'So Reggie’ll have them shot. Oh, my God… Who else will they find?'
'My guess is no one. With a thing this size, I know how the Section works. If they did expect ramifications, every last one of us would be on overtime, questioning the prisoners' contacts. But we're not. It was neat, quick and complete. I know the signs and I'd bet a year's pay they're satisfied they've rounded up everybody. One of the leaders must have talked and convinced them he'd left nothing out. Don't ask me how. It's all very untypical.'
'I did wonder myself,' Brenda admitted. 'When they arrested Jerry Fanner, they didn't question me or any of the staff. They didn't even search his desk. Just took him away…' She smiled bitterly. 'A grilling was the least I expected, now that I'm out of favour… Though it's a couple of months now since Reggie dropped me. I suppose I'm not even "out of favour" any more. Just unimportant.'
'Not to me,' Gareth said quietly.
'I know… Why do you put up with me, Gareth? I use you as an emotional punching-bag and you never complain.'
He shook his head diffidently and after a while he asked: 'Do you still miss him?'
T wish I could answer that one,' she said, frowning. 'I just don't know. Sometimes I think I miss the man he used to be – but how much of that is really nostalgia for the old days, before the earthquakes and the witch-hunt and the Dust?… I thought I'd miss the status of being Madame Pompadour, with everyone afraid of offending me. But I don't. There's no real satisfaction in having everyone scared of you. I thought the wolves'd be on me as soon as I fell from grace – but do you know what, Gareth? Most of them just steered clear of me, as though I were going round with a bell crying "unclean, unclean"… And the real people were much more relaxed with me, as though I'd rejoined the human race… The worst time was in between, when I knew that bitch had taken him over already but he kept me on out of habit – when she wasn't in Beehive, at least. I was humiliated but I was as stubborn as hell. I was not going to give in to her… You said he "chucked me out". He never actually did, Gareth. Just treated me as part of the furniture till the humiliation outweighed the stubbornness. Do you know how it happened in the end? We'd come back to his quarters together and I let us in with my key. I always kept it separate from my key-ring – don't know why, caution I suppose. Anyway, he was being emptily charming, talking about nothing and not thinking of me at all and all of a sudden I hated him for excluding me. I put down the key on the table – sort of instinctive gesture of rejection. I went to pour a drink and when I came back the key had gone. I had a feeling he wanted me to… to abase myself by asking for it back. I couldn't. He went on being emptily charming, as though nothing had happened – he still is, if we meet by accident. I never went back and we never mention the fact.' She smiled unpleasantly. 'My God, Gareth, if I were a black witch I'd have his wax image right here, stuck full of rusty nails. Hers, too. Does that mean I miss him? Go on, psychoanalyse me.'
He shook his head again. 'I almost wish you were a black witch. You'd be doing the country a service.'
'Don't tempt me…' Her smiled faded. With your, dangerous thoughts, I'm surprised you weren't in there with Colonel Davidson. Thank God you weren't. I'd as sure as hell miss you'
'No, Brenda. When the time comes, that won't be my way of fighting him.'
Brenda took a deep breath.
'Our way, Gareth,' she said.
23
'I sometimes wonder,' Norman Godwin told his wife, 'why the hell we ever took on this bloody Castle.'
'You've been wondering that every week for months -and you know very well why,' Fay said.
The early sunshine bathed the perfect mandala of the sunken garden, below the East Terrace on which they stood, and softened the massiveness of the thousand-year-old fortress of Windsor at their backs. The lawns of the quartered circle were not as immaculate as they had once been, certainly; but they were still not bad, for the Castle group kept them mown on a rota system, as a labour of love. Only one feature was new – the two-metre-wide altar, neatly built of stone blocks, where the north-pointing path of the equal-armed cross met the outer circular path. The ornamental pond at the centre, too, was kept meticulously clear of floating leaves.
'It might really have been designed as an outdoor witches' temple,' Norman mused.
'You've said that before, too.'
