Authors: Erica Jong
Joan shrugg’d her Shoulders. “’Tis the Risque we run,” she said.
“Let the Coven vote,” said the Grandmaster.
The Maid pointed to each Covener in turn and wrote the Answer in her Book.
“Aye,” said the first Witch, a wither’d Crone, with a black Eyepatch and Wisps of white Hair peeping out from under her Hood. Her Face was like the Map of the Moon.
“Aye,” said the next Witch, who was young and blond and had as her Familiar a furry white Dog with a pink Tongue and black Nose.
“Aye,” said the next, who identified herself as Sister Louisa (and was, therefore, I suppos’d, the Benefactress of the young Witch with Child who had spoken before).
“Aye,” said the same young Witch, Sister Alice. “Aye, aye. I’m for it.”
Around the moonlit Circle they went and ev’ry Witch except Isobel said “Aye.”
When Isobel’s Turn came, she said: “I cast my Vote with Fanny. Whate’er she wishes, I will second, for ’tis said that the Past cannot be changed, but only the Future.”
The Grandmaster then turn’d to me. “What wouldst thou, Fanny?”
My Senses were disorder’d and my Heart still pounded in Terror. I knew not what to answer.
“What wouldst thou?” came the echoing Query again from the terrifying Mouth of the Mask.
“Will he be disabl’d fore’er,” I askt, “and possibly lame?”
The Witches titter’d. I heard one not far from me say, “The Lass is mad.”
Presently the Grandmaster answer’d. “Sister, we cannot predict the Effect of our Spells with utter Certainty. Perhaps he will lose only the Use of his Privy Member, perhaps more. I cannot tell you otherwise.”
I ponder’d well. In my disorder’d Mind I consider’d Lord Bellars’ Beauty, his fine straight Legs, the soft Hair that twin’d on his muscl’d Breast, his manly Charms. He had us’d me rascally, but I still remember’d how I had lov’d him. Was not Love still Love tho’ ’twere Love betray’d?
I remember’d back e’en before that tempestuous Scene of Love (and Love betray’d) to the Time in Childhood when Lord Bellars had first taught me to mount a Horse and ride—not side-saddle like a Girl, but with a proper Saddle like a Man. I remember’d how he lov’d the Hunt, how he leapt the highest Hurdles on his own Arabian Stallion, High Flyer, how he had given me Lustre, High Flyer’s Foal out of Molly Longlegs, his own prize Brood Mare; how he especially came down to the Country from London to present me with my beloved Lustre on Christmas Eve of my fourteenth Year. E’en now I could see him leaping o’er Stiles and Hedges, his Cheaks ruddy with the brisk Weather, his Redingote flying behind him, his Boots gleaming in the Sun.
“No,” I said. “I would not cast a Spell.”
A Gasp of Horror went ’round the Circle of Witches. Some amongst them cackl’d and mockt me for a Fool.
“No,” I said warmly. “I would not. I shall not take Vengeance into my own Hands. The Goddess will do what She will.”
“So mote it be,” said the Grandmaster. “Let the Dance begin.”
The Witches rose (some still mocking me) and cast off their furry Hoods, threw down their Magick Staffs and Pouches. Many had Horns of Ointment, Animal Skins fill’d with evil-smelling Unguents with which they rubb’d their Legs, betwixt ’em, under their Arms, upon their Breasts. Sister Alice, the Witch who was Great with Child, offer’d me some of her own Provision, saying, “I pray you don’t regret your Soft-heartedness, Fanny.”
“What shall I do with this Unguent?”
“Do as I do,” she directed me. And she rubb’d ev’rywhere upon the most private Parts of her Body, saying, “’Twill make your Body light for the Dance.”
Putting my Cape and Beaver Hat upon the Ground, I took some of the sticky Stuff on my Fingers, reach’d into my Breech, and mimickt her in rubbing wheresoe’er she did. It prickl’d betwixt my Legs like the Stinging of many little Bees.
Then the Grandmaster march’d into the Middle of our Ring, lifted a rude Pipe to the Lips of his Mask, and began to play the most curious (but withal the sweetest) Tune that had e’er enter’d my Ears. Whereupon the Maiden join’d Hands with us, widening our Ring, and the Dance began.
It began slowly, the Ring first moving in one Direction, then the other, but presently the Dance grew faster and bolder, and i’faith, it seem’d to divert all melancholy Thoughts, to beget wild extravagant Imaginations in the Brain, to raise our Hopes, and to banish our Fears. The Witches pull’d in one Direction and then the other. As they danced, they held fast to one another’s Hands. I seem’d to see Forms and Colours in the Air—the brightest Colours my Eyes had e’er beheld and the most jagged Forms. At one Moment our Circle appear’d to be whirling in a dark Funnel, and the Ancient Upright Stones seem’d beneath us as well as above. Then the next Moment, I fancied that the very Stones were alive, swaying against the Sky, that the Sky itself was alive with other Witches riding the dark Clouds. I believ’d I saw Animals dancing at the edges of my Vision, not the Familiars, but legendary Beasts—Unicorns, Griffins, Basilisks. And then, stranger still to tell, I felt I had become united with the Earth, the Stones, the chalky Hills, the grassy Downs; I felt my Heart beat with the Hearts of the Witches, as if we were all one Woman, one Force, one throbbing Heart.
