A Maggot

by John Fowles

  Q. Seemed his Lordship pleased when Dick returned?

  A. I could not see, sir. For his face was barred by a branch. He made no sign. But when he came to fetch Louise, and spoke with her, I thought him more brisk.

  Q. He showed some eagerness?

  A. Yes, sir. The like he would hearten her to what was doing. And I marked, lifted her cloak from the stone and would hold it for her to put on, tho' she would not have it, whereat he carried it over his arm, as a servant might. Which I found strange. But so 'twas.

  Q. Did she wear her May crown?

  A. Not then, sir. But carried it in her hand.

  Q. On.

  A. Well, sir, once more I knew not what to do, for I knew they must return, since the horses was left, and they could not be gone far, and my own horse below, and not well enough hid, which they might see in passing back, and would know, and guess all.

  Q. Yes, yes. You followed?

  A. I did, sir. Two hundred paces it was steep and rude, more clitter than path, but then smoother, though still rude.

  Q. Too steep for a horse?

  A. One of our Welsh ponies might, sir, not your full horse. Then came I to where I had seen Dick stand before, though I stood not myself for fear of being seen, and found I looked upon that other part of the cwm I spoke of, that lay to one side.

  Q. In which direction?

  A. Why, to west'd or north-west, sir. Left-ward as I went. And I saw there was now no further of trees, be it not for some few poor twisted thorns, but sward and bracken above, rough leaze, that ran to somewhat of a basin, as so, like a Billingsgate fish-basket, sir, flat-bottomed to its sides, which were much of bare rock on the northern part, nigh to clift.

  Q. And those you followed?

  A. Plain enough to see, sir, they were above, some three or four hundred paces off, near upon this basin I speak of, so be it I could not see its bottom nor water from where I lay. But there, sir, I have not told the most. I marked they were alone no more.

  Q. How not alone?

  A. Why, I thought at first they had met with she we knew of, that his Lordship was covetous to marry. For a woman stood somewhat above them, that now they knelt before.

  Q. Knelt, do you say?

  A. Yes, sir, 'tis sure. They did kneel all, his Lordship foremost, hat in hand, and Dick and Louise a pace or two behind, as before a queen.

  Q. How appeared she, this woman?

  A. Your worship, it was far and I could but peep, for she did look to where I lay, I cannot be exact, save she was most strange dressed, as it seemed in silver, and more as man than

  woman, for she wore breeches and a blouse, no more; no cloak, no coat nor mantee, nor cap nor hat neither.

  Q. Saw you no horse, no attendant?

  A. No, sir. She alone.

  Q. In what manner stood she?

  A. As one who waits, sir.

  Q. She did not speak?

  A. Not that I spied.

  Q. How far apart were they?

  A. It might be thirty, forty paces, sir.

  Q. Was she fair in appearance?

  A. I could not tell, sir. 'Twas a good four hundred paces from where I watched. Of middle height and figure, and a dark hair that hung loose, it seemed not dressed nor curled, above a white face.

  Q. Seemed it as an expectant mistress might greet her long awaited lover?

  A. No, sir, not one smatch, and 'twas mightily strange they made no movement.

  Q. Could you make out her expression? Did she smile, look joyous, I know not?

  A. 'Twas too far, your worship.

  Q. You are sure she was woman?

  A. Yes, sir, and did then suppose her dressed as she was for some disguise of escape from where she lived, and the more easy mayhap to ride a horse, though I could see none. Yet

  as I say these clothes were not as a country clown or stable boy might wear, but shining silver, as finest paduasoy or silk.

  Q. I would know this. Shall you tell me more of this lady that you later discovered?

  A. I shall, sir, and that she had best worn darkest night than what she did.

  Q. Very well, in right time, as you did find upon that day. What next?

  A. I could not go closer forward, sir. There was no covert. If any had turned, I must be seen. I minded if I went back a little, I might find some way to the cwm's top, and there come unseen to some place above where they stood by the basin. So that I did, sir, though I tore my hands and clothes in the first part, and took longer than I wanted. 'Twas more place for your squirrel, see you, than mortal being. But I came over it in the end, and found it led out upon the open mountain, as I did hope. Where I began to run, with the cwm below me, though out of their sight. And when I came to where I judged they were, I first tore a piece of herbage to shield my face where I should watch. Then crouched and crawled upon my belly, sir, and found a good place among the whortles upon the brink, where I lay as in the gallery of Drury Lane, with all spread below me, like crow in gutter, or mouse in malt-heap.

