by Dion Fortune
One thing stood out quite clearly, however, she was the solution of Hugh’s problem. If she were unwilling to solve it for him, it would go unsolved. And looking deeply into her own soul she had to face the fact that although Hugh might make no appeal to her as a man, there was a queer kind of fascination about Ambrosius.
She had always had a very strong feeling for the glory that was Greece and was firmly convinced that she had been an initiate of the Mysteries of the Earth Mother. Her childish fantasy of the swift free running in the short slit kirtle that earned the Spartan girls the opprobrious title of Thigh-showers from the rest of Greece, had given place, as she grew older, to a fantasy in which she was a priestess and an initiate, penetrating deep and secret things, and the boy-comrade of the childish day-dream became the priest-initiator of the Mysteries. Not very long before Hugh had appeared on the scene, she had been reading in one of the books borrowed from Jelkes’ miscellaneous stock in trade of the interpretation put by modern scholarship upon the scurrilous abuse which the Early Fathers heaped upon the pagan faiths they sought to supplant. She knew that the alleged temple orgies were far from being the Mi-Carême they were supposed to be, but were solemn and sacrificial acts into which no human feeling entered.
At the climax of the Mysteries of the Earth Mother all the lights went out, and the high priest and the chief priestess descended in darkness into the crypt and there consummated a union that was a sacrament just as much as eating the Body and drinking the Blood. She knew the curious magical bond that the act of union makes between a man and a woman, whether they love, or whether they hate, or whether they buy and sell in sordid indifference. If such a bond is forged by a simple animal function, what must be the bond that is forged by such a sacramental rite as that of the pastos of Eleusis?
‘Do you know what I think, Hugh?’ she said, breaking the long silence that had settled upon the darkening room. ‘I think that there is a path opening before us, if we have the nerve to take it, that will lead us to some very wonderful things. I’ll face it if you will, but remember, once we start on it, there will be no turning back.’
‘That’s what I have begun to suspect,’ said Hugh. ‘I tried to turn back this morning when I got the wind up over you and Ambrosius.’
‘I’ll have to tackle Ambrosius and come to terms with him,’ said Mona. ‘It’s the only thing to be done.’
‘I don’t envy you the job,’ said Hugh. ‘Personally, I think Ambrosius is quite capable of strangling you.’
‘I’m not worrying about that.’ Mona laid her hand on his knee. ‘Do you know that there’s a bond that binds me to you, just as there’s one that binds you to me?’
‘Yes, I know there is. I’ve watched you straining at it.’
‘I may have done at first, but I feel differently about it now.’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to marry me, Mona?’
‘Not as things are at present. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Well, I don’t blame you.’
‘No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean I wouldn’t care to take advantage of you when you aren’t yourself. If I didn’t really like you, Hugh, I might; it’s naturally a temptation to any one placed as I am, but I’m not going to do it. If I marry you at all, I’ll marry you properly, because I really want to.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hugh was so late getting down next morning that he had to eat his breakfast by himself, which he hated.
He could hear Mona’s voice in the back premises talking to Silly Lizzie, who appeared to be in a great state of mind. There were occasional interpolations from Bill Pascoe. There did not seem to be exactly a row going on, but things sounded rather crucial. Gradually it dawned on the listener that the invocation of Pan on which they were engaged had not been without results. Lizzie appeared to think, however, that she had fallen into sin. Hugh was immensely amused at Mona’s matter of fact, man-of-the-world attitude in the matter. The reprobate Bill and she were entirely of one mind and seemed to understand each other perfectly and be supporting each other warmly. Lizzie’s attitude, on the other hand, was strictly conventional, and she overflowed into a squelching repentance and misery by way of compensating for her previous actions. She was also terrified of Bill’s mother.
Finally Lizzie’s blubbering became less stormy, and Bill’s jocular basso more in evidence, and presently Mona left the happy pair to their own devices, and came out to join Hugh where he stood leaning against the door-post, smoking in the sunshine. Together they strolled slowly to the seat in the angle of the wall. Hugh gave Mona a cigarette and lit it for her.
‘Mona, is this the result of the invocation of Pan I did in the chapel yesterday?’
‘Yes, I expect so.’
‘If it affects Silly and Bill like this, what is it going to do to us?’
Mona did not answer.
‘I admit we have got better headpieces than they have,’ Hugh went on, ‘but it has got to be considered.’
Mona scraped the gravel with the toe of her shoe.
‘What are you driving at, Hugh?’
‘I think that if Pan comes through in force, he will clear out all the stopped-up inhibitions in me, and I shall be all right after that.’
She did not answer.
Hugh spoke again. ‘Do you remember Des Esseintes’ stunt — in Hysmans’ A Rebours, you know? The all-black dinner-party when he wished to feel particularly wicked? Well, what about it? Don’t you think we ought to be getting on with the job?’
Mona flushed at the sudden recall to the business relationship, which had gone from her mind as completely as if it had never existed.
‘Yes, certainly,’ she said. ‘What would you like me to start on first?’
‘Well, I don’t quite know. I’ll have to ask your Uncle Jelkes. He’s the expert. But there’s one thing I wish you would fit me up with, so as I can make a start, and that’s a monk’s robe like Ambrosius was wearing in the picture in the psalter.’
