“They came to meet me. They didn’t look like witches at all. They looked like ordinary men and women—farmers, most of them, except Jana Ragwen, with her tidy hair and her suit. And she came up to me and she said, today is our hierogamy, the marriage of our Lady and Lord in the green. Will you join us, in perfect love and perfect trust?”
Clem had come to a halt in the shadow of the great Spinner stone. Benign or not, he was making Lee tremble with the effort of carrying him, and this time when Gideon stepped close and offered his embrace, he leaned into it gladly. “It’s all right,” he said, laying a hand to Gid’s chest as if to read the living thump of his heart. “They knew how tired I was. They knew everything. I entered their circle—their vast, sky-filled circle, whose always-and-everywhere centre is marked by these great stones—in perfect love and perfect trust, and they knew.”
Lawrence took a cautious step closer. “I’m glad they took you in,” she said. “But... what did they do to you, Clem?”
“Jana Ragwen—Granny, they called her, though she was no older than most of them there—had two of the men undress me.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“Frightening? Why, no. My clothes were dusty, stiff with dirt. They stank of sweat. I stood for them like this...” He gently disengaged from Gideon’s hold, raised his arms, and tipped back his face to the sun. “Their hands were kind—you know, as a good farmer’s are, from handling beasts without harm. My things fell away from me like old, dead skins. Then one of them brought a great copper vat—a cauldron, you’d call it—filled with warm water and fragrant with something I used to smell when Mike and I had leave time together, and we used to go walking in the Parks at Oxford. Something heady, like incense.”
“Balm of Gilead,” Zeke said unexpectedly. “It’s a kind of poplar tree. We use the anointing oil in rituals of our own. Some of it grows near your house, Gid. Ask Tamsyn—she’ll tell you where.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. What happened next, Clem?”
“One of them—handsomest lad you ever saw, a great strapping angel—lifted the cauldron and poured the water over me. He was laughing by the time he’d finished, and so was I. I looked like a drowned rat to him, I suppose. Then Jana Ragwen handed me a kind of nightshirt, the sort of thing we used to wear in bed back then, only softer. I’d managed to get cold somehow, in spite of the heat of the day. She said, Jonathan, put that on him before he catches his death, and I knew that I’d come there for death to catch me, in big kindly hands, and everything I’d been worried about just flew away, like choughs off the edge of a cliff. Choughs are a kind of bird,” he added, nodding at Gideon. “You probably know that, being more Cornish than the Land’s End rocks yourself, but I didn’t. Mike taught me. They’re crows with red beaks, and they carry the spirit of King Arthur.”
“That’s right. And Jonathan put this nightshirt on you, this... more like a robe, was it?”
“That’s it. A robe. It was ochre-coloured, like the soil beneath the plough, and it came down to my feet. It was perfectly warm. The only other thing I wanted was my scarf, and they gave me that back. Then Jana said I should sit down and lean my back against the stone, and allow them—as their honoured guest—to bring me food and drink.”
Every step of this unfolding tale required its gesture, its action. Lee was swaying on his feet. Gideon took him by the armpits, lowered him to sit on the grass at the foot of the megalith. Swallows darted in and out of the shadow, and the wind-voice dropped to a single note, vibrant and low. Lee rested against the stone, and held out his hands, cupped in readiness for a bowl. “I’d never thought I could be hungry again. I don’t know what they brought me, but it smelled so rich and good it made my throat ache. I couldn’t even wait for them to give me a spoon—I just drank it straight off, like broth. They didn’t seem to mind me. They gathered round, Jana and Jonathan and about a dozen others. They laughed, but it wasn’t cruel—more as if they were just pleased to see me eat. And Jana said, step forward, then, Merryn. The lad might have strength to deal with you now.”
“Who was Merryn?”
“Comeliest wench you ever clapped eyes on.”
“Comeliest... Wait. You came here in the ’50s, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, Sergeant.”
“Not the 1750s. A wench?”
“Ah, you didn’t see her. She was barely five feet tall, dressed in a cotton shift that blew around her like a cloud. She had black hair in ringlets, and brown eyes with every kind of mischief in them. For all I knew she might’ve been a doctor, a lawyer or the manager of a bank, but she wasn’t there for any of that when she came to sit beside me. She handed me a cup—a kind of goblet in chased metalwork, and then she just... took hold of her breasts and pushed them up and towards me, as if she meant to offer me those, too.”
Lee’s accompanying gesture sent a wave of warmth to Gideon’s loins. Gay to the back teeth as he was, there remained a sweet, heady, universal sensuality to the movement of his lover’s hands that transcended all boundaries. He shook his head. “A wench for the day, then?”
