'But let this, be clearly understood: no breach of the Order will be tolerated. The police have been instructed to arrest anyone committing such a breach – and they will not be granted bail pending the hearing of their cases; the Order specifically prohibits it.
'To make sure that the purposes of the Order are fully achieved, the police have been empowered to take into preventive custody, on the written authority of a Justice of the Peace, any persons who they have reason to believe may be about to commit a breach of the Order. To ensure the least possible infringement of the liberty of the subject, such persons must be brought before a magistrates' court within seventy-two hours and given an opportunity to obtain their release by giving an undertaking to keep the peace. Anyone breaking that undertaking will be liable to re-arrest and imprisonment.
'A few critics – I think very few – may call this Order an unjustifiably harsh one. But I am confident that the great majority of my fellow-citizens, remembering the tragedy of Bell Beacon, the recent serious disorder at a school in Wolverhampton and many disturbing local incidents in between – the great majority of you will support the Order wholeheartedly.
'Good night and God bless you.'
In the special television studio in Beehive which had been designed as a facsimile of one end of the Cabinet Room at No 10 Downing Street (for obvious reasons of public reassurance) the red light went out, and the Premier asked Harley, who had been standing beside the camera: 'How was it, Reggie?'
'Excellent, Prime Minister. Very effective.'
The Premier waited till Harley had joined him, and then said in an undertone: 'I'm still not altogether convinced in my own mind that I shouldn't have combined it with a statement on the Dust and the vinegar masks.'
Harley cast a frown towards the camera crew but they were already respectfully out of earshot 'Premature, sir, believe me,' he said, even more quietly. 'As it was, you had the country in the palm of your hand. Any more might have.upset the balance and panicked them. The public can only absorb one idea at a time. I'm sure your wide political experience…'
'Oh, you're right, of course, Reggie. It's just that if we leave the vinegar-mask announcement too late and there's a really extensive outbreak of the Dust…'
'It was only Cheddar, Corwen and Whitehaven last time. And we were able to act promptly, seal it off and isolate the victims without publicity. We have no reason to believe it would be any worse the next time.'
'We've no reason to believe or disbelieve anything^ about the next time, in spite of your experts,' the Premier pointed out glumly. 'They know dam' all, and so do we.'
‘Very little, it's true. All the more reason for not making premature announcements.'
'The Americans had the Dust worse than we did, remember.'
'But localized, too. And they were able to contain it just as effectively as we did. Besides, sir – the President has personally decided there will be no announcement as yet. We wouldn't want any failure of coordination with the White House, would we?'
It was the Premier's tender spot and they both knew it.
'Of course not, Reggie. You're quite right We'll wait for – er – the right moment.'
In the numb days that had followed Joy's murder on Bell Beacon, John Hassell's coven had been his only comfort.
They had rallied round him to the best of their ability and he in turn had done his best to give them leadership. In his heart, he wished it were still the old coven, which he and Joy had had the year before; the closeness of that unit had been built into a real group mind which he could have done with now. But around Yule, they had been faced with the sudden inrush of new recruits which most established covens experience from time to time, often without any apparent special cause. The recruits had all seemed promising material and Joy and John had not felt justified in turning them away, so they had dealt with the situation in the traditional manner, by hiving-off. Their two best couples had been set up with their own covens, and each of the three groups had taken a proportion of the old and the new blood. It had worked smoothly with few problems, but it had meant that by Midsummer, Joy and John's group, like the other two, had still been in the process of integrating itself as an entity. Most of its members, though enthusiastic, were still inexperienced.
The Maiden, Karen Morley, had been one of the earliest members of the old coven, and of her dedication, knowledge and psychic power there could be no doubt. She thought, worked, slept, ate and drank the Craft all round the clock. Joy had found her too obsessional to be quite natural and had tried to make her understand that a witch must be first and foremost a human being:' 'Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?' she had quoted at her, and Karen had laughed dutifully but done little to change her ways. One result had been the strange one that Karen, a second-degree witch for two years now and on the face of it well qualified for her third degree, was still without a regular working partner. Her intensity had frightened too many men off and her indifference to any kind of social life had prevented the development of any partnership by the normal process of mutual liking laying the foundations of magical collaboration. That struck Joy and John as a pity on purely human grounds, because Karen was undeniably attractive with the long black hair and the slightly oriental eyes which had earned her the nickname, even among witches, of 'witchy Karen*.
When the other groups had hived off, Joy had kept Karen with her and appointed her Maiden – virtually assistant High Priestess – of the residual coven, where she and John could keep an eye on her. With Joy's death, Karen had been the only possible choice as High Priestess; she had taken over with energetic efficiency but surprising tart, handling John with a gentleness that had never been evident in her before. (One slightly astringent member remarked privately to her husband, 'Karen's not such a fool as we thought,' but her comment remained private.)
On the evening of 30 July, the whole coven – eight members in all – gathered at John's house to discuss the Premier's statement.
Grace Peebles, one of the original members with a congenital streak of nostalgia (John, while he could still be light-hearted, had often teased her with being an 'Old Gardnerian Holy-Writter"), was riding her favourite hobbyhorse. 'The whole thing's our own fault. Wicca should never have gone public. It started with Alex Sanders and it's got worse ever since. The old Craft was never like that – which is why it survived for centuries.'
