Doctors Wear Scarlet

by Raven, Simon

  “But it is important,” Piers said, “that two of us stay here with Richard. In case that woman comes.”

  Roddy looked at him with a question in his eye, but seeing how intent was Piers’ face, he just nodded in agreement.

  “And whoever goes,” said Piers, “must take care. He must go fast and not linger…for anything.”

  “It is not far,” said Roddy, “and there is nothing on this mountain to frighten me. So I had better go.”

  “That will be good,” said Piers. “But remember: go fast.” Roddy gave him another questioning look, but again simply nodded. He rose and made ready to go.

  “It is only early evening,” he said. “I shall be back before dark.”

  Richard, disturbed by Roddy’s movements, awoke once more.

  “Where are you going, Roddy?” he said.

  “To speak with friends who have helped us. They are not far.”

  “You are going alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take care, Roddy.”

  Roddy smiled.

  “You needn’t worry about me,” he said.

  A shadow came into Richard’s eyes.

  “Lift me to the door,” he said. “I want to look outside. And to speed Roddy on his way.”

  Roddy looked startled, then embarrassed, then deprecating. But Piers signed to me, and together we helped Richard from his bed and supported him to the door. It was the first time we had seen him uncovered by blankets; his clothes were tattered and he smelt abominably. Roddy lifted one of the blankets from the litter on the floor and placed it, like a shawl, round Richard’s shoulders and over his chest. Then, having made a vague salute, he started down the steps.

  “Wait,” called Richard.

  Roddy turned to face us.

  “Some say,” said Richard strangely, “that Zeus was reared on this island. Over in the other mountains to the East. Others say that his tomb is in those same mountains. The tomb of Zeus… But either way, he is strong in this island, and we should pray to him: I for my strength, you for safe passage, and all of us for deliverance.”

  Roddy shifted uneasily on the steps.

  “It is already evening,” he said, “I must not wait–”

  Richard interrupted him with a movement of his hands. Piers flashed a look at him over Richard’s shoulder, a look which said “Pity him and do as he asks.”

  “I shall not be long,” Richard said.

  So Roddy stood quiet, waiting politely, impatience still stirring in the muscles under his eyes.

  Then Richard, leaning on Piers and myself but lifting his voice in a curiously powerful fashion when one considered the low tones in which he had spoken hitherto, called out his prayer to the mountains opposite. He invoked the deity, he asked for the strength to be put back into his limbs, he solicited a safe passage for Roddy, and he requested a good deliverance for us all. The prayer, as he had promised, was brief; and he concluded by asking for a sign.

  “Father,” he called out over the mountains, “send us a sign.”

  For a moment no one moved. Then Roddy, saluting once more, began to descend the steps.

  “Wait,” called Richard again. And again Roddy turned and stood waiting.

  As he turned, a huge black eagle appeared in the sky above us. For a moment it seemed to hover like a hawk, then it swooped down over our heads, so near that the rush of its wings was almost deafening, and soared up again, turning at the same time, till it was once more hovering high above. Again it descended, flying almost into our faces, and again soared up and turned to hover above us. Then it swooped a third time, to ascend, as before, into the sky above our stronghold. And now it hovered, and made as if to swoop yet once more; but before it had come down more than a few yards, it made a wide and beautiful turn and flew away from the declining sun towards the mountains in the East.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that,” called Roddy cheerfully. “Thank you for making me stay.”

  He waved gaily. All of us answered his wave, though Richard, who was leaning very hard on the arm I had round him, waved very weakly. Then Roddy turned away; whistling a bar or two of our own regimental march he walked quickly down the graceful steps, turned the corner at the bottom, waved once more as he turned, and was then lost to view. Piers and I made to help Richard inside.

  “What did you notice about that eagle?” asked Richard.

  “It was a noble bird,” Piers said.

  “It was,” said Richard. “But there are four of us, and the eagle only swooped three times.”

  As the evening deepened, Richard slept. Piers and I lit the storm-lantern and sat over it on two large rocks we had carried in from outside.

  “Why are you so anxious for Roddy?” I said. “What danger could there be for him?”

  “The same as there could be for us. If that woman came here.”

  “And that is…?”

  “…best not thought about unless it has to be faced.”

  I roused myself to press Piers further.

  “Piers… It is all very well, this fashion of sparing our feelings. But we are adult men, Roddy and I, and we have a right to know what is going on. When you were still in doubt, then you were probably justified in not committing yourself. But there has clearly been no real doubt in your mind for a long while now. And so now, since Roddy and I are sharing in the dangers, we must be allowed to share in your knowledge.”

  “I cannot help feeling you have both been slightly obtuse.”

  “Myself, possibly. But there is excuse for Roddy. His education has been of an uncomplicated nature.”

  Piers looked over at Richard and stirred moodily above the lantern.

  “Very well, Anthony,” he said. “But it is not the sort of thing I can bring myself to explain twice. I will tell you both together when Roddy gets back.”

  He rose to look through one of the windows.

  “It is nearly dark now,” he said: “I wonder what is keeping him.”

  “The way may be longer than he remembered.”

  “Shorter if anything. The storm made it stretch for a hundred miles.”