“Or a kind of goddess. Why shouldn’t she be both? But it was no good—not for me.”
“Oh.”
“She knew. She understood it the moment she looked into my eyes. She put her hands around mine and lifted the cup to my mouth anyway, and she told me to drink, and she kissed me—once on each cheek, once on my brow. Then she turned around and she said, I’m afraid it won’t do, Granny. Not for this one, not today.”
It wouldn’t do for Lawrence either, for very different reasons. She was crying, but still looked as though she’d have loved to be taking notes in preparation for an arrest. “What was in the cup, Clem?”
“Do you think they poisoned me?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
“Of course they did. What else would they have done?”
“Did you drink it of your own free will? How did it taste?”
“Have you ever made a cut in the seed head of an opium poppy, Detective Inspector, and put a dab of the white sap on your tongue?”
“No, I haven’t. The cultivation of somnifera is legal, but cutting the heads puts you into heroin-production territory. A waste of time, too. The sap’s barely potent in this climate.”
“Maybe it’s potent for witches. The drink was bitter as death. They used to give me a thing called a Brompton cocktail in hospital, though—morphine, cocaine, chloroform—and Granny Ragwen’s brew didn’t taste half as bad as that. She’d laced it with honey and hops. There was mugwort in it too, and alehoof, valerian and betony.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Merryn sat beside me and told me while I drank. Yes, I drank of my own free will. What else would I have done?”
Lawrence dug into her pocket for a piece of tissue. Fiercely she blew her nose. “You could’ve refused it. You could’ve run away.”
“No such thoughts touched my mind. If the girl was a wench for a day, I was a king—the corn king, the willing sacrifice who lies down to offer his life to the land. Then Jana Ragwen looked around, and she said...”
“She said, you’d better step forward, then, Jonathan, since our Merryn can’t do the job.” Gideon put a hand down to Lee. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
“Yes. How do you know?”
“What else would she have done?”
Lee seized Gideon’s hand. He surged to his feet, the movement powerful, his own strong heart sustaining Clem’s. “God, he was so tender with me! I could have... had him, just as I could’ve had the girl, there in the shadow of the stone. Jana would’ve taken the coven away. The coven withdraws, it says in their old book, and the Great Rite Actual is performed.”
“How do you know?”
“Jana’s telling Lee. She’s coming through to help him return. But... I’d only ever done that with Mike, and I wanted to take the memory into the Summerlands with me. Beyond the edge of this world’s rim. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. Just as Jonathan understood back then—the drink had taken all your pain away, and you only wanted to dance.”
Lee nodded. His breath was coming shallowly and fast, but a vast serenity had enfolded him. He began to hum a tune Gideon had never heard before. His hand was still in Gideon’s, and he led him away from the stone and out into the field, towards the place where the fluttering police tape guarded the open grave. “I only wanted to dance,” he whispered, and so Gideon put an arm around his waist and drew him close, as if Tamsyn had been put to bed, and the lights in Chy Lowen were turned down low, and Sigur Rós or Elbow shimmering out of the speakers in the living room. He found the place where their bodies fitted together, hip to hip. Lee couldn’t sing to save his life, but Clem had a pure baritone, and the melody flowed out of him as Gideon began the steps of a slow, rocking waltz.
He sang until he ran out of breath, and then he laid his head on Gideon’s shoulder. “He was so tender,” he said again. “He touched me just the way Mike used to do, as if he knew what I’d been longing for all this time. I wanted to give him something, and the only decent thing I had was Mike’s scarf.”
“Oh, sweetheart. That was Mike’s?”
“Mm. He put it round my neck one frosty Sunday in the Parks, when I was cold. Of course I wore it come rain, come shine, even on days like today, when it was far too hot.” Lee stumbled, bringing them both to a halt. “So I took it off... and I put it round Jonathan’s neck. He smiled at me as if I’d given him the bloody Crown jewels—the way you’re smiling at me now. And then—then my dance was over, and I was so tired. I just wanted to lie down in his arms.”
Gideon caught him. He let him fold down onto his knees, then followed him, keeping a warm grip on him all the way down to the earth. Peripherally he was aware of running footsteps, of Zeke’s shadow and Lawrence’s, of urgent voices. He tucked his arm under Lee’s neck and drew him close. “Lee? Keep talking to me. Let Clem tell me how it was.”
Lee hauled in a breath. “It was... Oh. It was like the sea, taking the sun back into itself at night. It was like going to sleep, but having a huge orgasm at the same time. Like touching the face of God, and feeling Her touch you back. Oh, Gid, you have to bring me home!”
