Bertie and the Hairdresser Who Ruled the World

by Mike A Vickers

  ‘There you are, your silence is entirely understandable. That’s because there are just nine women alive today who carry this gene in its purest form. Nine! Out of a total world population of over three billion women. The bloodlines bifurcate and recombine continuously, so as each generation is born there are only a very few who carry the true blood of Helen. Three of the nine are in this Temple right now: Gaia, yourself, and Little Miss Serious here!’ Cutie grinned and waggled her fingers at Celeste. ‘Of the remaining six, four currently live in Britain: two are still children, even younger than Cutie; one is a nun and therefore beyond reach and reasoning by us; and the last is Alice, who has unfortunately suffered a serious mental breakdown and now roams the streets of London accompanied by her pet pigeon. What a sodding tragedy!’ Martha’s suddenly bitter tone surprised Celeste. ‘The remaining two who live outside Britain are twin sisters from Finland. We keep a close eye on them. Twins are always exciting genetically. We have high hopes for daughters from those two in the years to come.’ Martha regarded Celeste with a steady eye. ‘You’re still not convinced, are you. Well, we can always show you the bloodline. Would you accept that as proof?’

  Without waiting for an answer, she bustled over to one of the thick marble shelves, old-fashioned skirts swishing, peered myopically at the tomes through her half-moon spectacles while running a finger along a row of leather book spines, then pulled out a great volume and placed it on her desk under the pool of golden sunshine. ‘Here’s an abridged family tree of the House of Sparta. It follows the strongest line only, the primary line. The numerous branches are dealt with elsewhere and a surprising number reappear at a later date to combine once again with the dominant line. Here is Helen and her daughter, Hermione. Now follow the red path as I turn the pages.

  ‘These are the centuries of Blessed Lycia, here we have Cleopatra, hair as red as blood and a strong Gaia, here the removal from Patara to Rome, then to Britannia. The Dark Ages follow. There’s Eleanor of Aquitaine.’ The pages turned one by one. ‘The line’s now passing through Tudor and Georgian England and eventually we reach your great-great-great grandmother. This is where it gets really interesting. Gaia?’

  ‘Thanks, Martha. As I said before, Celeste, you and I are related to each other, but only very distantly. Five generations ago, in the middle of the nineteenth century, twin sisters were born, Sarah and Emily Blackwell. Here they are.’ Doreen tapped at the page with her manicured nail. The details were recorded meticulously in copperplate. ‘They both married and the bloodlines separated again, but you actually have a greater claim to be Gaia than I do since my branch of the family is descended from Emily and has the recessive gene, while the primary line followed Sarah. Yours is the dominant line. How do I know this? Well, unlike my hair, yours will not go grey. Ever!

  ‘You will carry your colour to the day you die, you lucky, lucky woman. You can also see it in the eyes – yours are pure malachite green. They are Helen’s eyes, whereas mine are much less … vibrant. A sure indication of the recessive gene. Cutie’s likewise. Her hair is also a subtly different shade and, although she would undoubtedly make a fine Gaia, her real value to the Sisterhood is as Guardian of the Temple.

  ‘So, from Sarah came the next generations of your family until we reach your mother, Barbara. I realise this has come as something of a surprise to you, but the archives cannot be doubted. We have a complete and detailed record of your family tree right here.’ Doreen placed her palm on the page as if to emphasise her point. Bertie bobbed his head up and down beside her, craning his neck to see what was going on. Celeste had long ago accepted his need to be involved and, without thinking, stroked his violet blue crown and ran a hand gently down the blue feathers covering his broad back. ‘Look, Bertie, books,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes. Books. Old books.’ His cogent reply startled Martha.

  Doreen continued. ‘Ray, your father, had an unusually high number of relatives on the distaff side who were secondary daughters of Helen, while Barbara, your mother, was a natural redhead and secondary daughter in her own right. We watched closely when they married, hoping for a girl, and were delighted when you were born. The combination of two lines of secondary daughters always produces a pureblood True Daughter. Always! In you, the bloodline has emerged once again as strong and vital as ever. If you doubt what I’m saying just look at the colour of our hair. Even Cutie – a pureblood True Daughter of Helen herself – even she doesn’t have the same rich tints you and I have. This is the extraordinarily rare red-copper Flame of Sparta, the bronze that drove men wild.