Norman smiled. 'Stop taking the mickey, girl. You were the one who spotted it in the first place.'
They stood brooding, remembering the day they had come; the three covens from Slough, banding together for defence through the worst of the Madness, with friends and families making up nearly sixty people. They had been lucky to survive, for this part of the Thames Valley had been hit hard; and they had owed that survival to the nostalgia of a middle-aged woman from County Limerick. Maeve Kiernan was a quiet hard-working member of the Godwins' own coven, who had lived in Slough for thirty years or more, but who still tuned in to the Radio Eireann news almost every day. So she had picked up the Taoiseach's announcement on vinegar-masks days before the earthquake – and those who listened to her had escaped the Dust. Apart from the covens and their immediate friends, there had been few enough to listen; for the anti-witch mania was intense locally and on one occasion Maeve had narrowly escaped lynching as a panic-mongering witch when she had bravely stood up and tried to pass her news to a cinema audience.
The defensive band, practically unarmed, had fled from Slough in convoy during the demented hand-to-hand fighting, and dodging fissures, had found themselves at the gate of the Castle. Strangely, there had been few people about and those that there were had been busy fighting each other. The band had managed to lock themselves in the Round Tower, where they had been unassailable, till the peace of death had settled on the turmoil outside.
They had emerged and decided to make Windsor Castle their home.
That it was defensible was a strong argument in favour; the heating problem was a strong argument against and had troubled them throughout the winter and spring -hence Norman's remark after an unseasonably cold May night. They had managed, somehow, to find enough small rooms as living accommodation which could be kept reasonably warm and yet were close enough together to be defensible. By some freak of geology, the Castle hill had been barely touched by the earthquake, which had inflicted no more than a few cracks in the Castle's inner walls and caused the partial collapse of the Salisbury Tower – though nearby Eton was a desert of rubble and fire had destroyed.most of Windsor. The Castle, although cold, was a fortified oasis.
But that, they knew, had not been the real reason why they had stayed. They were surrounded, almost too profusely, by a millenium of the history of their now-decimated people and its hold on them grew as the days passed. If they abandoned it, rats and vandals, broken windows and damp, perhaps fire from careless nomads, would make short work of much of it. Almost without debate, they were overtaken by a compulsion to become its de facto guardians.
So the situation had arisen, bewildering to the odd stranger who came and went, of a survival group as short of food, facilities and warmth as any other, solemnly taking on the extra burden of lighting great wood-fires in the hearths of the State Apartments in rotation to fight off the worst of the damp, and searching methodically for tremor cracks to make good, new rat-holes to plug up, loose roof-tiles to fix, burst pipes to mend and broken panes to re-glaze.
Most of them being witches or sympathizers, they had been regular in their esbats and sabbats. In fine weather the sunken garden was, as Norman said, an ideal outdoor temple, with its great Circle and four cardinal points already laid out. Indoors, the King's Dressing Room served admirably, being only five and a half metres square, comparatively easy to warm and free from any obtrusive symbolism, even the pictures being confined to Royal portraits which looked on undisconcerted by the skyclad rituals. (So far no one had been hardy enough to be skyclad in the sunken garden; that could wait for a week or two yet.)
Fay and Norman, knowing the strong tradition that the Order of the Garter had w
itchcraft roots, had been tempted to suggest using St George's Chapel for one of the Great Sabbats but had decided against it; there were Christians in their community who might well be offended, thus endangering the friendly relations which had been achieved. They had compromised by suggesting the Garter Throne Room, where the three covens had held a very successful joint Imbolg festival on 2 February.
Today, with the climbing sun already banishing the chill, Norman soon regretted even the appearance of doubt. The whole thing, he decided, had been worth it.
He put an arm round Fay's shoulder, turning to go back indoors. To his surprise, she halted and stiffened. He looked down at her questioningly.
'Norman – hush, listen…'
He listened but could hear nothing.
'I thought I heard an aeroplane,' she said.