Mona raised startled eyes to his. ‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded anxiously.
He put his hand over hers. ‘Mona, I’m going to bring Ambrosius back in good earnest. You needn’t look so scared.’
He drove Mona into the little country town, and waited in the parked car in the market-place. The back view of Mona, as she stalked through the market-day crowds at her unhurried pace, recalled his dream, and something inside him stirred like a quickening child.
The draper, of whom Mona bought half a dozen yards of the coarse black serge affected by country people in mourning, wondered who the poor young lady had lost. The saddler of whom she bought a length of the white cotton rope that is used to halter beasts at shows, wondered what she was exhibiting. The shoe-maker of whom she bought a pair of sandals such as are worn by healthy lifers thought she must have a hefty pair of feet for her size.
Mona spent the afternoon in her bedroom making the coarse black serge into a cowled robe. Where or how Hugh spent it, she did not know, save that he came in to supper looking exhausted.
‘I want a fitting,’ said Mona in her abrupt way as soon as tea was finished.
‘Right-o,’ said Hugh, and followed her upstairs when she went to fetch her handiwork.
He pulled on the voluminous garment over his head like a shirt, tied the white halter-cord round his waist, and Mona knelt down at his feet to adjust the hem. He looked over her head into the mirror on the door of the wardrobe.
It gave him a very odd feeling to see himself in the long black robe with its white girdle and loose cowl around the neck. Raising his hands, he drew the cowl over his head and studied the effect of his own face, dimly seen in its shadow. He had never felt so at home in anything in his life. The long loose folds gave dignity to his lanky height. His round-shouldered stoop was appropriate in a churchman. The shadow of the cowl gave his hollow-checked, sharp-featured face a look of fine-drawn asceticism. He was an utterly different man.
And with the change came a sudden feeling o
f something dynamic; of a self-confidence and self-will he had never known before. He looked down at Mona’s black head as she knelt at his feet, and prompted by some sudden mischief he laid his hand on it.
‘Pax vobiscum, my daughter,’ he said.
Mona looked up, startled.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said, patting her on the head, seeing that he had really frightened her. ‘I’m not Ambrosius. I was only teasing you.’
But she continued to crouch at his feet, clutching a fold of his robe. ‘You’re not the Hugh I know,’ she said.
He sat down on the edge of her low divan bed and drew her towards him till she was leaning against his knee. She stared up into his face, fascinated, oblivious of her position.
‘What do you mean, Mona?’
‘There was a rush of power through you. I don’t know what it means.’
The realization came to Hugh that Mona was completely dominated by him at that moment, and he could do anything he liked with her. The feeling gave him an extraordinary exhilaration and sense of freedom and power. He felt that he must say something, anything, to assert his new dominion and make it lock home.
‘This is the Ambrosius that won’t take no for an answer.’
‘This is the Ambrosius who won’t get no for an answer!’ and Mona suddenly smiled at him in a way she had never done before.
Hugh sat motionless, not daring to break the spell; wondering how long it would last before it faded into the light of common day.
‘Do you know what I am going to do as soon as my robe is ready?’ he said at length. ‘I am going into the chapel, and I’m going to try and reconstruct the whole thing.’
‘Aren’t I coming?’ said Mona.
‘No,’ said Hugh, ‘you aren’t. I’m taking no chances on Ambrosius. If I were you I’d lock your door.’
‘But Hugh, you won’t solve the problem with Ambrosius. It goes back further than him. It goes back to Greece — on the hill-side. And I want to be there. I’m sure I ought to be there. I’m part of it.’
‘You’re no part of Ambrosius, Mona. You were simply his bad dream.’
‘That was his trouble, Hugh. That was what was the matter with him. It was because I wasn’t there that things went wrong. They’ll go wrong again if I’m not there this time.’
Hugh laid his hand on her head. ‘We aren’t having any human sacrifices in this temple. I’ll tackle Ambrosius by myself, and then if anything goes wrong, the results will be minimal.’
Mona clutched his wrist and looked up at him with anguished eyes. ‘Hugh, if I’m not there to act as lightning-conductor, it will be as if you were struck by lightning. I know it will. I felt it on a small scale just now. If I hadn’t been touching you when it happened, you’d have gone right off into Ambrosius.’
Hugh leant forward and took her by the shoulders. ‘Mona, that is exactly what I have got to do. I’ve got to go right off into Ambrosius, and then I’ve got to bring Ambrosius back into me.’
Mona, looking up at his face, hawk-featured in the shadow of the cowl, knew instinctively that his mental attitude was that of a man accustomed to being obeyed, like Ambrosius, who had commanded a monastery as big as a small town, not like Hugh Paston, used to being chivied by his womenfolk.
Mona kept herself busy in the garden during the days that followed. The thing she was doing was a severe strain, and it was telling on her. It was one thing to stand by Hugh with Jelkes beside her; it was another to go on day after day alone, knowing that he was experimenting all the time, and that Ambrosius was drawing steadily nearer. She was determined not to summon Jelkes because she feared that his little business might tie itself into a knot if he were not there to attend to it.