  ‘Helen wasn’t some ditzy blue-eyed blonde with big tits and pouting lips, like those favoured by Hollywood directors. She had red hair and blazing green eyes – why the hell do you think the Athenians went to war over her for ten years? Fair-haired women were two-a-penny in those days, no one would fight for a decade over some airhead with a peroxide mop, but a green-eyed redhead – a Goddess – now that was another thing entirely. Her blood flows in your veins as sure as spring follows winter, and you will be the next Gaia after I retire.’ There was such passion in Doreen’s voice, such daunting force, that even Celeste, accustomed as she was to exercising power herself, felt thoroughly intimidated. Doreen seemed to sense this and suddenly relaxed, a quirky smile hovering on her lips. ‘It is your destiny, Luke!’ she added mischievously.

  ‘It might seem amusing to you, but I’m really struggling with this,’ muttered Celeste. ‘It’s just too weird to be talking about history and destinies and priestesses. Will I have to wear hessian underwear or something?’

  ‘Not unless you want to. Listen, I’m trying to make light of a matter so serious that most people would run a mile. It’s only natural you should be disturbed, but that will pass. Running the world’s not actually that complicated. Despite our joking, most world leaders are reasonably competent. They just need a nudge here and there to keep them on the straight and narrow. Despite what feels like crushing responsibility on that front, I still spend more of my time covering up grey roots or poodle perming. Kate also found she had plenty of spare time and continued to make films nearly right up to her death.

  ‘Look, my throat’s getting dry from the atmosphere down here so shall we go upstairs and have a nice cup of tea and we’ll try to answer any more questions you have?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, that’s just what I need.’ Celeste slipped on her gauntlet and called Bertie. He sidled across the top of the chair and hopped onto her arm.’

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he said brightly. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too, Bertie,’ replied Celeste, kissing his head. Doreen noted she did not patronise the bird by using an infantile sing-song voice. She spoke in a normal tone, replying as she would to any human. To Celeste, Bertie was an equal, to be treated with courtesy and respect – however, he did allow himself to enjoy some affectionate neck petting which resulted in something quite unexpected. Curiously, he began to purr. Loudly. Doreen nodded, remembering the Pythia’s bizarre prophesy. ‘The blue bird that purrs,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Well I’ll be damned!’ She opened her mouth, but Celeste cut her off.

  ‘Don’t ask! It’s a long story and I’ll tell you some time, but at the moment I’m the one who needs explanations.’ They all headed for the tunnel leading back to Temple Hall above.

  ‘There’s another thing you have to consider as well,’ mused Doreen as they crossed the polished marble floor.

  ‘How can there possibly be more?’

  ‘There’s lots more, but this is a simple observation, one even a person as shell-shocked as you can appreciate.’

  ‘All right. Go on.’

  ‘It’s obvious when you think about it – you’ve been drawn to live in Gloucestershire. This is not an accident. A convoluted path has led you here, from Oakham to Brazil to London to here. We thought we’d lost you in South America, but the Pythia urged patience and she was right, as always. Generations of Gaias have lived here, drawing comfort and strength from this Temp
le and its unique position within the Earth. Even Kate, as staunch an American as you could find anywhere, visited constantly, drawn back time and again to recharge her emotional batteries and watch you grow from that gawky ginger-haired adolescent into a confident, superbly capable woman. It’s no coincidence the library ended up here and that I’m here. Now you. Why is that?

  ‘This area of Britannia, the old Roman province, has always had a special attraction. The earth’s magnetic field is strong here. Ley lines cluster in this part of the world. Huge amounts of energy flow back and forth through the land, drawing us even though we’re unaware of it. Stonehenge is a mere stone’s throw away and on the same ley line as this Temple, and there are more barrows and burial mounds around here than you can shake a stick at!’

  ‘Sounds a bit too New Age for me,’ observed Celeste, slowly climbing the long flight of stairs.

