More fuel must have been added to the fire, for the smoke was thick now, its pale billows spreading right across the grove, penetrating under the trees to where Josse and the Abbess stood. It smelt of … what? Sage, and roses, and something that was reminiscent of anointing oil. Around the hearth, appearing and disappearing as the screen of smoke waxed and waned, giving the strange illusion that they were floating, were bunches of flowers tied with grass: poppies, deadly nightshade, and some leafy plant with small white blooms which Josse thought was hemlock.
The singing was much louder now. Somewhere out of sight in the trees there must be a great host of people, and-
The noise reached a deafening climax, drowning out the very power of thought. Then, with an abruptness that hurt the ears, it stopped.
In the utter silence of the moon-bathed clearing, the woman led the girl to the log. It, too, had been decorated with flowers, and at its head had been placed a pair of tall candles, burning with a steady flame.
It looked unmistakably like an altar.
The woman helped the girl to lie down, making for her a pillow of flowers. Then, moving round to stand behind the girl’s head, she took hold of the girl’s outstretched hands in what looked like a gesture of kindly companionship.
At first.
Then, as the woman’s grip moved to the girl’s wrists, it became clear that she was making sure the girl could not escape.
The singing began again. Now it was but a single voice, a woman’s, and it came from the altar.
The girl, eyes closed, was chanting.
As her voice strengthened, she began to move her body, writhing from side to side, knees bent, hips circling. Then, with a great cry, she arched her back and flung her legs wide apart.
Another figure had emerged into the moonlight. Robed and hooded, it was only the height and the breadth of shoulder that revealed it to be male; the face was hidden deep within the cowled hood.
He went to stand at the foot of the altar.
The girl had moved downwards along it and, with her wrists still pinioned by the woman, her arms were now at full stretch. The movement had made her gown ride up, so that, from the full breasts to the bare feet, she was naked. Her spread legs flopped over the edges of the tree trunk on which she lay, and her exposed groin was at waist height for the standing man.
Even as it became obvious what was about to happen, already it seemed to have begun. The man had raised the hem of his full robe so that it spread over the girl’s belly, concealing what it was that he did to her, but, visible or not, it was plain what act he was performing. Resuming her chanting, but abstractly now, with frequent breaks, she pushed herself upwards to meet him. Their movements swiftly becoming frenetic, suddenly it was over.
Stepping back from her, covering himself with his robe, the man turned and, as the thick smoke plumed up around him, he seemed to disappear.
The girl gave a small cry, a sound which, short though it was, yet contained a dread, desperate longing. As if in answer, another man appeared to take the first one’s place. Taking a little more time, he too came to a climax and then, like his predecessor, abandoned her.
Another followed, and another.
While the fifth one — a taller, stronger-looking man — was thrusting into her, meeting the savage upward push of her hips with an equal force of his own, at long last her need was met. Wrists still held firm by the woman who stood at the top of the altar, the girl raised her body, threw back her head, opened her mouth and emitted a long, piercing, triumphant cry that rang out through the oak grove and across the forest like the victory scream of some triumphant animal.
As the echoes faded and died, the girl slumped back on her tree trunk. Spent, exhausted, her legs fell either side of its girth, and, had the woman not had firm hold of her arms, it seemed she would have slipped off and fallen to the forest floor. But the woman, solicitous now, was swiftly going into action, an arm round the girl’s shoulders, free hand pulling down the flimsy, flung-back robe as she helped the girl to stand.
Then, supporting most of the girl’s weight — for her legs seemed suddenly powerless, and the little bare feet that dragged along the ground were barely moving — the woman bore her out of the brilliant moonlight and away into the black shade of the trees.
* * *
Josse, his mind and his body seething with a powerful force that he barely understood, put up his hands and rubbed hard at his face. Then, one hand still over his eyes as if, too late, he wanted to block out what he had just seen, he slid his back down the oak’s trunk and slumped at its base.
After a moment, the Abbess sat down beside him.
He couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what he would have said had he been able to.
But, after a soft clearing of the throat, she said, ‘It wasn’t Caliste. Very like her, but not her.’
And, saying the first thing that entered his head, he breathed, ‘Thank God.’ Then, after a pause: ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘The hair,’ she replied.
He pictured the girl in her wild abandon. The garland had fallen off, and the thick dark hair had flowed like a black tide over the wood of the altar.
Of course. No nun had abundant hair like that.
‘Not Caliste,’ he echoed.
‘No.’
Silence fell once more, surrounding them, suffocating them, as if someone had dropped a soft blanket on to them.
I could sleep, Josse thought vaguely. My eyelids are so heavy, I could lie down here and sleep till daybreak. Far beyond daybreak. Sleep all day, and the night after that.
He yawned hugely.
He felt the weight of the Abbess as she leaned against him, and, making an enormous effort, he turned his head a little to look at her. She had closed her eyes, and, her lips slightly apart, was breathing deeply. She seemed to have dozed off.
And why not? he thought. It’s as good a place as any. Quite comfortable, and …
He slept.
But not for long.
As if some sense of self-preservation were working in him, some relic of his soldiering past that, even in these extreme circumstances, had not deserted him, he went straight into a vivid dream.
He was in the clearing, right in it, exposed and standing alone in the moonlight. And, creeping up behind him, each carrying a spear whose tip was pointing straight at Josse’s back, stealthily came the grey-haired woman and the dark girl.
Both now were naked.
With a start and a snort, he was awake. Panting in terror, sweat breaking out all over his body, he spun round.
And banged his nose smartly on the tree trunk.
Thank God, thank God! He was not in the grove, was not about to be pierced to the heart by twin spears.
Leaping up, grabbing the Abbess’s arm, he hissed, ‘Abbess, wake up! We can’t stay here! We-’
His head began to spin. Faster, faster, until he had to turn away and vomit into the bracken.
When he could stand up, he risked a gentle swivelling of the eyes to look at her. Awake now, she, too, was looking sick. ‘What is the matter?’ she whispered. ‘We should sleep, Josse! I’m so tired…’
He took both her hands and hauled her to her feet, no easy task since she was not only tall and well-built but also a near dead weight. ‘Come on!’ He gave her a shake, and, reluctantly, she straightened up, instantly falling back to lean against the oak.
‘Oh, dear Lord!’ she whispered. ‘What…’ She frowned, then, appearing to recall where they were and what they had just witnessed, at once she seemed to come to herself. ‘We must get away,’ she stated firmly. ‘To a place of safety.’