by Kit Berry
‘We don’t know he forced her,’ said Martin. ‘And besides, everyone knows what that family’s like.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Marigold, her jowls quivering in fury.
‘Oh come on – we all remember Maizie as a girl. I expect her daughter’s the same.’
‘Ooh, sour apples!’ mocked Cherry.
‘Aye, I remember you had your eye on Maizie yourself!’ said Marigold. ‘And she weren’t interested in you. Or maybe you’ve forgotten that, Martin?’
He ignored this, although his ears burned red.
‘All I’m saying is, Master Buzz is Hallfolk, Magus’ son no less. Whereas she’s just a Village girl, a dairy-maid with her face in a cow’s flank all day. It weren’t so long ago that we wouldn’t even be discussing this. I really don’t know why there’s all this fuss – the girl should feel honoured.’
‘That’s the biggest load of pig-swill I’ve heard in a long time!’ said Cherry.
‘Aye! Just because your mother was tumbled by Hallfolk when she were a maid don’t make it right now.’
Martin stood up and turned on them both, his narrow face furious.
‘My mother was honoured to be chosen. How dare you speak of it in that way!’
‘Your mother Violet was hoping to be the Wise Woman back then, all those years ago,’ said Marigold. ‘I was a young maid and I remember it well. Mother Heggy was teaching the craft to Raven, but Violet always wanted to learn too. Once Raven was taken by the magus, Basil, and expecting the first baby, Violet were over the moon thinking she’d be trained instead.’
‘Aye,’ said Cherry. ‘I remember it clear as spring-water. Violet vowed to anyone as would listen that she’d never be handfasted, would never lie with a man, just as it must be for the Wise Woman. And next thing we know – she’s expecting too! There went her chances of ever taking over from Mother Heggy.’
‘That’s all in the past,’ said Martin quickly. ‘My mother was proud to find she was carrying me. And her skills have been put to good use for the community, especially since Old Heggy went so mad after that Winter Solstice. My mother bakes all the ceremony cakes and she makes remedies for us all. It never made any difference that I was born.’
‘Pah! Old Violet’s never had any real powers. And anyone could bake those ceremony cakes,’ said Marigold. ‘If Magus gave me the special ingredients I’d do a better job of it than she does. Mine would melt in the mouth, not stick in the throat.’
‘Anyway,’ said Cherry firmly, ‘I have work to do, Martin. You keep your nasty old-fashioned ideas to yourself. I don’t want any of my maids hearing such rubbish and thinking they should put up with any nonsense from Hallfolk men. Magus’ll punish that boy of his, you’ll see. And I hope it’s banishment, because that Buzz isn’t worthy of being magus one day. And I don’t care if you don’t like me saying so.’
That evening, Martin took the supper tray up to Buzz’s room himself.
‘Thanks, Martin,’ mumbled Buzz. ‘I hope it’s something soft I can manage. My jaw’s still so painful and I can hardly open my mouth.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Martin, placing the tray on a side table and helping Buzz sit up in bed. He plumped the pillows and poured some more water for him.
‘What’s everyone saying?’ asked Buzz, eyeing the tray with little enthusiasm. ‘Are they all laughing at me for getting beaten up by that bastard Yul?’
‘No, no, sir, of course not. Nobody’s laughing at all. ‘Twas shocking what happened. Yul should be punished for what he did.’
‘Well he won’t be,’ said Buzz morosely. ‘Magus said it was my fault.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know all the facts, sir,’ said Martin. ‘Whatever happened, a Villager should never be allowed to get away with doing this to Hallfolk.’
‘You’re very loyal, aren’t you, Martin?’
‘I believe in the natural order of things, sir. I was born to serve the Hallfolk, and especially the magus. To be his right-hand man. My loyalty is of course with you, as Magus’ eldest Hallfolk son. I would always stand by you and help you in any way you asked.’
Buzz smiled grotesquely through swollen lips.
‘You’re a good man, Martin, and I’ll remember that.’