'Oh, darling – don't be daft. It's months since we heard even a motorbike…' But then he broke off, amazed, as a slight change of wind brought the sound to his cars too.
They listened incredulously as it grew louder.
'It's a chopper,' Norman said at last. 'And it's getting closer.' Defensive instinct made him pull Fay down to crouch behind the wall of the terrace; strangers were treated with caution till proved friendly and a helicopter… His hand touched the butt of his automatic which he always carried when he was out of doors.
'There it is. Look.'
The helicopter had materialized on the eastern horizon and was coming straight and fast for the Castle. Norman and Fay kept out of the sunlight, watching.
Minutes later, the helicopter settled on the lawn below them, swinging slightly to reveal RAF roundels and cut its engines. A middle-aged man jumped out (his flying jacket did not seem to cover a uniform) and turned to hand down the passengers; a handsome woman about his own age, a younger man and woman with a baby and two teenage girls. The group stood together for a moment, looking up at the Castle. Then the pilot said something to the younger man and they both took out pistols and began to move forward warily towards the terrace's central flight of steps, the women and girls behind them.
Norman waited till they were about twenty metres away, then called out from behind the wall.
'Drop those guns, please.'
The two men turned towards him, saw his pistol and obviously realized they were infinitely more vulnerable than he was. The older man dropped his weapon and the younger followed suit after a second's hesitation.
'Move away from them… I'm sorry but we have to be careful. We've been attacked before. We wish no one any harm but we have to be sure… Right. I'm coming down to join you.'
The older man smiled as Norman walked down the steps, gun in hand. ‘I do understand. We're fugitives, too. But definitely peaceful.'
Norman-asked: 'Who are you?'
The smile became a laugh. 'One might say – your landlords. I know a lot has changed but technically I own this place.'
Norman heard Fay gasp beside him and then awareness hit him as he recognized the face… all the faces. For a moment, the conflicting impulses of caution and respect paralysed him. He suddenly felt the absurdity of the situation and he pushed his gun back into his belt.
'Forgive me, sir,' he stammered. ‘We weren't exactly expecting you.'
Once the first astonishment and embarrassment were over, the day went remarkably well. Norman had the feeling that the King and his family, while courteous, were uncertain at first how to treat the squatters at whose mercy they obviously were, even though Norman had given them back their guns at once. Norman, in turn, hardly knew how to treat his refugee Sovereign in such a bizarre situation, so fell into the same kind of watchful politeness.
But fortunately, from the moment they went inside, the evidence of the group's attempts at preservation (however makeshift) was all around them; and as the King came to realize their attitude and the work they had put in – a quixotic effort, in the circumstances of winter survival -he thawed rapidly. By the time they were all seated in the communal dining-room, he and his family were treating the squatters as friends. There were nearly a hundred people at the meal, for the group had grown since its beginnings, and rumour, running round the Castle in minutes, had made sure there were no absentees.
Norman had never been either royalist or anti-royalist, tending to take the institution for granted, and to regard any debate on its principle as being of purely academic interest with so many more immediate problems to think of. But today he had to admire, if only on a personal basis, the way his unexpected guest (or should it be host?) managed to combine an interested and interesting friendliness with an ex-officio dignity. This was an unreal situation, yet its unreality was here to stay, so must be accepted as real. He hoped he was coping as well as the King seemed to be… He glanced across at Fay in animated conversation with the Queen and the younger Princess; no awkwardness there, apparently.
The meal was finished but nobody left. The King turned to Norman and asked: 'Would you mind if I made a kind of after-lunch speech?'
'I wish you would, sir. I'm sure everyone's – er…'
'Full of questions?'
'Well, yes.'
The King nodded. 'I'll see if I can forestall some of them.'