  ‘Me, too,’ agreed Doreen. ‘But in today’s modern, technologically developed society, just ask yourself one question. Why on earth do you think GCHQ ended up in Cheltenham? The answer is simple – the radio reception’s phenomenal. Best in the Northern Hemisphere. If an organisation as important, committed, sane and clever as that acknowledges the influence of the area, then there must be something in it.

  ‘Look, no one was more sceptical than I, but then I saw Alice at work was astonished at the results. Her oracular vision, clairvoyance, intuition, guesswork, call it what you will, is impressively accurate. For example, we’ve got an unblemished record on the turf. Bookies scream and bolt their doors when they see us coming – as you’ve already found out.

  ‘Think about it, Celeste. We’re all creatures brought to consciousness by this planet. Our ancestors were much more in tune with the natural world than we are now. Just because we prefer to rely on the internet, heated curling tongs, mobile phones and depilation cream, doesn’t mean these natural forces have diminished.

  ‘I could blather on all day, but once you’re Gaia and see the Pythia in action, you’ll soon change your mind. Pity you weren’t with us when Alice was in her prime. She was one of the most powerful oracles since the time of Blessed Lycia. Until her breakdown, of course.’

  ‘You’ve referred to this Blessed Lycia several times. What is it? I want to know more!’

  ‘Cutie knows more than anyone alive. Let her tell the story.’

  ‘Sure, Gaia, it’ll be a pleasure. Of all the ancient societies, one of the most successful, prosperous and free was the Lycian,’ said Cutie, slipping back into her role as narrator, ‘and that was so because it was essentially matriarchal in nature. However, we have to go even further back in history to appreciate the reasoning behind Helen’s choice of Lycia as the society within which to embed the developing Sisterhood. She was actually trying to emulate the Cretan Minoans, who were wiped out by the eruption of Santorini. Minoan civilization was also matriarchal and highly successful in itself. Did you know they invented air conditioning two millennia before Christ? Had that volcano at Santorini not popped, then the entire history of Western civilization would have been radically different. Greek culture would have been very strongly matriarchal, influencing the Romans afterward. There would have been very few wars and religion would never have been allowed to stifle scientific advancement. As a consequence, our race would likely now be cruising the galaxy instead of bumbling across the Atlantic in glorified tin tubes powered by spark plugs!

  ‘The time of Lycia was actually the Sisterhood’s most successful era. Women established the Lycian Federation, a loose collection of city-states strung out along the coastline of what is now south-west Turkey. Each city had a vote in the national assembly, and the larger ones had three votes each. The ruins of these cities can still be seen today – you can go on a package holiday jeep safari and drive through the ruins of tragic Xanthos, up to majestic Tlos or to dreaming Pinara in its mountain fold. This assembly then elected judges and other important officials, and the Lyciarch to be their leader. It was the earliest recognizable form of representational democracy and it was a good model, good enough for Thomas Jefferson to admire and acknowledge when he was writing the US constitution. It’s still that influential, even today! The whole of European civilization and everything that’s sprung from it can be traced back to the early democracy of Lycia. Their Federation survived under various occupations, knowing when to bend in the wind, welcoming Alexander the Great and, more notably, embracing the Romans, who were entirely happy to let the Lycians run their own affairs with the absolute minimum of interference. The Sisterhood’s influence again.’

  ‘So if Lycia was so successful, why are these cities now all ruined?’

  ‘Earthquakes! Big bastards. They all went at the same time so they couldn’t support each other. The population that survived could not rebuild and the only way they could avoid starvation was to return to the land.’

  Celeste emerged from the tunnel into the low-ceilinged library again. It felt almost claustrophobic after the astonishing airiness of the massive subterranean Temple. ‘You should have been a history teacher,’ she said to Cutie.

  ‘God, no,’ replied Cutie. ‘Don’t condemn me, please! Knowing all our accepted history is wrong and having to keep it quiet would send me mad. Besides, I hate kids!’

  ‘You’re still a child yourself,’ growled Miserable Martha, still apparently smarting from being likened to a boring old biddy.