Whilst Buzz recuperated alone in his room, Sylvie made every effort to get back to normal after her ordeal at Mooncliffe. Wandering around the Hall one day, deserted because of the hot weather and lack of school lessons, she found herself in the Galleried Hall. She sat down on an oak settle against the wall and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. It was very high, carved in dark wood that curled and swept in curves. There were many stained-glass windows set up in the walls near the roof. The sun poured through the beautiful windows in coloured shafts, illuminating the motes of dust dancing like gnats in the light. She craned her neck to study the designs illustrated in stained glass.
She was particularly struck by a great window that glowed green and gold, depicting the Green Man. It reminded her of the carving Professor Siskin had shown her on their visit to the Jack in the Green pub. Looking around the Galleried Hall, she realised just how often the motif was repeated. Many of the ceiling bosses held tiny leafy faces staring down at her. There were faces surrounded with leaves carved into the stone above the arched doorways, and all around the vast room more leafy faces were carved into the cornice of the dark-oak panelling that lined the walls. These had been picked out with gilt, and the leaves burned gold in the bright sunlight.
‘I see you’ve discovered the Lord of the Greenwood carvings,’ called an unmistakable voice from high up in the gallery overlooking the hall. Sylvie smiled up at Professor Siskin, pleased to see him again. He kept himself tucked away most of the time, buried in his research.
‘There are so many of them,’ she called back. ‘It’s a forest of Green Men!’
‘Indeed it is! Wait there, my dear, I’m coming downstairs to join you.’
He disappeared from his vantage point and reappeared a few minutes later through a door opposite her. He hobbled across the flagstones and sat down stiffly on the settle next to her, looking around him with pleasure.
‘This is the oldest part of the Hall still standing,’ he said. ‘It’s probably thirteenth century in origin, with later additions, of course. The floor itself is undoubtedly even older.’
They looked down at the large, worn flagstones, and Sylvie shook her head.
‘I find it hard to imagine just how many feet have trodden this floor. I was thinking the same thing in the porch the other day. The Hall is so steeped in history.’
‘Indeed, which is why it holds such fascination for me. I’ve devoted my life to history and all because I was lucky enough to be born here. Of course there’s my history of Stonewylde too, my own small contribution to posterity. And don’t forget, Sylvie, it’s not just the Hall. Remember we talked about the Village Green and my theory of the woodland temple? I think the oldest thing on the whole estate of Stonewylde, including the standing stones, dolmen and barrows, is the yew tree on the Village Green.’
Sylvie smiled at the thought of that yew tree.
‘I’d love to read your book when it’s finished, Professor.’
‘Indeed you shall, my dear,’ he said delightedly.
‘I was wondering – has Stonewylde always had a magus?’ she asked. ‘A lord and master who lives here in the Hall?’
‘I believe there’s always been a magus, and of course Stonewylde’s always had a lord. But it’s only in fairly recent times that the two roles have been held by the same man. Do you know what “magus” means?’
‘I thought it meant the master, the ruler?’
‘Not at all, although a common misconception. A magus is a magician, a wise one, a learned one. As an Outsider here, you may remember the magi of the Bible, the three wise men who visited the infant Jesus, bearing gifts? It’s the same word. Magi is the plural of magus. Stonewylde has always had its magus, the one who receives the Earth Magic, the single on
e who can channel the power. So the magus would be the one leading the ceremonies, while the lord was the person who ran the community. Not the same person doing all of it.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘Yes, and I’ve recently re-read some fascinating accounts from early Tudor times describing the ceremonies up at the Stone Circle. Sol must’ve read them too, for when he took over he revived the celebrations. Thanks to his father and grandfather, the ancient traditions of Stonewylde as a pagan community were almost lost and forgotten. We’ve a lot to be grateful to our present magus for.’
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Sylvie, shivering at the thought of him.
‘But interestingly enough,’ continued the professor, delighted to have someone to share his discoveries with, ‘the documents I read spoke of how the magus channelled the Earth Magic during the festivals and shared the power and force with the folk of Stonewylde. He passed the energy on to everyone, but that’s one practice our magus hasn’t continued with. Instead he gives us the feeling of well-being with mead and cakes.’
