sank behind ’em, who should come creeping betwixt their shadowy upright Forms, laden with earthen Potts, Horns of Unguent, Baskets of Food and Simples (and trail’d by their Dogs, Cats, Toads, and other domestick Familiars), but true Witches—or so I had come to believe.

They were Women of divers Ages, dress’d in hooded Garments, not unlike those in which Joan and Isobel had attir’d themselves before setting out. Some wore black Mantles, a few wore green, and upon their Heads, they wore Hoods of black Lambskin. They carried tall Staffs, many with Knobs on them, and some had fine Stones set in intricate Brass-Work about the Knobs. Most of the older Witches wore, around their Waists, great fur Pouches, which bulged with mysterious Contents. I fancied Magical Feasts within, or whole Menageries of domestick Familiars, e’en Imps and Devils.

Above the Circle of grey stone Arches, older than Time, of Ancestry unknown, the Sky was bloody with the setting Sun; the billowing Clouds sail’d across it like Pyrate Galleons into a tropical Port, where Witch-Doctors waited to sacrifice the Crew to ravenous local Gods (or so I mus’d at the Time, ne’er having yet seen either a Pyrate, a Galleon, or a tropical Port!).

I trembl’d, as much with Fear as with Cold. The Witches advanced, seating themselves in a small Circle at the Base of the great Altar Stone inside the Circle of Stone Arches. Some were Ancient Crones and some were beauteous and young. There were twelve Women in all, and a variety of Familiars who scurried behind ’em (and curl’d up in the Folds of their Garments when they seated themselves upon the Ground).

But who was this that now appear’d in a dark blue Mantle trimm’d with Fox Fur, with Horns upon his Head, and wearing a terrible Mask of Wrath?

I clutch’d Isobel’s Hand.

“Is it the Devil himself?” I askt.

“Shh,” said Isobel, “’tis the Chief, the Grandmaster of our Coven. Sit here and keep still.”

The terrible Maskt Man seated himself upon a fallen Stone and a beautiful red-headed Girl came and sat at his right Hand.

“’Tis the Maiden of the Coven,” said Isobel. “She is also the First Deputy of the Goddess.”

I’faith, I understood none of this, but I could not draw my Eyes away from the Face of the Maiden. She was a Girl not much older than myself, with Eyes of piercing green, and Skin of a surprizing Fineness and Pallor. She wore a dark green Mantle trimm’d with Lambskin and pointed russet leather Shoes with curious Crosses cut into ’em, and Gloves that appear’d to be made of Cat’s Fur. But most astonishing of all was the Ornament she wore about her Neck. ’Twas made of two Tusks of Wild Boar join’d at their curv’d Middles by a Thong of Leather so that, in Shape, it resembl’d two Crescent Moons, dancing Back to Back, or two Scythes, bound into one Weapon.

Upon her Lap, she held a Book into which she wrote at the Bidding of the Grandmaster.

He himself was a terrifying Sight, but whether this was due to the Mask he wore, or to his Person, I cannot say. His Mask was of lacquer’d Wood, japann’d in a purplish Blue, not unlike the Skin of a Plum. From his Skull, two Cows’ Horns protruded, as if they would spear the Sky, and cov’ring his Head where Hair would be, was a matted Carpet of Lambswool. Likewise, his Chin, or, to speak truly, the Chin of the Mask, sprouted what seem’d to be a Goat’s Beard. His Mouth was terrible, set with black Pebbles for Teeth and parted just slightly to allow his Commands to issue, and his Eyes glow’d red like fiery Jewels. Upon his Feet, he wore pointed Shoes with cleft Toes, and they were of the same russet Leather as the Maid’s. They resembl’d Shoes I had seen in old Engravings in Lord Bellars’ Library, and the Points were so long ’twas a Miracle he could walk. He carried a forkt Staff which he thump’d upon the Ground to signal that the Meeting would begin.

“Let the weekly Deeds be reported,” said the Maiden, speaking for him. Whereupon there ensu’d a Recital from each Member of the Coven of all the Doings of that Week, which the Maiden duly inscrib’d in her Book.

I shall not trouble you, Belinda, with a full Account of all the Conversations which took place at the Esbat. Suffice it to say that as the Witches were telling of their Work in the previous Week and their Work in the Days to come, as they consulted with the Chief and the Maiden about various Herbal Receipts they had tried, new Members they had sought to recruit, and Illnesses which would not yield to the usual Remedies, I took care to hide my Head behind Isobel’s Shoulder, praying not to catch the awful Eye of the Grandmaster. Fain would I have got thro’ the entire Esbat unrecogniz’d, but that was not fated to be; for presently the Grandmaster turned his terrible Mask towards Isobel and me, pounded the Ground with his Staff, and in a strange, echoing Voice, demanded: “Why is a Man in our midst?” ’Twas the first Time he had spoken out loud.

His Voice sent shivers thro’ me. ’Twas neither the booming Voice of Masculinity nor the sweet Voice of Femininity, but a strange Admixture of the twain.

“’Tis no Man,” protested Isobel boldly, “but a Woman dress’d to repel the Wickedness of the World in her Adventures on the Road to London.”

“A new Convert?” askt the Maid.

“Yes,” said Joan with all Swiftness.

“Well then, proceed,” said the Maid, and the Group return’d to their weekly Accounts, leaving me so shaken that my Heart pounded in my Bosom like a defenceless Animal caught in an iron Trap.