'The old Craft when}' John asked wearily, no teasing in his voice now. 'During the seventeenth century? Of course it wasn't – you kept it secret or you ended on the gallows. Two thousand years ago? Of course it was – the festivals involved everybody. The last twenty years, Wicca hasn't deliberately gone public. It became public because thousands were turning to it naturally and no one was persecuting it. The Craft adjusts itself to the situation, not to any rigid pattern.'
'We've got some adjusting to do now, that's for sure,' Bill Lazenby said. 'For a start – what are we doing tomorrow, for Lughnasadh? Even if we hold it indoors, we're still an illegal religious gathering of more than six people. Do we cancel it? Or split into two fours? Or say, to hell with them – and get together with Anna's and Jean's?'
Karen said calmly: 'To hell with them… John?'
John was silent for a moment, and then said: 'Yes. We hold our Festival. And with Anna's and Jean's covens, if they're willing. The place near Virginia Water – we've never been disturbed there before, and it's in thick woodland a good kilometre from the road If anyone wants to
stay away, I won't criticize them.'
Nobody did and they began discussing whether to phone Anna and Jean or to send messengers. The matter was never resolved, because a sharp, imperative knocking on the front door silenced them.
Karen was the first to gather her wits. 'Bill, Penelope – upstairs, quick. That'll make us six. Legal, if this is what it sounds like.'
Thirty seconds later, John opened the front door.
'Mr John Hassell?'
'Yes.’
'We are police officers. We must ask you to accompany us to the station.'
John glanced at the man's warrant card, and asked: 'Are you arresting me – and if so, on what charge?'
'Preventive custody, sir, under the new Order in Council. Here is the magistrate's warrant.'
'So you have reason to believe I'm planning to contravene the Order? You're quite wrong, I assure you.'
‘I can't comment on that, sir; my superiors applied for the warrant, and it is merely my duty to implement it. But you have the right to make a statement to the court within…'
'I know my rights, officer. I've read the Order with great care.'
'Shall we keep it quiet and friendly, then?'
'By all means. Come inside and I'll pack a few things -for seventy-two hours.'
'As you say, sir.' When they were in the hall and the door was shut, the officer said awkwardly: 'Off the record, Mr Hassell, I'm sorry about this. I know what happened to your wife and if it had been up to me I'd have left you in peace. But that's how it is. I've got my job to do.'
John gave him a brittle, bright-eyed look. 'I know, officer. But cheer up. I'm sure you'll have far worse jobs to do before this is over.'
The policeman compressed his lips and did not answer. He glanced towards the sitting-room door, which was ajar and showed light from inside, but after a moment's hesitation deliberately turned his back on it.
'I'll get my things,' John said.
When John and the policemen had left, Karen closed the sitting-room door and stood with her back to the fireplace, looking down at the coven.
'Now,' she told them. 'We have a lot to talk about.'
Just how many High Priests and High Priestesses were taken into preventive custody that night the witchcraft movement never knew because no figures were published – in fact, although the police swoop was nation-wide and carefully simultaneous, the media only reported it indirectly and piecemeal. But within the movement the news spread like wildfire and no one was in any doubt that the arrests ran into several hundreds, or that the police knew exactly whom to take. In each area which was in the habit of holding collective Festivals, the year's Sabbat Queen, the Sabbat Maiden, and their respective Priests, were put under lock and key without a single exception; two who happened to be in hospital were placed under police guard and their substitutes who had been chosen to officiate at Lughnasadh were arrested as well. These seemed to make up the bulk of the arrests, though a handful of other key figures who might have been expected to step into the breach were also taken in. Officially, preventive custody was not 'arrest' but that was what everybody called it.
The effect on the witchcraft movement, already shaken by sudden and unheralded harassment after a generation of tolerance, was traumatic. In general covens withdrew into their shells; some celebrated Lughnasadh in groups of not more than six, others took a chance with full covens behind thick curtains, a few disappeared into woods or empty heathland with carefully screened candle-lanterns. Nobody risked the usual large-scale collective Sabbat, except one in Suffolk, one in Cornwall, and one – astonishingly – on Primrose Hill in London. These, to the bafflement of the police, were not in breach of the Order, because in each case a local clergyman (the Suffolk one a Catholic priest), his conscience outraged by the Order, had offered himself as official chairman of the gathering and been gladly accepted. Large contingents of police, arriving hurriedly at the three locations to break up the assembled witches and arrest the ringleaders, found everything legally in order, and themselves in the curious position of having to protect the witches against angry hecklers who wanted to take the law into their own hands. Next morning, three very indignant bishops had the culprits on their respective carpets, and the Archbishops of Canterbury and Westminster demanded a joint meeting with the Prime Minister to devise a means of plugging the loophole in the Order immediately, lest any other of the more turbulent progressives in their own flocks might get the same idea. The Prime Minister was only too willing, and called in the President of the Methodist Conference and the Chief Rabbi as well. Within hours, an amendment to the Order was laid down that if, in the opinion of the police, a significant number attending any religious meeting were not genuinely of the denomination of the official chairman, that meeting constituted a breach of the Order. The progressives were even more outraged, quoting the Bible, the Koran and the Buddha with what might have been devastating effect if anyone had been listening; but few were and the loophole was plugged.