Norman stood up and banged his mug on the table. In the instant silence which followed, he announced, hoping that his words sounded neither pompous nor abrupt: 'Ladies and gentlemen, His Majesty would like to speak to us all. But before he does, I'd like to say something – I don't know anything about protocol, so I hope it's in order. Just that, of all the strange things that have happened to us in the last few months, this must be about the strangest. I don't know what His Majesty's plans are, except that they don't tally with Beehive's. Perhaps he'll tell us. But I do know that in a sense he and his family are in the same boat as we are and for that reason alone, quite apart from any others, we're very glad to welcome them – if one can welcome a family into its own home…' There was a murmur of laughter, in which the King joined. 'Anyway, sir – this may not be exactly a royal welcome but it's a genuine one and we're delighted you're here…' He did not know how to finish, so he gestured awkwardly at the King and sat down.
Fay smiled across at him, reassuringly, during the applause.
The King stood up with a little bow of acknowledgement to Norman and the applause cut off quickly.
'Thank you very much, Mr Godwin – ladies and gentlemen… Mr Godwin needn't worry; I haven't the faintest idea of the protocol for such a situation, either. I don't think it's arisen before. But believe me, for anyone as hungry – and I will admit it, frightened – as I and my family were this morning, this has been a very royal welcome… I won't speak for long, for a very practical reason; I'm probably the only helicopter pilot present (it has become an hereditary skill of our family, fortunately) and it occurs to me that the sooner we get that machine under cover and out of sight, the safer we all are from any reconnaissance sorties that may be out searching for me and my family, as they probably will be soon enough. Beehive has several concealed helicopter bases which is how we managed to escape – and that should tell you a good deal about the situation in which we found ourselves… In brief, as Sovereign, I can no longer regard the Beehive administration as being the legitimate authority of this country and therefore – if the Crown has any function left at all – I have a duty not to appear to be its formal head. For that reason, I got out. Fortunately I was able to bring my immediate family with me. Any man would want to do that, of course, but I had an additional reason; if Beehive should claim that I have abdicated or died and should try to impose as my successor some relative of mine who is still in its power, it would have to compel some unfortunate cousin. And since my son and my elder daughter are both of age – and, as you can see, in good physical and mental health – such a manoeuvre would be rather unconvincing… Mr Godwin has asked what my plans are. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I do not know yet. I hope the time will come when I shall know. Meanwhile, if you will have us -and if you feel our presence docs not
add to your own dangers – we would very much like to stay with you…'
The rest of his sentence was drowned in an outbreak of applause. When it had died down, he went on: 'Thank you for that; we appreciate it very much. This is, after all, our home, or one of them – I don't mean that in the sense of economic or constitutional ownership which has become pretty irrelevant these days, but in the sense that we love it. And our more intimate knowledge of the place might even be useful in your admirable work to conserve it… Ithink it will be best if we neither regard ourselves as your guests nor think of you as ours, but instead regard all of us as one working community… One day, perhaps, what is left of our country will find once more a useful function for a Sovereign or perhaps not. I can't foresee the answer to that question. If it does, I will hold myself ready to fulfil that function. If not – and in the meantime in any case -my family and I will do our best to make our own contribution, as individuals, to the survival and rebirth of our tragically tiny nation. One thing I will not do, ladies and gentlemen – I will not be paraded as the figurehead of a corrupt and dictatorial clique, cowering underground in comparative safety until it feels ready to emerge and take control, by force, of those who have done the real work of surviving.' He paused and then suddenly turned and smiled. 'And now perhaps, Mr Godwin – will you and some of your friends help me to hide that chopper?'
Two or three hours later, the King and Norman were walking round the Castle precincts, the King answering the shy greetings of the people they passed. They found themselves at the entrance to St George's Chapel and the King went in, Norman following him. They stood for a moment looking along the nave and up at the delicate tracery of the fan-vaulted roof.
'You're witches,' the King said at last. 'You know what they say about the Order of the Garter?' 'Yes, sir.'
'I've often wondered if it's true – that Edward III was really a supporter of the Old Religion?'
'There seems to be quite a case for thinking so…'
Omega Page 36