She worked steadily at the long border leading out into the field. The grey, aromatic plants were going in one by one, and the sweet sharp scent given off by their foliage as she handled them filled the air as she worked. She concentrated on her planting, knowing that from the contact she was making with the newly-turned earth she was drawing strength and stability. The great Earth-mother, feeling herself tended and served, responded.
A shadow fell across the moist, sun-warmed soil, and Mona looked up to find Hugh Paston striding past her towards the farmhouse. Mona knew instinctively that the thing she greatly feared had now arrived. Unable to concentrate on the gardening any longer, she sat down on a pile of turf and lit a cigarette with fingers that trembled.
She was not troubled about the outcome of the affair for herself; she had little or nothing to lose; it was Hugh she feared for. Would the Pan in Hugh be strong enough to break through his inhibitions? And if it did, would his nature stand the strain, or would it split?
She sat on in the sun, smoking her cigarette down to the bitter end and burning her lips before she threw it away. She was a courageous creature, and could have steered steadily through the breakers ahead had she had any sort of a chart or compasses. It was the absence of any sea-mark by which she could lay her course that gave her anxiety. She knew the general direction, but she did not know where the water might be expected to shoal and the channel would have to be kept accurately.
But there are many worse sea-marks than a star. She found herself picturing the sea of her metaphor, indigo in the darkness, flecked here and there with foam where it broke on the unseen rocks. Above her head was the night sky and the stars. The sunlight faded out, and Mona was alone with her vision. She could feel the boat of the soul that carried herself and another reaching steadily on its tack; then she put it about, and it paid off on the next long slant of the wind. The night was closing in, the wind freshening, and she thought of the Master Who had walked the waves in the storm. His comforting touch was not for her if she were following after the Wild Goat of the mountains. And then there came to her the vision of Pan with his crook, Pan as the Shepherd; Pan with his pipes — the Nether Apollo — the harmonizer. She saw him, shaggy and wild and kind, leading the creatures of the flock of Ishmael down to the grey and barren shore that hay ahead. And he held out his crook towards her over the dark waters, and she laid the course that would bring her to him where he waited, the creatures of the flock of Ishmael about his feet — creatures for whom there was no place in the world of towns and men. Somehow she knew that steering by that uplifted crook, she would come steadily through the churning white water that marked the unseen rocks.
She held on her course fearlessly, even though she could hear the breakers closing in all round her. Then it seemed to her that the Shepherd of Goats rose up gigantic in the darkness, towering above her small boat, his slanting agate eyes gleaming and kindly. He was the keeper of all wild and hunted souls for which no place could be found in a manmade world, and she and Hugh were running in under the shadow of his crook. They were coming down on to the fundamental realities of life which cannot be shaken, to which all things must come in the end. She began to feel safe and secure. Keeping her eyes fixed on the fundamental reality, let it be what it might, she felt certain that she would steer the right course. This was the real invocation of Pan — the surrender to bed-rock natural fact, the return to Nature, the sinking back into the cosmic life after all the struggle to rise above it into an unnatural humanity. Animal is our beginning, and animal our end, and man is a centaur who is related to Pegasus.
Mona awoke from her dream of goats and centaurs and breaking seas to find that the sun had gone in and the wind of spring was cold. The gong summoned her to lunch, but Hugh did not appear. She sent Silly Lizzie, now radiant — so radiant that Mona could only conclude that she had sinned again — up to his bedroom to see if he were there, but drew blank. Alarmed, Mona ran across to the chapel, and drew blank once more. Hurrying back through the cloisters, she noticed that the door into the main building stood ajar with the huge key in the lock. She ran from the one big room to the other, but they were empty; peered into the cellar, but that was empty too, so far as she could see; then upstairs, and along the long line of cells — all empty; up aga
in, to the chapel in the gable — empty also. Mona, now thoroughly scared, for there was a sense of impending evil about the place, ran down the worn twisting steps of the stairs again, and down into the cellar, the only place she had not searched thoroughly. One of the cells had a door to it, and the door was closed; Mona pushed it open and looked in.
A single point of dim blue flame flickered in the darkness, giving practically no illumination; but by the light coming down the stairway behind her she saw that Hugh, clad in his monk’s robe, lay on a roughly-made bench, his cowl drawn over his face. The dim blue flame came from his cigarette-lighter, which he had stood burning in a niche high up in the wall. He did not stir at the sound of the opening door. Mona, terrified, pushed back the cowl from his face, and his eyes opened and looked up at her.
‘This was how it should have been,’ he said, without moving.
Then Mona knew that he had been deliberately living over again his life and death as Ambrosius in the hope of picking up the lost threads of memory. The atmosphere of doom was all about him, and it was this that she had felt as impending evil and danger. Powerfully and definitely, as only a trained mind could do it, he had created that atmosphere by his picturing, and she, being sensitive, had felt it.
‘This was how it should have been,’ he had said. This was how the monk Ambrosius, meeting death in his sins, had pictured it. The succuba of his dreams, the woman he had never seen in real life, had come to open the prison doors, and he would be free on the hill-side of Greece where the Shepherd of Goats awaited him.