  Q. Why do you stop?

  A. To pray you will give credit, sir, to what I have now to tell. Well I might speak of a theatre, nay, no piece was ever played more fantastickal, no, not half as much.

  Q. No credit before warranty. Speak on.

  A. I should have thought myself still abed dreaming, sir, had not the sun been hot on my back and my breath expiring from my running.

  Q. Devil take thy expiring. Get on with it, man.

  A. Well, sir, I must do my best. Upon the far side of the basin, there was a scarp of stone, as high as a house, that fell to the plain. While at its foot, which I could not see from my first vantage, there was a black-mouthed cavern. I judged it used by shepherds, sir, for a broken hurdle lay on the ground to one side and I saw a place where they had lit a great fire before the entrance, the turf burnt dark. And closer to me there stood a little pool of water, made of a tricklet scooped out and barred across with an earthen bank, by human hand. Which at its brim had a tall stone, not so tall as they at Stonage, yet high as a man, set on end, as if to mark the place.

  Q. There were no sheep?

  A. No, sir, I doubt not it is as in my homeland, such pasture not fit till May is done, besides that they will not risk their flocks thus far till the lambs are strong.

  Q. Saw you his Lordship?

  A. I must, sir, and Dick as well. They stood beside the stone, with their backs to me, and stared at the cavern, which stood a hundred paces off, so they thought to see someone come forth.

  Q. How far from where you spied?

  A. Two hundred paces, sir. A good musket-shot.

  Q. And the maid?

  A. Knelt at the pool, sir, upon her cloak at the brink, and washed her face, then dried it upon an edge of the cloak. So rested there upon her knees and stared mope-eyed into the water, with her may-crown beside her.

  Q. And this fourth particular, she that you saw from below, that was dressed as a man?

  A. I saw her not, sir. She was gone. I supposed entered inside the cavern, to change her costume, I knew not what. His Lordship turned and walked a few paces, and then did take his watch from his fob and opened its case, and I thought, the powder has failed the match. Something is amiss, he grows impatient. Yet he began pacing on, it seemed in thought. The turf was close, sir, and flat enough there for a bowling-green. And so for near another quarter-hour, with Dick still staring where the cavern was, and Louise sat upon the grass, like three who had never met nor spoken before, and all with different purposes.

  Q. To the events.

  A. At the end once more his Lordship looks to his fob-watch. Then 'tis as if the hour he waited is come, for he goes to Dick and lays a hand on his shoulder, so to say, as I say, the hour has come.

  Q. Which was, by your computation?

  A. Perhaps a half past ten of the clock, sir, I think not more. And now his Lordship goes to Louise where she sits apart and speaks to her and she bows her head, so she would not do what his Lordship wished. I could not hear,
sir, or only their voices, not what was said, they spake low. 'Twas plain she had no heart for what he wanted, for shortly he took her arm, such as he had no patience with her hanging back, and made her walk to where Dick stood. And she would take her cloak, yet he snatched it from her hand and threw it down at the foot of the stone when they stood there; then found they had left the may-crown on the grass and made a sign to Dick to fetch it, which he did, and set it on her head when he came back. Whereupon Dick takes her hand, and makes her face the cavern, like as they are man and bride before the church rails on their wedding day. And they begin to walk across the turf to the cavern, sir, hand in hand, with his Lordship behind, such a strange procession as you never saw, there in the sun, with no reason for it. Then from strange it grew ill, sir. For all of a sudden she half falls, turns, and is on her knees looking up at his Lordship, as if she beseeches his mercy. And I thought she wept, sir, 'twas too far, I cannot be sure. But he would not hear, and quick as a trice draws his sword and points it down at the poor girl's breast, so to say, your life is lost if you fail me now.