‘They’re amazing. You feel so good after them.’
‘That’s the idea, I believe,’ said the old man with a twinkle. ‘Sol is a clever chap indeed.’
‘So why doesn’t he channel the Earth Magic and share it with everyone?’
‘Who knows? Maybe he feels that he alone needs the energy in order to run the community so effectively. It can’t be an easy job. But whatever the reason, he ensures that the people leave the ceremonies with a feeling of euphoria. As an act of mass socialisation, that’s crucial to the community. Ah yes, he’s a clever man.’
Sylvie stood up and stretched. She helped Siskin stand, for his joints were stiff.
‘Yul gets Earth Magic from the stones,’ she said casually.
‘What?’
Siskin sat down again abruptly and blinked up at her.
‘Say that again, my dear. What do you mean?’
‘Yul goes up there most sunrises and sunsets if he can and stands on the Altar Stone. He comes back charged up with power, full of it. And at the festivals it’s even stronger. At the Summer Solstice he made sparks shoot from his fingertips to relight the torch when it went out.’
‘But it’s not possible for two people to receive the magic! It’ll only go to one person, the chosen one who has the ability within them to channel it. According to the history, there’ve been times when there’s no magus at all. But never two. How extraordinary! Unless … unless it has ceased going to Magus. I wonder …’
‘I think you’re right. I don’t think Magus receives it any more. That’s what Yul says anyway.’
The old man sat there in the dusty sunlight and gazed up at the ceiling.
‘Well I never. The Green Man … and now this. I hadn’t imagined …’
He shook his head in bewilderment. Sylvie glanced at him; he seemed to have disappeared into a day dream. Then he turned and smiled at her.
‘These are exciting times for Stonewylde, my dear. I wish I could be here to witness what is about to unfold.’
‘Why? What’s going to happen?’
He shook his head again.
‘Time will tell. I’m only speculating and best keep it to myself, I think. But I do wish I weren’t leaving.’
‘Will you be back soon? Do you come back for the Winter Solstice?’
‘No, my dear girl. I wish I did, but I’m only permitted to stay from the Summer Solstice until Lammas, and that’s much longer than most get. Sol’s been very good to me this year, allowing me to stay on a few extra days, but I’m leaving tomorrow.’
‘I do wish you weren’t going,’ she said sadly. ‘I have so few friends here, and you’re one of the best. Can we keep in touch when you’re back in Oxford? Do you use e-mail?’
‘Of course, my dear! I might be old but I’m jolly good on my computer. A wonderful invention, the Internet. Invaluable for research. I’d love to correspond with you electronically. You can keep me informed of events … as they unfold.’
They sat in peace for a while longer, the professor in his old velvet jacket gazing around wistfully. Sylvie felt so sorry for the elderly man who’d been sent away from the home he loved. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling again, noticing this time another motif repeated around the gallery.
‘What’s that one?’ she asked. ‘The three … rabbits? Or are they hares?’
‘Ah, the triple hare motif! Yes, another favourite; this Galleried Hall is positively teeming with hares. See how they chase each other in a circle and share the same three ears? A clever stylistic device, creating a triangle in the centre like that. It’s a very popular symbol and the research surrounding it is really quite fascinating. There are many churches throughout the country, but especially in Devon, where the triple hare symbol can be found. Mostly in ceiling bosses, stone or wood, but sometimes in stained glass or floor tiles. And not just this country either!’
Sylvie smiled encouragingly at him. He was so enthusiastic and full of knowledge.
‘It’s been discovered in churches all over Europe – France, Germany, Switzerland – and even further afield.’
‘The same symbol?’
‘Exactly the same symbol! The three hares in a circle with a triangle of ears linking them. An Iranian coin from the thirteenth century, a Russian reliquary casket, thirteenth or fourteenth century. But the most exciting of all – our triple hares have been discovered in a Buddhist cave temple in China! Dating to the Sui Dynasty, circa the sixth century. Isn’t that extraordinary?’
‘It’s incredible! … so what does the symbol mean?’