  ‘No I’m not. I’ve recently acquired the vote, which I fully intend to use at the earliest opportunity. How could I not, having just expounded the virtues of democracy? I also have an IQ that’s indecently high, three-quarters of a degree in classical languages and a deeper knowledge of truth than any university lecturer will ever have. That’s why I dropped out of Oxford the moment Gaia and the Pythia sought me out and asked me to be the Guardian of the Temple. The youngest ever!’ she added with swelling pride. ‘But I couldn’t do my job without my lovely Mama.’ Cutie kissed Martha on each cheek and draped arms around her neck, hugging her affectionately, an action that brought some considerable embarrassment to the older woman. ‘There’s Celeste thinking I do all the work around here,’ she said, ‘when Mama’s just as clever as I am, so I’ll let her finish the story – she gets really grumpy when I don’t let her say anything.’

  Blushing furiously, Martha gently disentangled herself from Cutie’s embrace, fumbled with her spectacles and, recovering from her discomfiture, struck a formal pose. She thought for a moment, then launched into her subject with barely disguised enthusiasm, a lively spark in her eye. ‘The Lycians fought in the Trojan war where, no doubt, Helen first became aware of the matriarchal nature of their civilization. After the war, she and Hermione visited Lycia on a number of occasions and were so impressed they decided to base the embryonic Sisterhood there. On Midsummer’s Eve, 1176 BC, they stood on the sands at Patara accompanied by matriarchs of all the major cities. Under the stars, these women formed the Sisterhood, its aim to avoid at all costs a repeat of the disaster of the Trojan War. Basically, they pledged themselves to try everything in their power to moderate the blind stupidity of men, to mitigate, deflect, ameliorate, call it what you will, the urge men have to destroy and kill each other. They would use their guile and persuasion to influence kings, princes and despots away from courses of conflict. At the same time, they would attempt to preserve knowledge as a hedge against any potential catastrophe. They established the post of Gaia to lead the Sisterhood, the Pythia to advise and help the Gaia, and they immediately began recruiting from every region in the ancient world. We’ve been at it ever since,’ she concluded with a shrug, ‘and sadly, history has shown we’ve only been marginally successful.’

  ‘Don’t be modest, Mama,’ chided Cutie. ‘Yes, there have been many wars, but there would have been many, many more without us.’

  ‘Cutie is right,’ added Doreen. ‘We’ve done much that can never be acknowledged and sometimes we even have to force an aggression to prevent a greater disaster, but normally we are able to effe
ct changes more subtly, as I’ve been trying to do in Paraguay. Sadly, there have been untold wars and the human race has suffered enormously, but believe me, things could have been catastrophically worse had we not existed.’

  ‘Curious, isn’t it,’ mused Cutie. ‘Popular literature is awash with numerous adventure novels all about secret organisations and cabals, all evil, all run by men – and all entirely fictitious. The only one that actually exists is the Sisterhood, it’s run entirely by women and it’s been extraordinarily beneficial to all mankind for the last three millennia. Now, surely that tells you something, doesn’t it?’

  Celeste considered this and realised the two women were speaking from sure knowledge. It was a sobering thought. She sighed. ‘This is too much,’ she said quietly. ‘I need tea, a breath of fresh air – and I need to think.’

  They took their refreshments in the flower garden, sitting in the shade of an ornate arbour dripping in heavy clematis blooms. Bertie sat on the back of a chair, preening and chirping to himself happily. Doreen and Cutie respected Celeste’s silence, watching as Martha tended to several beehives dotted about on the far side of the garden, her protective clothing making her look like Miss Havisham out on the pull. An industrious humming filled the air.

  ‘You’ve got a lot of bees,’ Celeste murmured.

  ‘We make a lot of honey,’ replied Doreen. ‘Martha wants to give you a jar as a present.’

  ‘Thank you. Bertie likes a spot of honey once in a while.’

  ‘Yummy honey,’ said Bertie. He closed his eyes and started to purr in contentment as Celeste stroked him absently. Eventually, she shook herself out of her reverie, dunked her biscuit and took a sip of tea.

  ‘Better?’ asked Cutie.

  ‘Considerably.’

  ‘Good. The custard creams help, don’t they?’

  ‘They do indeed. Excellent dunking biscuits.’ She looked around at the beautifully tended garden. ‘So who else lives here? These flowers don’t grow on their own.’