  Q. You wretch, this is some cock-and-bull. You concoct it as you go.

  A. God's honour 'twas so, sir. Would I venture what I know you would not believe?

  Q. He drew his sword upon her, you assert that? A. On my oath.

  Q. Did he speak?

  A. Not that I heard, sir. Dick made her stand again, and they went on, with his Lordship behind, still sword in hand, though he did drop the point; after a few paces, put it up again, so he feared no more she would disobey. Then come they upon the threshold of the cavern's mouth, and the strangest yet, sir. For just before they enter his Lordship raises his hand and sets his hat down against his breast, so they entered some great person's presence, before whom his Lordship must uncover. Sir, I am sorry, you would have me tell all. And I must.

  Q. You are sure, as if he would show reverence?

  A. As sure as I see you now, sir.

  Q. And then?

  A. They passed inside, sir. I saw them no more. Until it might be the time to count twenty, when I heard a stifled sound, a woman's scream, from within. 'Twas stifled, yet I heard it.

  Q. It was the wench?

  A. Yes, sir. And it went to my marrow, for I thought murder was being done. Though I know now it was not.

  Q. How large was this cavern?

  A. It ran low on one side. To the other, large. A great laden wain might have entered, sir, and space withal.

  Q. You could see within?

  A. None, sir, beyond where the sunbeams smote. 'Twas black as midnight.

  Q. You saw no one there, no figure or motion?

  A. No, sir. You may be sure I looked hard. Nor in all the long hours I waited. All lay in the silence, what I saw had never been. But yet knew I it had, for the cloak was there by the stone.

  Q. Did you not go down, to look closer?

  A. I dared not, sir, I was too much frighted. I saw some wickedness in his Lordship, some searching after evil knowledge, begging your pardon. For not a half-hour after they had gone in there came two great black crows, that they call ravens, with their young, and sat on the pentice slope above the cliff where the cavern lay, and made a great noise, as of joy or mockery, I know not which. I know most they betide death, and naught else good besides, and are wise beyond other birds. Or so it passes in my homeland, your worship.

  Q. Never mind your nonage and its tales. Nor your long hours, for the nonce. Came his Lordship out again?

  A. I do not know, sir.

  Q. You must!

  A. No, sir. I waited all that day, and in the end first Dick, then she did come, but he not. You must believe me, sir. The last time Jones's eyes saw his Lordship was when he went in.

  Q. Then the man and the wench, speak of them - when came they out?

  A. Not till that evening, sir, an hour before the setting of the sun. All of which time I waited, not knowing what to do, for the sun burnt me and I had no water to quench my thirst, nor nothing to victual my camp, neither, my breakfast no more than a stale piece of loaf, and I had not thought to bring what was left of that and the piece of cheese I kept in my saddlebag. And my poor Welsh soul needed food the more, dear God, I should have given my right arm for a piece of wormwood or the sweet angelick to protect me there.

  Q. Omit thy pains, 'tis thy lying neck needs protection now. To their coming out.

  A. I will, sir, I promise, but first must I say another strangeness I did not mark at once. Which was that a small smoke rose from a place above where this cavern lay, out of the green ground, as from a lime-kiln, tho' I could see no chimbly. Like to a fire inside, which found its way out by some hole or crack within and so to the pentice above the cliff, where the ravens had sat.

  Q. You saw no flames?

  A. No, sir, nor little smoke, and sometimes seeming none, but then issuing again. And I must tell from time to time I smelt it too, and liked not its stench, even though I lay far off and 'twas faint in my nostrils.

  Q. It was not fire of wood?

  A. I doubt not for part, sir, tho' with some foul substance mixed to it. I have smelt such in a tanner's yard, like of strange salts or oils. And I will add you more, sir. From time to time there came also a sound that crept to my ears from the cavern's mouth, which was much like to a swarm of bees, now seeming close, now so faint it might be gone. Yet I saw not a honey-bee where I lay, none but bumbards, and they but few, nor were there flowers to suck save small poor things.

