'At such a time, nothing must be allowed to happen which could provoke public disorder or conflict. You will remember that when the unpredictable calamity of the earth tremors hit this country five weeks ago, it coincided with the grave and fatal events on Bell Beacon, the full nature of which is still being investigated. Now I am not one of those who would go the whole way with people who claim that what happened on Bell Beacon was Divine retribution; but His Majesty's Government would be failing in its duty if it did not recognize that such a view is widely and sincerely held, and that the public conscience has been aroused - even among those who would not go so far - by these unashamedly pagan celebrations in our midst. Freedom of worship, even when it takes bizarre forms, is of course one of the cornerstones of British liberty. But this cannot include the freedom to offend and provoke, especially at times of national crisis; if that is allowed, freedom itself is in danger.
'And this, my friends,
is
a time of national crisis. Our American cousins - an old-fashioned phrase, I know, but when natural disaster strikes, all the world is kin
–
our
American cousins have just been through what
we
went through at Midsummer, and it could happen to us again, at any moment. It is to be ready for such a blow that the people's representatives have, almost unanimously, entrusted His Majesty's Government with emergency powers - which that Government must therefore be prepared to exercise in the public interest.
'Most of you are aware that in two days' time the small minority of witches all over Britain would, according to their peculiar calendar, be publicly celebrating the next of their seasonal festivals. It is the Government's view -which I am sure the great majority of you will share - that to allow such public gatherings, in the present situation, would lead inevitably to conflict and casualties and possibly to further loss of life.
'An Order in Council has therefore been made, under the Emergency Powers Act, forbidding them. The full text of the Order is being published in tomorrow morning's newspapers. In simple terms, what it amounts to is this. All public religious gatherings and all private religious meetings of more than six persons, are banned with effect from midnight tonight, with the exception of those held under the chairmanship of an ordained clergyman of one of the Christian churches, or of one of the equivalent functionaries of the Jewish, Moslem or Sikh religions. A list of the authorized denominations is included in the Order.
'Responsible worshippers - that is to say, followers of the traditional religions of the several communities of which this country is composed - will thus be able to pursue their devotions and hold their services entirely as normal. I am sure everyone will wish this to be so; I have already pointed out that we are in a crisis situation and the solace of genuine religious belief and practice is a pillar of strength and a contribution to stability in such times.
'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 wi
th Anna's and Jean's covens, if
they're willing. The pl
ace near Virginia Water - we've
never been disturbed there
before, and it's in thick wood
land 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.