Isabella: A sort of romance

by R. A. Bentley

  Bella shudders, imagining a lifetime of smelly furs and and animal tails up her bottom. "Couldn't you marry one of the FROTH girls?" she says, adding, rather hypocritically, "Some of them seem quite nice."

  Julius sadly shakes his head. "I've been out with most of them at one time or another, but unfortunately they don't share my – our – tastes." He begins to look thoroughly crestfallen, as though it has only just sunk in that he is losing her for good. "Tell me, would you have said yes, if I'd asked you?"

  Bella considers this. He isn't going to be very pleased if she says no. "I do like you," she says. "I like you a lot. And we had a lot of fun, didn't we? But I'm afraid it's a bit too late to think of that now."

  "I don't know what I'm going to wear," sighs Veronica. "You'll have to take me into town, Ratty. And I'll need a hat."

  "Wear!" exclaims Miranda. "You don't honestly mean you're taking this nonsense seriously? The whole thing's ridiculous!"

  "It isn't nonsense, Miranda; I'm afraid she's completely in earnest. They've even been to your uncle for his blessing."

  "Goodness knows why," says Rat, "but it was very sweet of them."

  "What about the registry office?" says Miranda. "I bet she hasn't got around to that."

  "Oh yes she has: booked for the twenty-fifth. We've got three weeks to put together some sort of reception. We did it for you and we can't do less for her."

  "But we don't know anything about him, do we?" protests Miranda. "He's one of the travellers isn't he? Has he got a job?"

  "He's got a trade; he's a carpenter."

  "Shaping up to be a first class sailor too," says Rat, drawing on his pipe.

  Miranda waves the smoke away with distaste. "Oh wow, a ship's carpenter! That'll be a fine addition to the bloodline."

  "I won't pretend I think it's a good match, because I don't," says Veronica, "But she's a grown woman and it's not for us to interfere. As for this business at the Stones, well I don't see why not; though goodness knows how we'll get me up there."

  "Your great-grandfather was a practical man," says Rat. "He was a watch-mender."

  "He had a chain of jewellers, Uncle," says Miranda. "It's hardly the same."

  "He started off as a watch-mender," insists Rat. "Just a little half-fronted shop in Market Street. Built it up from nothing. There's no reason why Thurston couldn't do something similar. He's still quite young and he's a clever chap; not what you'd call academic, but that's no crime. A wife and family could be the making of him. I agree the stammer is a bit of a handicap."

  "And anyone who's prepared to take on Bella . . . " says Veronica.

  "I heard that!" cries Bella, marching into the room. "I heard all of it! What a horrible thing to say! I think you're all horrible!"

  "Oh, hello dear. We thought you were out."

  "Obviously!"

  "I never said anything," protests Rat.

  "No, you didn't, but they did."

  "It was just a joke, Bella," says Miranda. "Don't be so bloody sensitive."

  "No, it wasn't, she meant it! I'll have you know I could have had umpteen men. Dozens! But I didn't want them, I wanted someone special. I've waited lifetimes for Thurston, centuries, and at last I've found him. He's wonderful and I love him."

  "I think you're barmy, that's what I think," says Miranda. "It's Simon you should be marrying and you know it. He's doing fantastically well now and he's still crazy about you. He'd marry you like a shot if you'd let him. You're mad, passing up a man like that for some homeless bum; he could end up seriously rich. I'd make a play for him myself if I wasn't married already."

  "Would you really?" asks Rat, looking at her curiously.

  "Yes, I would. He's really good looking and he's a business genius. She's mad."

  "We don't all want to marry a flipping chequebook," snarls Bella. "Simon's a jerk, a two-timing jerk, and I don't care if he ends up richer than Michael. Anyway, what do you know about it?"

  "We do talk, you know. It's not all business. I had coffee with him only last week as a matter of fact, in his new office."

  "Yes, well I just hope he doesn't betray Michael like he did me, that's all I can say."

  "He didn't betray you, Bella, except in your imagination. Would you like to know what he said about you?"

  "No thank you."

  "I bet you would."

  "No, I wouldn't. I'm not the slightest bit interested."

  "The poor man's breaking his heart."

  Bella stops her ears. "Shut up! I don't want to know."