  “He may be having a difficult time with the mayor and his men. They can hardly be anxious to stay another night.”

  “You underrate them. They need never have come in the first place. And I suspect – I know – that it is not only for Richard’s sake they have helped us.”

  “For what other?”

  “For their own. That woman is a danger to all men. To all men and all women too.”

  “Then why did they not deal with her themselves?”

  “They are afraid of her in a fashion in which they think we cannot be afraid. They believe in her power.”

  “But so do you.”

  “Yes – and that is one reason why I am not anxious to explain it. But I only believe in part. I share their fear all right. But another side of me, the Western, educated, Lancaster side forbids me to be afraid. So I can just make shift to face her.”

  The night was down outside, and still Roddy did not come. “Perhaps the dark overtook him while he was still with the mayor. In which case he might choose to spend the night with him.”

  “He would know that we worried for him,” said Piers: “he would come back.”

  “And there can be no question of fear…”

  “He was brave when you knew him in the Army?”

  “Yes. And you can see that he is still brave.”

  “But perhaps…on the mountain…in the night…”

  “He showed no fear last night,” I said.

  “Last night he was fighting a storm, the kind of enemy to which he is accustomed. But now…”

  “It is the only kind of enemy he acknowledges. If there is another, he does not know of it.”

  “He may begin to…feel that it is there. So long as he does not realise too late…”

  But for some time now Piers’ eyelids had been drooping. Each time they nearly closed he had forced them back. But plainly th
e need for sleep was making him desperate.

  “I must sleep for a while,” he now said. “Can you keep watch, Anthony? Wake me in two hours, and then I will watch for you. It…should be all right like that… I think…unless… But wake me on the instant if you hear any noise at all.”

  Without another word he settled himself in a corner and fell asleep.

  I took a book from the valise we had brought and began to read in the light of the storm lamp. The book was heavy to my hands, however, the words drifted in front of my eyes, there was not a flicker of response in my brain. So putting the book down beside me I began to think. I thought of Tyrrel and the night on which everything had started; of Cambridge and of Walter and of Marc Honeydew; of Piers – “I’ve seen him three times, Anthony, and each time he was dead”; of how I went to Ludlow to persuade Roddy – “All that is needed is a little common sense, Anthony, and a lack of superfluous scruple.” I thought of the dinner with Tyrrel before we left, of Penelope’s telephone call that night, and of our light-hearted journey across France and Italy; of Venice; of Heraclion with its blind sea-front; of Cnossos and Ratty Arnold…“He likes islands. He likes Crete, but he likes other islands as well, because water is best… αρισοσν μεν υδωρ…ariston men hydor…ariston men hydor… hydor…hydor…until I awoke with a start, and this is what I saw.

  I saw that the door was half open, and that just inside it was standing a woman, dressed in black trousers and a kind of black tunic above them. She also had on a medium length black cape, which was held together in front by a short gold chain. It was the same woman as we had surprised the night before; but on that occasion she had fled so swiftly, and I had been so numbed by the storm and so dazzled by the white light of the lantern, that I had taken in no detail about her. But now, though newly awoken, I saw with great clarity every detail of her dress and her appearance. That beneath the trousers was a pair of what looked very like Mess Wellingtons, the upper portions of which were concealed under the trouser legs; that on her throat, just above the gold chain which secured her cloak, was a small silver brooch; that her black hair was long and very glossy in appearance for a woman who had just spent a night in the open and many days living in extreme discomfort; that her complexion was white yet healthy, her nose well proportioned, her forehead narrow; that her chin was delicate: and that her eyes were very bright.

  It was these bright eyes that were fixed on me now. They were not looking into my own eyes, but just played generally, though seemingly without moving, over my face and the upper part of my body. Sometimes the light caught her brooch and it would flash; sometimes it caught her eyes, which then became brighter than ever. So she stood, while her eyes explored me; and then I realised, not with horror but with a comfortable feeling of resignation, that I could not move. I could shift my gaze, turn my head, even raise a hand; but I could not move my body; and I could not speak. I was not afraid, I was simply numb. I had realised, dimly and without urgency, that I must wake Piers, so I had made to get to my feet and go to him; but my body would not stir. Then I had opened my mouth to call out to him; but no words, not even the faintest sound, would come. I was paralysed; I had made my effort and in a distant, theoretical way regretted my failure: but now I knew, with a kind of grim satisfaction, that I could do nothing more, and I settled with interest and almost with pleasure to watch what happened next.

  First of all the woman closed the door. She did not turn; she just moved one arm behind her and pushed it gently home. Then, still letting her eyes play over me, she unfastened her cloak and dropped it on the floor. After this, she walked slowly towards me, smiled with considerable charm, and muttered something in Greek which I did not understand. Taking her eyes off me, she passed on to where Piers was slumped in the corner. I was still fixed to my seat, but as before I could still turn my eyes to follow her. I saw her stand over Piers and regard him with attention. For a while she stood there, playing her eyes over him in the same way as she had done to myself, but all the time muttering in a low, soft voice, a neutral voice, neither of hatred nor desire, but perhaps of incantation. After which she stooped down over him, opened one of his eyes with finger and thumb, looked closely into it, and then let the eyelid drop. I was conscious of faint curiosity: why had she paid so much more attention to Piers, who was safely asleep, than to myself who was at least partially conscious? But the thought, vague and untroubling in any case, soon passed from me. Meanwhile the woman was standing up again, and now, after a last low mutter over Piers, she began to move towards Richard.