Then a most mysterious Thing came to pass; I felt myself—or truly, that Part of myself which is most myself, my Soul—fly out of my Body and hover o’er the Stone Circle and Barrows, as if I were a Bird, not a Woman. I lookt down upon the dancing Women as if I were a Nightingale or a Dove. I saw their Heads as round Circles of Hair, their Feet as Points of Leather. I seem’d to float, to soar, to dip and dive thro’ the Air. The Witches’ Dance below grew smaller and smaller as I ascended higher and higher into the Ether, and then, just as I fancied I would ne’er return to Earth, I plummeted in a Blaze of white Light, with the Colours around me those same brilliant Reds, Greens, Blues, or Yellows I had seen before, tho’ oddly jagged in Shape, like Strokes of Lightning in a Child’s Picture, or squar’d and angular as the Floor of an Italian Marble Hallway, or i’faith, a Board for playing Chess.
Then, in a trice, I was back in the Circle, whirling and turning, joining the Witches as they made a smaller Circle within the larger Circle, dancing closer and closer to the Grandmaster, who still play’d upon his Wond’rous Pipe.
Now the Maiden took the dark blue Mantle from his Shoulders, and the other Witches remov’d his Undergarments one by one; and thus whilst he play’d, and some Witches whirl’d in place, and others took his Clothes from him, he was reveal’d as—I could scarce believe it—a Woman!
When the Breasts appear’d, the Witches chanted, “She is risen.” When the dark triangular Thatch of Hair appear’d, the Witches chanted, “She is born.”
Perhaps I have gone mad, I thought. Perhaps my Senses are disorder’d by this Unguent, but despite my Discomposure, and despite the Madness of the Dance, I plainly protest that the Grandmaster was a Woman. Now she twirl’d in place, still wearing the terrible Mask. Witches came forward and anointed her Body with Unguents. She pass’d her Pipe to the Maiden; she receiv’d from that same Deputy her curious Necklace of Boar Tusks, shap’d as a double Crescent. The Maiden chanted: “Behold the Goddess; She is born; She is we; She is One.”
The Witches were all in a Frenzy now; but i’faith, my own Wits were so disorder’d that my Judgement was not the best. Ne’ertheless, I recall that Isobel took me aside and whisper’d that now I must mount Lustre and ride far beyond the edge of the Ditch surrounding the Great Upright Stones; for I had not yet been formally baptis’d into the Cult and there was one Part of the Ritual I must not see. But she herself would come to fetch me as soon as this Ceremony was o’er, whereupon a Great Feast should begin which would last until Dawn and the first Crowing of the Cock. Moreo’er, I was not to be cast down, for at the very next Sabbat, I should have my full Initiation, if I wisht it, and then the Sisters of Wicca should have no Secrets from me whatsoe’er.
I put on my Cape and Hat once more, mounted Lustre, and rode in Darkness beyond the outer edge of the Stone Circle. I rode to one of the Barrows beyond that awesome Monument, still looking for all the World like a Boy, despite my Knowledge of the Witches’ Female Creed. I shudder’d a little with the Cold and i’faith with Fear of the Dark. Nor had the Stones ceas’d to sway and gyrate ’gainst the Sky, for my Senses were still somewhat inflam’d by the Magical Unguent. ’Twas like a fright’ning Dream from which I could not waken.
I waited thus on horseback, apart from the Mysterious Ceremony, unable to see the Witches e’en as shadowy Forms dancing in the Darkness, and i’faith unseen myself, because of the sloping Bank that surrounds that Mystical Monument, when, in a trice, I heard the Thund’ring of Hoofbeats, and heard Men’s Voices shouting to each other, and out of the Moonlight along the Great Avenue, I saw a Parcel of Blackguards gallop straight for the Centre of the Witches’ Circle.
What then ensu’d, Belinda, I tremble to recollect, but Truth, my dear Daughter, is a sterner Goddess than either Morality or Innocence, and what I was to learn about Human Nature that Night would have turn’d e’en the Third Earl of Shaftesbury into a gloomier Prophet than the Duc de La Rochefoucauld.
Shots rang out. Bloodcurdling Screams rose to Heaven. There was piteous Wailing and Weeping, and piteous Pleas for Mercy. From where I stood, I could see nothing, but from these Horrid Sounds I deduced that the Witches were being tortur’d or murder’d.