  Q. It came from the cavern, you say?

  A. Yes. At loudest no more than murmur, yet I heard it well.

  Q. What made you of these things?

  A. I made nothing then, sir. I was bewitched, see you. I would go, I could not.

  Q. Why say you, then?

  A. As it happened, sir. I had not spoken with Louise, as you shall hear.

  Q. Very well. First I have your word, you did not once leave your hiding-place that day?

  A. Two times, sir, and not five minutes apiece, to see if I could not find some water behind and to ease my legs, for I lay so still and the ground hard. I swear no more, and all as before when I came back to my post.

  Q. Is it not true you had slept little that night previous? Did you not then sleep there?

  A. No, sir. 'Twas no down bed, I assure you.

  Q. Jones, I want the truth. You shall not be blamed for this, if you gave way to nature and circumstance, and slept. I will know.

  A. I may once or twice have fallen to a waking doze, sir, as one does riding. No full sleep, upon the Book.

  Q. You know what I drive at, man. Can you deny a person might have left the cavern without your seeing him?

  A. I cannot believe so, sir.

  Q. You must. You admit you went twice away. And did you not doze?

  A. Yes, sir, tho' very little. And you have not heard what Louise was to tell me.

  Q. Come to that.

  A. Sir, as I told, the shadows grew long, and began to creep across the sward, and I lay with even greater shadows on my mind, my heart misgave me some most awful thing had happened, or they within should have come out by now; and knowing I must soon go, I would not for my fife have stayed in darkness in that place. I first thought to ride back to where we had slept and tell all to the justices. Yet then, sir, I thought of the disgrace to his Lordship's noble parent should this become public noise, and how I ought to find some way to tell him privily, that he might then do as he thought fit.

  Q. To the point.

  A. Why, sir, as I lay there hollow as a kex, not knowing what to do, out comes Dick of a sudden, running, his face wild, such as truly a man in a fit, with the greatest fear upon him; and after a step or two he fell to his face as upon ice, then was up at once with a look of terror backward, so he saw what d could not, and close upon him, and his mouth opened as he would cry, tho' there came no sound; and then he ran on, as if all his thought was to escape from what was within. And run he did, your worship must believe me, so fast I must almost think
I dreamed, why, he was gone before he was there, and back the way they had come. And I lying above, not knowing whether I should follow, or what was to be done. He went so fast I should ne'er have caught up with him. So I thought, Davy, thou'st let the first whiting leap, no matter, there's more yet, thou must wait; and then I thought mayhap Dick has gone only to fetch the horses, and will be back, and I would not for my life leave my place, sir, and risk the meeting of him, a desperate dangerous fellow and stronger than I. So I did nothing, see you, but lay as I was.

  Q. He came not back?

  A. No, sir, and I saw him not again. I doubt not he ran to hang himself. I must tell your worship he had such an air upon him, I see it now again, of one in Bedlam, who knew not what he did, unless to run away until he fell; like to the hounds of Hell were close upon his heels, or worse.

  Q. Come to the wench.

  A. Why, sir, I do. She came not so soon, for a half hour or more passed, and once again I knew not what to do, and the sun crept close to the cavern's entrance, which when it should reach there I had made my hour-hand and time to withdraw. Then of a sudden, she came, yet as unlike Dick as could be, for she walked slow, like one who wandered in -her sleep, or was turnsick, like those once I saw come from an explosion in a powder-mill, who could at first not speak nor tell nothing from the suddenness and great horror of it. Out upon the sward, your worship, so, in a daze, why, not able to leap a straw, as if she saw nothing, were blinded. And this, sir, she wore her white dress no more. She was naked as the day she was born.

  Q. Not a stitch?

  A. No, sir, not even shift, nor shoes and stockings, all as Eve before the Fall; bare breasts, bare arms and legs, bare all save where no woman is bare, her black feathers, your worship's pardon. Then stopped she and raised her arm to her eyes, I doubt not she was dazzled by the light, tho' the sun stood low. Next turned she toward the cavern's mouth and fell upon her knees, so to give thanks to God for her deliverance.

  Q. Her hands held in prayer?