The Crusaders were not interested in legal niceties; they were out in force in search of Lughnasadh coven meetings and were unconcerned whether or not these exceeded the permitted number of six. How many curtained windows, up and down the country, which might conceal candlelight the Crusaders smashed that night, not even they bothered to count; and if quite a few of the curtains merely hid innocent people watching television, that was just too bad. (From then on, television-watchers developed the habit of leaving their curtains open.) In scattered areas the 'stormtroopers' succeeded in tracking down open-air Sabbats in what their celebrants had hoped were sufficiently isolated hiding places. All in all, according to the confidential report which reached Harley's desk in Beehive next day, 137 people were arrested for contravening the Order and twenty-eight under various headings from breach of the peace to grievous bodily harm. Of the three GBH arrests, only one had been an attacking Crusader; he had been unfortunate enough to be witnessed in action by a policeman with old-fashioned ideas about the beating-up of women.
The figure of twenty-eight was low in relation to the number known to have been treated in hospital as a result of Lughnasadh incidents; this was eighty-five, of whom nineteen had been admitted; the condition of four of them was serious. The contrast was due to the fact that almost all the casualties occurred in Crusader attacks on Sabbats before the police arrived – if they arrived. In general, police and Crusaders had not pounced on the same targets; or (so the witches believed) on finding the others already there, had turned back. Another reason for the few arrests for violence was that only a small minority of witches resisted the police, so it was simpler – and publicly more effective -to arrest them for defying the Order in Council.
'Nobody actually dead,' Sir Walter Jennings, who was with Harley when the report reached him, commented drily. 'Just as well. Martyrs are so inconvenient. The Hassell woman would have been bad enough, if she and Andrea Sutton hadn't cancelled each other out.'
'I understand Ben Stoddart has pointed out the danger to his people,' Harley said. 'Their discipline is remarkable considering the recruitment explosion the Crusade has undergone in the past five weeks. We must thank Stoddart's charisma for that – he sees to it that all the, er, storm-troopers have met him personally at least once, and his local leaders are hand-picked. Barring accidents, they will not go so far as to kill anyone.'
'For the present.'
'I am talking of the present, naturally.'
Jennings thought for a moment, and then said: 'One thing puzzles me slightly. All the clashes seem to be between Crusaders and witches. Isn't that over-simplifying? Other pagan and occult fraternities beside the witches celebrate the eight Festivals. Have none of them been involved? And are all the attackers Crusader stormtroops? What about the spontaneous public resentment you had in mind? Hasn't it happened?'
To your first question – yes, of course other occultists are involved; but most of them are either more academic than the witches or more private. I can assure you that my – that is, the Intelligence arm is keeping a close watch on them. Remember, the Order relates to "religious", meetings. It's up to us to decide whether a fraternity is "religious" -the Home Secretary has that power. If we need to move against one of them, he has merely to define it as religious in an instruction to the police and it becomes subject to the Order in Council. But at this stage, I would remind you, we are concerned with creating an identifiable scapegoat, with a single, simple label. And that label is "the witches".’
'Fair enough. And my second question – the Crusaders?'
'So far, yes, eighty or ninety per cent of the actual aggression against the witches has been by the Crusaders, or at least under their on-the-spot leadership. But more and more the public are, so to speak, cheering them from the sidelines. And the amount of non-violent pressure on the witches – ostracism, deprival of business, redundancy dismissals and so on – that is gathering momentum.'
'There's still one aspect that needs strengthening,' Jennings said. 'It's all very well having a scapegoat but a scapegoat for what? The idea was to link them in the public mind, whether consciously or subconsciously, with the earth tremors. Now let's be honest – only the lunatic fringe will actually believe the witches are responsible for them. But we can create an irrational conditioned reflex about it so that when the real disaster comes, and Beehive Red and all it entails – as much as possible of the public anger is diverted from Beehive which they can't get at anyway, towards the witches whom they can get at. They won't even stop to think why.'
'That is obviously our aim.'
'But are we achieving it? The witches are being set up as Public Enemy No 1 – with some success, I'll grant you. But what about the associative link "witches/earthquake"? How's that coming along?'
. 'I'm glad you asked,' Harley replied with a touch of smugness. 'When you leave here, take a look at your evening paper. And this evening, at the television news commentaries.'
Jennings glanced at him sharply. 'Come on, Harley. You look too pleased with yourself. What've you been up to?'
'I have arranged for an accidental lapse of security. One of Professor Arklow's daily seismological reports has been leaked to the press.'
'For Christ's sake! Not the real one?'
'The real one.'
'But, Harley, what the hell… There aren't two hundred people in Britain who know what we're really sitting on – perhaps a thousand more who could make an educated guess. Let the public know what's building up before we're safely into Beehive Red, and you're asking for panic and worse!'
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