  *

  Two men – one hulking, the other preternaturally small – step in among the Tenstones and gaze around them. Both are clad entirely in forest green: a calf-length habit for Thurston, a doublet and hose for McNab.

  The place is silent and deserted now, but there is a hint of incense hanging in the air, suggesting some secret pre-nuptial rite has been enacted there. Each of the eight upright stones has been garlanded with leaves and flowers and the altar stone laid with a plain white cloth, now bearing several chunky candles, a chalice, a dagger and a length of golden cord, Above them, the great dome of the sky is an unrelieved, hazy blue, but a grateful breeze stirs the cloth and rustles the surrounding heather, making the afternoon heat just about bearable.

  McNab examines with interest the altar stone's contents. "Ma guess is Colonel Mustard wi the dagger, whit's yours? Hey, this is real wine in here!" Thurston scowls at him and tugs him away. "Awch ah wis jist peekin." Wandering over to Hod, which is Glory, he scrambles onto the Stone's flattish top and settling himself cross legged commences to tune his fiddle.

  Thurston prowls nervously back and forth, occasionally gazing towards the misty buildings of the Point and looking at his watch. Rather more often, he adjusts his belt, or stops to tug at his habit, trying to get it to hang right.

  McNab chuckles. "Ye look like somethin oot o 'Monty Python an' the Holy Grail.' Thurston glowers and stabs a finger at him, which McNab dutifully translates as: "And you look like a nasty little leprechaun." Gazing down at himself he adds doubtfully: "D'ye no think ah shoud hae a codpiece or somethin? Ah'm no enteerly decent."

  "Humph," grunts Thurston and recommences his pacing, only stopping when McNab strikes up 'Mendelssohn's Wedding March' causing him first to whirl round in panic, then scowl in annoyance. A thought occurs. He comes back and taps meaningfully at his nonexistent pocket.

  "Whit's that?" says McNab, feigning puzzlement. "Ah dinna comprehend."

  Thurston taps harder, looks more meaningful, pokes McNab in the doublet.

  "Ah'm sorry, ah dinna ken —"

  Enter Julius in his vestments and Bella, looking ravishing in a slim, white-satin dress and gold sandals. Her long, black hair hangs lustrously down and she is carrying a small posy of heather. McNab immediately jumps off the stone and holds his fiddle self-consciously in front of him. Thurston stands in mute worship.

  "What are you doing here?" demands Julius. "You shouldn't be inside the mystic circle."

  "We haven't cast it yet," says Bella. "Bluebell will do it when we're ready. You two, go away. You're far too early. Come back when you're called."

  "Told ye so," grumbles McNab.

  After a while, people can be seen approaching from all directions across the heath. Prominent among them is Veronica, her chair born by four doughty farmhands. A self-important Jason and Denny usher them to their places: family and guests to the fore, well-wishers and the merely curious further back. The space immediately around the Stones is soon packed and people begin to overflow down the hill.

  There is a merry hubbub of greeting and chatter until Julius steps up to the altar and raises his arms for silence. Bluebell, acolyte for the day, can be seen processing solemnly from stone to stone, casting the mystic circle, her steady chant drifting away on the wind.

  Julius waits patiently for her to complete her circuit before beginning.

  "Dear friends . . ." He stops and looks around him amiably. "I'm sure we are all friends?" There is a r
ipple of affirmative laughter.

  Someone calls out, "Yes!"

  "Dear friends, we have come here today to these ancient stones to celebrate the spiritual union of Bella and Thurston. A union freely entered into, based on love, physical attraction and mutual respect. But the greatest of these is love.

  "Love is the basis of all creeds; love for each other, and, through that love, love of God. Love, even, for nature, for plants and birds and animals, for the natural forces, for the sun, the moon, the elements. For these also are signs of God's love for us; God is in them, and we ourselves are, of course, a part of nature.

  "Today, Bella and Thurston have chosen to be joined in the ancient tradition of Wicca, for the adherents of which, the forces of nature are the very manifestation of God. Some of you may not be familiar with the beliefs and practices of Wicca – I know I wasn't – but I have, perforce, learned a great deal about them in the months since I first met Bella." Pause for another ripple of laughter. "So first I am going to pass on to you a little of what I know.