‘We don’t know. Experts think that it was perhaps brought to Europe along the Silk Road, when the Mongol empire opened the trading route for silk from the Orient. But I don’t know … I sometimes wonder if it was here all along. The fact that we haven’t discovered any older examples in Britain doesn’t mean it didn’t exist here. Maybe there are examples yet to be unearthed. It could be a universal symbol. The hare is a sacred animal, after all, and linked to the Moon Goddess. Even the ancient Egyptians had a hare god, and that’s going back a great deal further. The hare is a magical creature indeed.’
Sylvie nodded, thinking of the hares that danced with her up on the hilltop. But then her head began to cloud and throb, and she tried to dismiss the memory.
‘Ah well, that’s enough of the history lesson for today, my dear Sylvie. I hope I haven’t bored you? I do get a little carried away in my zeal.’
‘No, I find it fascinating. I wish you were around for longer to tell me more.’
He stood up slowly, a groan escaping his lips.
‘I don’t mind getting older but I do wish my body still worked properly. Make the most of yours, my dear, while it’s young and supple. Now before I leave in the morning I wanted to give you something. I have it in my room and I think you’ll like it. Will you accompany me there?’
They left the mediaeval hall with its blazing stained glass and dark carvings, and made their way into the corridor leading to the entrance hall and the main staircase.
‘Why are there so many Green Men in the Galleried Hall?’ asked Sylvie, as they slowly climbed the wide stairs.
‘He’s a popular motif everywhere. Many churches have a Green Man tucked away up in the roof or hidden in a corner, since many of them were built on sites already used for pagan celebrations. The builders – stone-carvers and woodcarvers – would’ve felt uncomfortable abandoning their woodland deity completely for the new Christian one. So the Green Man pops up everywhere.’
‘It’s strange, the idea of such a pagan symbol in churches.’
‘Ah, but some symbols are universal and transcend the boundaries of religion,’ he explained, pausing to catch his breath. ‘The ones here at Stonewylde are in the “foliate head” style, where the head of a man is surrounded by a halo of leaves. This indicates the Lord of the Greenwood. Others you’ll see elsewhere, and particularly in churches, show branches and leaves
sprouting from the mouth, nose and ears. They’re “masque feuillu”, or the “sprouting head”. Sometimes they symbolise death and sometimes they’re to ward off evil spirits.’
‘But I still don’t understand why there are so many of them in the Galleried Hall.’
‘The religion here in mediaeval times when the Galleried Hall was built was not only the cult of the Earth Goddess but also the woodland deity, the Green Man. He’s the spirit of virility who impregnates Mother Earth and makes her bountiful and fruitful. He’s the male counterpart to the female Goddess, for nature always seeks a balance. So it’s natural he’d appear in the early architecture at Stonewylde.’
They’d climbed the main stairs and were now making their way down corridors into a wing at the back where Sylvie had never been before. She’d easily get lost on her own in this vast place. They started to climb another, narrower staircase. Professor Siskin was wheezing and took it very slowly.
‘The Green Man isn’t important here anymore, is he?’ said Sylvie, waiting for the professor to catch up. ‘I know he’s celebrated at Beltane, but apart from that nobody seems to mention him much.’
‘Well observed, my dear!’ gasped Siskin, halting at the top of the stairs as he struggled to breathe. ‘The Green Man was also part of a sacrificial cult, I believe. It’s possible the Jack in the Green – the man encased within boughs of greenery in a type of cage – is reference to this. Generally it was a Beltane custom, but not necessarily at Stonewylde. I’ve uncovered some fascinating references to a very old, dark practice here of an annual sacrifice of the Green Man at the time of the Winter Solstice, to ensure the vitality and renewal of the sun and the life force for the coming year.’
‘Sacrifice? Do you mean human sacrifice?’
‘Indeed. I believe it took place at the quarry, for there’s mention of it in several documents. The Place of Bones and Death, it’s referred to. Rather eerie, I thought. I imagine that’s why the custom of deifying the Green Man fell out of practice, for, after all, who wants to give up their life?’
‘Yes, they’d have to choose someone to be killed every year. That’s horrible.’