  When she reached the pathetic shape of clammy blankets, she knelt down on the floor beside them and started to moan softly. She passed her hand over the feet and legs, up over the stomach, stroking and fondling, then on to the chest and throat. At this stage, her moaning struck a higher and more intense key; her caresses were slower and more loving; while her face, of which I could see the right profile, became at once fierce with longing and tender with an effort of love. She stroked Richard’s forehead and his cheeks. She passed her fingers lightly over his closed eyes. She smoothed his hair and touched him behind the ears. And then she arched her body and brought her face down over his, being about, as I thought, to kiss him on the lips: but just as her face was almost touching his, she seemed to wrench it to one side; she bared her teeth, until her whole face seemed one hideous grin, and then, with a movement as quick as a snake’s, she struck into Richard’s naked throat.

  And still I could not move or speak; still I felt neither fear nor horror, only interest and the very faintest misgiving. Richard was awake now. I was near enough to see his eyes: into them came a look of utter loneliness and despair; a look which, as he saw my eyes on his, turned to one of pleading and of prayer, and thence, as I continued to regard him without moving, to one of sorrowful reproach. “Save me,” his eyes had said, “before the life is drained out of me”; and then, “You have yielded to her and betrayed your friend.” But still I could do nothing, still I watched with interest and was untouched, in my heart, by the terrible message in those eyes.

  Then Richard, seeing that there would be no help from me and knowing that his life was fast leaving him, must have steeled himself to make one final call for help. For the muscles of his face knotted in the desperate summoning of his strength; his eyes bulged and his forehead narrowed and stretched in his agony; and out of his mouth came a great groan of despair and desolation, a call for pity, a call for salvation, a call for love.

  The woman, sunk into his throat with lust, did not heed his cry for pity. Myself, lost and paralysed, could interpret but remained indifferent to his plea for salvation. But Piers, whatever the depths to which his sleeping soul had been willed by the woman, awakened to Richard’s cry for love. He stirred, sat up, rubbed his eyes and then looked straight at Richard and the woman. His eyes became bright with hatred, brighter than the eyes of the woman had been. He crossed the room in four quick steps; he seized the woman by her shoulders; and with all his strength he wrenched her away from Richard, whose eyes closed, whose head lolled, whose whole body seemed to shrink and sag.

  Piers hurled the woman down on the floor. He put one knee on her chest. He placed both hands round her throat and he began to squeeze. He squeezed until the veins and sinews stood out in his neck; until the sweat was running in streams down his face: until his whole body was jerking in spasms, half of rage and half of effort, which struck at him as the multiple lash might strike at a trussed man under the cat. All the time his eyes grew brighter and harder; until at last, after one final and tremendous spasm, which seemed like some supreme and brutish orgasm, he slowly loosened his hands, stood up and back so that I might see what he had done.

  “Now are you answered?” he shouted into my face.

  On the floor I could see the body of the woman. All of it was limp and easy now. Except for the face: for her mouth was still caught in the hideous grin which she had worn as she struck her face at her victim; and spread over her cheeks and lips, dribblin
g from the bared white teeth, was the blood, wet and shining red, which she had drunk from Richard Fountain’s throat.

  For a long time I remained without moving. I have a vague recollection of watching Piers drag the body of the woman into a corner and of seeing him busy himself with Richard; but I related none of this to myself or to any kind of reality, for I was still debarred from reality. Gradually, however, I began to come out of my daze, to think and feel as Anthony Seymour, the friend of Piers Clarence and Richard Fountain, and to comprehend the enormity of what I had seen. I put my head between my knees; then rose slowly from the seat of rock, my limbs cramped and bitterly cold, my stomach heaving and contracting with horror and guilt.

  “Richard…will he be all right?”

  “I think so,” said Piers; “but I only got her in the nick of time.”

  “What can I…? Oh, Piers. So sorry…I…”

  Piers got up from beside Richard and smiled at me.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Anthony. Why do you think I felt so desperately sleepy so very suddenly? I can usually go for days… No. You couldn’t help it, and Richard of all people will understand why.”

  “How did you awake?”

  “I don’t know. I heard Richard…with my soul, I think. His call was too strong for her. But even then she nearly…got the better of me. You saw how hard I was…trying?”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t anger, Anthony. All that effort, effort of body and mind, was really needed. She was a strong woman in more ways than one.”

  “And Richard will really be all right?”

  “I think so,” he said. “He’s very weak indeed. But when he knows the danger is gone for good…”

  He paused for a moment.

  “Is it gone for good?” he said.

  He looked at me very oddly.

  “We have gone through too much,” he murmured at last, “to take any more chances now.”

  He went to one corner where Roddy had left a walking stick which he had been shaping, earlier in the day, from a branch he had found.

  “Lucky Roddy forgot this,” said Piers softly.