  "The most common form of Wiccan marriage is called a handfasting. The term comes from the old custom of formally uniting a couple by binding their hands with a silken rope. This is thought to be where the term 'tying the knot' comes from. Possibly also, the expression 'giving your hand in marriage,' although, of course, other interpretations are possible. Even the word honeymoon is thought to come from the ceremonial drinking of mead – which is, of course, made from honey – and from the one month which must elapse between the festival of Beltane and the wedding ceremony . . . "

  The sun beats down. Julius drones on. The women hold onto their hats, their bright clothes fluttering in the breeze, while the men gaze down at their clasped hands or surreptitiously observe the prettier girls. A few of the children become restless and begin to run around. Suddenly, from outside the circle, there is the blare of a hunting horn and Bluebell steps forward. Julius stops, looking flustered.

  There is a stage whisper from behind Malkuth, the Kingdom. "Get on with it. The candles!"

  "Er, as you wish," says Julius. "Let us now summon the elements. The traditional elements are, as you know, earth, air, fire and water." He holds up a candle. "The white candle represents the element of air, symbol of the power of thought, of wisdom and knowledge." He passes it to Bluebell, who with difficulty lights it, dropping the match just before it burns her fingers.

  "I don't normally let her use matches," mutters Pat, sotto voce. "We've got one of those battery things."

  "Very wise," agrees Rat. "I hope it didn't land in that dead grass."

  "What?" says Veronica, looking up.

  "He said, he hoped it didn't land in the grass," whispers Miranda.

  "Now the red candle," says Julius. "The red candle represents fire, symbolising passion and vitality."

  Bluebell lights it, followed by the blue, for feeling, emotions and the cycle of life, and by the green, for friendship and possessions. The candles stream and gutter in the breeze but don't go out; a good sign. There is a slight pause while Julius gazes doubtfully at the contents of the altar.

  "Wine blessing," says the stage whisper.

  "Oh yes, sorry." He solemnly holds up the chalice while Bluebell, grasping the ceremonial dagger with both hands, lowers the blade into it.

  "That's mine," says Darren, nudging Denny. "I got it from that place in Pinebourne."

  "May the male and female be joined," declaims Bluebell, in her clear, young voice. "Goddess and God; earth and heaven; life and death."

  "She does it very well, doesn't she?" says Veronica.

  Pat bends down to her, trying to avoid a clash of hats. "Pardon, Veronica?"

  "I said, she does it very well, doesn't she?"

  "Yes, she does."

  Bluebell shoots them a cross look. She comes over and with great ceremony hands the wine to Darren who takes a self-conscious sip and passes it on.

  "Who's that?" whispers Pat.

  "Who?"

  "The boy in the leather jacket, the one she gave the wine to."

  Miranda follows her gaze. "Oh him. I don't know his name. I think he works at the Ferryman. Ho's here as well, the chef."

  "Time I was off," says Rat, and slips away.

  Another blast of the hunting horn.

  Thurston and McNab appear from out of the furze. They wait at the margin of the Stones. There are a few stifled giggles, sternly ignored.

  "Do you, Thurston, come to this mystic circle in purity of heart and fixity of purpose, forsaking all other loves?" demands Julius, perhaps a little more fiercely than strictly necessary.

  Thurston glances at McNab.

  "Yes," says McNab.

  "Then you may enter."

  Thurston and McNab take up their positions at the altar stone, and everyone turns the other way to watch Rat emerge from the slope beyond Malkuth, proud and upright in his navy-blue suit, with Bella on his arm. Behind them come Primrose and Narcissus, dressed in white satin to match the bride and carrying simple posies of purple heather. There are numerous oohs and ahs for the twins and, of course, sighs of admiration for Bella.

  "Do you, Isabella, come to this circle in purity of heart and fixity of purpose, forsaking all other loves?" asks Julius, putting the question more gently this time but with a hint of reproach in his voice.

  "Yes," says Bella.

  "Then you may enter."

  They stand together before him, Rat at attention, Bella's eyes modestly downcast, Thurston looking stiff and nervous, McNab with his hands over his crotch.

  "Thurston and Bella," says Julius. "Is it your intention to be joined now and forever, in this life and all future lives until the end of time?"

  "Yes," says Bella.

  "Yes," says McNab.