When the weekly Business had been compleated and the Maiden had duly inscrib’d in her Book all the new Receipts, the likely new Members who were disillusion’d with Christianity, and new Methods of Divination, the Chief once again thump’d his Staff upon the Ground, and pointed his forkt Stick at me.

“Let the new Member come forward,” he thunder’d.

I lookt imploringly at Isobel. By this Time, the bright Moon had risen o’er the black Stones and the Grandmaster’s Face glow’d blue and evil in the Moonlight.

“Go,” she directed me.

I rais’d myself stiffly from the cold Ground, stepp’d slowly across the Circle, and stood before the Chief.

“Are you born Woman?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Will you swear to uphold the Great Goddess, She whose Name is too holy to be spoken, in all Her Works large and small and to do Her Divine Bidding for the Good of all, but most particularly for the oppress’d Members of your own Sex and those less fortunate and more defenceless than yourself?”

“Yes,” I said, before I knew quite what Words my Lips had utter’d, whereupon I immediately began to tremble piteously because I fear’d I had forsworn the Saviour and would at once be condemn’d to Hell.

“Hath the Lass a divining Familiar?”

I star’d blankly at the Grandmaster.

“Yes,” Joan responded for me, from the back of the Circle.

“Where is thy Familiar?” he askt again of my stupid Gaze.

Joan led Lustre forward into the Centre of the Ring.

“Doth he obey thy Commands?”

“Yes,” I said, for so he did.

“Pierce his Flesh then, and thine own.”

Joan gave me the small silver Dagger she wore on the Chain ’round her Neck. “You need only draw one Drop of Blood,” she directed.

Carefully, as gently as I could, I took the Knife to Lustre’s beautiful right Buttock and slit the Skin quickly in the Place where he had most Flesh and would feel it least. Then I drove the Point of the Dagger into my own left Fingertip.

“Press the two Wounds together,” said the Grandmaster. Obeying, I held my Finger steady on Lustre’s Haunch, whilst the whole Coven chanted:

“By this Beast, I divine,

By this Friend, Her Will is mine.”

The Horse stood very still and attentive. It seem’d he had felt no Pain; my Finger prickl’d, but neither was I in Pain.

“Be seated,” commanded the Grandmaster, whereupon Isobel came forward also and both she and Joan escorted Lustre and myself back to the outer Rim of the Circle. We sat down again upon the Ground. Lustre stood above us.

Was there nothing more? No Black Mass, no kissing the Devil’s Bum, no wild hoidening thro’ the Woods in search of carnal Ecstacy and Transports of the Flesh? I was astonish’d. Had one only to swear Loyalty to the Great Goddess and to one’s Horse?

If ’twere Witchcraft, then Witchcraft seem’d not so sinister a Thing. There were many Names for the Supreme Being and just because none I had e’er heard was female did not mean a Female God was impossible. Hath Divinity a Gender? I doubted not but the Grandmaster’s Words might accord with some Truth or other, tho’ perhaps with one I had not yet encounter’d.

The Grandmaster now conferr’d with the Maid. They whisper’d long and their Whisp’ring was like the Touching of the Leaves of Trees on a Summer Night. Finally, the Maid spoke.

“Hath anyone a Spell in which she requires the Assistance of the whole Coven?” She lookt ’round the Circle at the Witches.

Many of them seem’d about to speak, but thought better of it. Presently, a young Witch with a Heart-shap’d Face, full, plump Breasts, Hair of chestnut brown, and a Belly that was surely Great with Child, made bold to speak.

“I would blind my Master,” she said, “for first he ravish’d me, then he cast me out when I was with Child. I would blind his Eyes so that he can ne’er take a Fancy to another Lass and do to her what he hath done to me.”

The Grandmaster conferr’d with the Maid, pounded his Staff upon the Ground, then askt of the Girl: “Wouldst thou take the Vengeance of the Goddess into thine own Hands, Sister Alice?” (for that was the Girl’s Name).

“The Goddess would approve,” said she.

“If the Goddess wishes him blind,” said the Grandmaster, “She will blind him.”

“But his Pow’r is uncheckt,” said Sister Alice. “He can harm other Innocents.”

“Are you well?” askt the Grandmaster. “Have you a Place to bear and tend your Child?”

Sister Alice nodded. “Sister Louisa hath taken me as her Serving Maid, and hath provided in her Will for the Child and me.”

“And your former Master, how is he?”

“He hath lost his only Son in a foolish Duel, and he is cast down and melancholick.”

“The Goddess works in curious Ways,” said the Grandmaster. “Her Ways are oft’ more subtle than ours, but stronger.”

“I have a Request,” Joan said, in a trice, speaking loudly from the very back of the Circle where I sat betwixt her and Isobel. “Our new Member requires Proof of the Goddess’ Pow’r. She, too, hath been ravish’d and abus’d, but in her case, there is no Redress. She is alone, friendless but for us. I propose we make a Puppet and cast a Spell upon her Deceiver as our first Gift to a new Convert.”

“Yes! Yes!” cried the Coven in Unison.

“What Spell dost thou propose?” askt the Grandmaster.

“The Waxen Puppet, the red-hot Pins,” said Joan.

“And which Part of him wouldst thou disable?”

Joan thought a Moment and then laugh’d wickedly. “The Part with which he hath disabl’d Fanny!”

The whole Coven now began to giggle and cackle and exchange lewd Remarks.

“Silence!” said the Grandmaster. “And what if another Part of him is harm’d by Mischance, and he cannot walk? Would Justice then be serv’d?”