“And where have you been this many a day?

I sought and mourned thee so,

and thought you had left your mother behind

for some winsome dearie.”

“I have been round the old Jew’s castle,

where you warned me never to go.”

Tap-tap. “Open, mother, and let me in.

for I’m cold and weary.”

“And what did you do there, my only child,

my son, my joy, my pride?

And how return after so long a time

with the night so dreary? ”

“Oh, I spoke to the old Jew’s daughter,

and she bid me come inside

with a voice so sweet that I had to obey.

Oh, I’m cold and weary.”

“And what did she do there, my only child,

long gone this many a day?

For my heart misgives me to hear the tale,

and my eyes grow teary.”

“Oh, she drove her jeweled knife into my heart

so my dear life bled away

and I lay as cold as a stone in the road,

so cold and dead and dreary.

“And she used my blood to make her wine,

and my flesh to make her bread.”

Tap-tap. “ Open, mother, and let me in

for I’m cold and weary.”

And the widow Annie cried out to hear,

and leapt from her lonesome bed.

And she opened the door but saw nothing there

save the night so cold and dreary.

And she wandered the village streets alone,

till at Prime she heard the sound:

Tap-tap, from the earth neath the abbey walls:

Tap-tap, so lorn and weary.

And they dug at that very spot until

Young William’s bones were found.

And were laid in a grave in the chapel yard

on a day so sad and dreary.

VI

HARPER
ALBRIGHT
AND
THE
CLOCKWORK
OF
HISTORY

1

Circle of standing stones. Murmur of incantation. Dead of night.

This was the crossroad of the Sussex leys, the dowser’s crossroad. Subterranean rivers intersected here. Power swirled and vibrated in the very air. Seven spirals of chthonic force were known to snake up from the earth into the tall grass, to coil round the seven mysterious boulders that stood in their ancient ring brimming with intensity.

It was Candlemas Eve, a witch’s sabbath, and the old man had brought a sacrifice.

The grass swished, the fallen leaves snickered as he came. Silver light and black shadow raced across the ground in turn. The man traveled with them quickly. He was alone. He was completely naked. His face was puffy, his white breasts pendulous, his belly domed. His phallus was shrunken by the cold.

He murmured to himself as he came:

“Arise, infernal. Hel, Hecate, Goddess of the Crossroad, Gorgo, Mormo, Moon …”

The canvas bag hanging from his right fist was writhing. A frightened whimpering could be heard coming from within. The old man’s lips were dry, his eyes were glassy. In his left hand he gripped the athame, the sacrificial knife.