“Damn right, I do.” Gideon sat up, cradling him against one knee. He got one hand beneath Lee’s chin, lifted it, and pressed his mouth to the cold, salt-rimed lips seeking his. He let Lee steal the air from his lungs: closed his eyes, pushed his nose against Lee’s face and kissed him until red flashbulbs of oxygen starvation began to pop behind his eyelids. Only when Lee’s moan—undeniably his, not Clem’s—vibrated through him, and Lee’s loving grasp went tight around his neck, did he let go. “Is that it? Are you back?”
Lee sat up. Reluctantly he released his hold. He blinked, glanced around at Ezekiel, Lawrence, and the torn-up earth a couple of yards away. A ferocious sneeze shook him. “Yeah,” he said weakly, and turned with a smile to Gideon. “Your kiss of life did the trick.”
“Is Clem gone?”
“Yes. When men die at the end of time, I give them rest and peace and strength, so that they may return.”
“Lee?”
“Yes. I’m here. I’m fine. That was Granny, and she also says... she says, trust the mother. What do you suppose that means?”
Gideon scratched his head. “I dunno. Maybe Mother Earth or something, and Clem’s soul, or his essence or whatever, went back to her.”
“No, you big hippy.” Lee gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Something much more practical than that. She says—and she really is leaving now, thank God, because she’s a bloody nuisance to lug around—that we’ll find out soon. Very soon.”
Lawrence blew out a long breath. She pushed her fists against her hips, and she too surveyed the landscape before fastening her attention once more on Lee. “Are you really all right?”
“Really. Thank you for witnessing that.”
“Well—it’s all very well and good, Lee. It’s a beautiful tale, and I’m glad that Clem got his last dance. But you know it doesn’t end there.”
“No, of course not.” Lee let Gideon help him onto his feet. “Clem’s throat was cut, and he was buried just over there. He brought me as close as he could. But he didn’t need me on board for that part, because he wasn’t. Jonathan sat with Clem’s head in his lap, and he counted out the very last beats of his heart. And then—when Clem was far, far gone, away and into the sunset where Michael was waiting for him—Granny brought the knife, to cut the final cord and let him go.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Nothing to do with him, although why anyone should use that name and then blench at the idea of this kind of death, I can’t fathom. What do you want—a fairy story? They weren’t fairies. They were witches, and the land required a sacrifice.”
“But that’s nonsense, Lee. You know it is.”
“Maybe. I tell you this, though. Something required a bloody sacrifice. Half the world had just gone up in flames. There was barely a family left whole, barely a heart left unbroken.” Lee took sudden, passionate hold of Gideon’s hand. “Was I wrong, Gid—laying all this open to the light? What have I done?”
“You’ve done what you always do. You’ve taken someone’s pain away, put a wrong thing right.” Gideon lifted their joined hands, pressed a solemn, almost reverent kiss to the back of Lee’s. “I love you.”
Lawrence watched this exchange, her expression strange. Then she ran a hand into her hair. “What on earth’s wrong with me?”
“Ma’am?”
“I don’t mean... I don’t mean for questioning you about Clem’s death. That’s just my job. I mean that—even now, caring for both of you as much as I do, I still struggle. I still want to look away when you kiss, when you’re affectionate with each other in that way. How can I be such a reactionary bitch?”
Gideon stared at her in astonishment. “You’re not. Not at all.” He could think of half a dozen occasions off the top of his head when Lawrence had gone out of her way to defend his rights, to make sure that Tyack-Frayne was on all his paperwork, to clarify for any misguided new recruits how far bigotry would be tolerated in her office. “Think about it. Wouldn’t you recoil a bit and want to hide your eyes if any couple was doing that?”
“Well—I suppose so. But what does that make me?”
“Nothing bad.” Laughter touched Gideon’s voice: all kinds of things were being laid open to the light today. “A bit old-fashioned, maybe.”
“Really? I thought I was some kind of awful, intractable homophobe.”
“Oh, my God. Hardly.”
The gate to the field gave a sudden, raucous shriek and swung wide. It took Gideon a moment to make out the shape of old man Penyar, skinny and wizened as he was, ready to be blown away on the sweet winds of change. He came stumping across the turf towards them. “I knew,” he wheezed, poking his walking stick in Lee’s direction. “I knew! He lies with man as with woman, just as did Jonathan, before he was saved. They lie with man as with woman, and nothing’s too bad for them—not blasphemy, not murder. Heathens!”
Gideon had almost forgotten he was in uniform. He’d lost his cap in his dash to catch Lee. He picked it up off the ground, put it back on and straightened it. “That,” he said thoughtfully to Lawrence, “is an awful, intractable homophobe. Now, hold on just one moment, Mr Penyar...!”