  "Will you trust each other and live your lives through each other?"

  "Yes," says Bella.

  "Yes," says McNab.

  "Will you forgive each other's anger and transgressions and love each other through good times and bad?"

  "Yes," says Bella.

  "Yes," says McNab.

  Julius now walks to each of the four quarters, symbolised by Chokmah, Binah, Netsach and Hod, touching each stone in turn.

  "Spirits of the east whose element is air, give us your blessing," he intones. "Spirits of the south, whose element is fire, give us your blessing. Spirits of the west, whose element is water, give us your blessing. Spirits of the north, whose element is earth, give us your blessing."

  He moves back to the altar.

  "Now, at the centre of the circle, where goodness and evil, darkness and light, spirit and matter all meet, let Bella and Thurston be joined as one." He picks up the golden cord and passes it to Bluebell before turning to the congregation. "Let each of you bless this cord with your good wishes. Let no-one wish them ill, or it will return fourfold." Bluebell carries the cord slowly round the family and guests, offering it to each of them in turn for their silent blessing.

  Taking back the cord, Julius places the couple's left hands together and binds them with it, tying a reef-knot.

  "Bella, do you pledge your love for Thurston forever; body, heart and soul? Do you promise to be faithful to him and honour him in this life and all future lives to the end of time?"

  "I do," says Bella.

  "Thurston, do you pledge your love for Bella forever; body, heart and soul? Do you promise to be faithful to her and honour her in this life and all future lives to the end of time?"

  There is a long and profound silence. Thurston is visibly shaking. McNab looks up at him expectantly, his head on one side. Bella closes her eyes.

  "I . . ." says Thurston. "I . . ." His mouth open, he jerks desperately back and forth like someone with his jacket caught in a door. Among the watchers, no-one dares breath, not even the children. "I . . . I . . . I . . . Do."

  Oh my God, thinks Bella, he sounds like George Formby.

  There is a patter of applause, some laughter and a few sighs of relief. Pat bursts into tears
and pushes away through the crowd.

  "Who has the ring?" enquires Julius.

  They wait while McNab, making great play of searching his pockets, finally locates the simple gold ring in the shape of a serpent and passes it to Thurston with a smirk.

  "Repeat after me," says Julius. "With this ring, I thee wed."

  "Wi'. . . wi'. . ." begins Thurston, at the same time fumbling to slip the ring onto Bella's finger.

  "With this ring, I thee wed," says McNab, impatiently.

  "It is done," proclaims Julius. "So mote it be. You may now kiss the bride."

  "Not you, silly," says Bella as McNab reaches up to her. Then, feeling mean, she allows him to give her a peck on the cheek.

  Crystal and Denny are waiting at the edge of the circle, holding between them a hazel broom, perhaps a little higher than is comfortable. Undeterred, the happy couple hitch up their skirts and jump, Bella revealing a blue garter. The moment is recorded for posterity by the man from the Bugle. (Veronica keeps the cutting, but declines to buy a print.)

  More formal photographs are now taken against the romantic backdrop of the Stones. Julius smilingly refuses to be included, mindful, perhaps, of the reaction of the Bishop. Bella had intended to throw her posy to Pat, but there is no sign of her so she gives it to Crystal instead. People begin to move away or stand chattering to friends. Primrose pushes Narcissus into a furze bush from where he has to be rescued, bawling loudly. The first, and surely the last, Wiccan wedding to be conducted by an Anglican minister is at an end.

  McNab disappears behind Malkuth with the remains of the wine to return a few minutes later, well lubricated and playing a strathspey. The remaining guests form up behind him with the bride and groom at their head and he leads them, dipping and pirouetting, off towards the village with the intention of processing round it, a local custom.

  At first they all stick more-or-less together, like a school crocodile, but Veronica's bearers are beginning to stagger and some of the children, too, are becoming tired. Soon the party is strung out over half a mile of stony track, a colourful ribbon winding among the furze and heather. Eventually McNab draws so far ahead that he finds himself quite alone. Settling down to wait on a convenient bank he continues to fiddle for a while, but the sun is warm and the wine strong and at last, inevitably, he falls asleep. They find him stretched out and snoring, his erect manhood a disturbingly large presence in his tight, green hose.