Without thinking of my own Safety, I spurr’d Lustre and gallop’d back towards the Ring, but when we were scarce halfway there, the Horse rear’d up, and would go no closer; i’faith, he froze in his Tracks like a statuary Horse cast of Bronze. Now, howe’er, I had a plainer View of the Battle (due to a Break in the Stone Circle) and fain would I have been blinded upon the Instant than to have seen what my Eyes then beheld.
There were but five Rogues, led by a Boy of Ten, who slobber’d and shook like a Half-Wit, and who continually scream’d, “Vile Witch! She cast a Spell on me!” pointing a crooked Finger at each of my Sister Witches.
In the Centre of the Circle two Men held the beauteous Maiden of the Coven to the cold Ground, whilst the others ravish’d her in turn, with as great Brutality as they could muster; and less, it seem’d, for whate’er Pleasure an unreasoning Beast might find in so forced an Act of Passion than for showing off their Brutality to their Brute Brothers. She was violated perhaps ten, perhaps twelve Times; and whereas at first she whimper’d and fought, after a while she seem’d to lye still, her glaz’d Eyes staring Heavenward, her Mouth mutt’ring, “Gracious Goddess, have Mercy.” Whereupon the Brute who then was tormenting her with his swollen red Organ, grew inflam’d by her Piety and, pulling his ugly Truncheon out of her poor abus’d Cunnikin (which now spill’d o’er with dark Blood), he thrust it violently into her Mouth, saying, “This’ll teach thee to pray to Devils!” and he ramm’d his Organ so far back in her Throat that she turn’d red and chok’d and seem’d on the very Point of Death. Whereupon he withdrew it, and each of the other Men ravish’d her Mouth in turn, until it bled as horribly as her poor Nether Lips. When I thought I had seen the Worst and could bear to look no more, one of the ugliest of the Lot, a Rogue with a Strawberry Nose and the slitty Eyes of a Pig, extracted his Scimitar from its Scabbard, and, ignoring her most piteous Screams and the Pleadings of the other Members of the Coven, carv’d a Cross into the Flesh of her Forehead, and carv’d it so deep that her whole Face ran red with Blood, and soon she swoon’d in his Arms and expir’d.
“Thus is our Soft-heartedness rewarded!” Sister Alice scream’d, accusing the Grandmaster, who huddl’d in her Nakedness betwixt Alice and Joan. She had done very ill to draw attention to herself with this Scream, for now the same Rogue turn’d his horrid Lust upon her, dragg’d her into the Centre of the Circle, threw her to the Ground, ripp’d her Clothes from her Body, and despite her Screams that she was with Child (which, indeed, could be seen by all), ravish’d her fiercely and hideously; and having done so, offer’d her to the other Men. Three of them refrain’d, owing to her Great Belly, but another hideous Rogue, with a greater Belly than her own, a Beard of flaming red, and Pustules that stood out upon his Cheaks, rose, as ’twere to the Challenge, and ravish’d her both above and below; and not being content with the Conquest of two Orifices, drew her whimp’ring to her Knees, caus’d her to thrust her Bum in the Air and ravish’d that Orifice, too, until it bled copiously and she scream’d for Mercy. Then she was dragg’d to her Feet, pusht down upon the Great Altar Stone, and as the red-bearded Man stopp’d her Screams with his Hand, the Pig-faced Man ravish’d her again, and withdrawing, took his horrible Scimitar and thrust it into her Cunny in place of his Organ, as if i’faith Sword and Organ were but the same horrible Weapon. Alice seem’d to faint with the Agony. The Blood ran down the black Stone and pool’d darkly ’neath the Altar. The Sisters begg’d the Goddess for Mercy, but none was forthcoming, for now the same Rogue rais’d his Scimitar again and stabb’d Sister Alice a dozen Times or more in her Great Belly, surely murd’ring her Child, and leaving her as bloody and limp as a Carcass in a Butcher Shop.
I could watch no more. My Guts heav’d violently and I would have vomited, but for the Fact that I had had nothing to eat for lo these many Hours. How I wisht to scream, “Take me instead!” and gallop into the Centre of the Circle at least to preserve Isobel and Joan from the Wrath of these Rogues. But I was frozen in place, my Mouth mute; my Body a Statue. Like one of the Walking Dead, I stood and watch’d each of my Friends in turn ravish’d, blooded, and hideously murder’d. I could not move to save them or myself. My Body grew cold as Ice; I only pray’d that I, too, would be found and murder’d so that I would not carry Memories of this Massacre for the Rest of my Days upon Earth; and yet, I cannot deny this, I also wisht to live. For this cowardly Desire to Live, for this ignoble Wish to survive when my Friends had dy’d, (and i’faith, dy’d so horribly), I fear’d I would carry a Cross of Guilt for all the Days of my Life which nothing could assuage—not Wine, not Boon Companions, not Wealth nor Fame.