gns.thedruidconnection-第14部分

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ad　some　slight　impediment　of　speech。
　　
　　'Vicar　Mannering's　a　crook；　too；'　the　stranger　went　on。　'I'll　give　you　an　instance。　It　was　always　the　custom　for　the　curate　to　have　the　Easter　Sunday　offering　and　the　vicar　of　the　mother　church　to　have　the　Whit　Sunday　one。　Oh　yes；　it'd　been　a　custom　for　years；　but　Mannering　suddenly　realised　that　the　Easter　congregation　was　almost　double　the　Whit　one。　So　the　greedy　blighter　got　the　bishop　to　swap　the　offertories　over　so　that　the　vicar　got　the　golden　egg。　That's　what　we're　up　against　in　the　Church　today；　believe　me；　sir。'
　　
　　Kent　found　himself　nodding。　The　buzz　of　conversation　around　him　seemed　to　have　receded　so　that　this　man　was　the　focal　point；　the　principal　actor　in　an　amateur　theatrical　production。　But　nobody　was　looking　at　them；　they　might　have　been　the　only　two　people　in　that　room　against　a　background　of　taped　sound　effects。
　　
　　'We've　had　another　meeting　tonight。　I　guess　if　these　villagers　had　their　way　they'd　make　a　huge　bonfire　and　burn　the　bishop；　Hurst；　and　Stone　on　it。　Probably　chuck　Vicar　Mannering　on　as　well　for　good　measure。　Incinerate　the　damned　lot　of　them　and　start　again　from　scratch。'　That　stilted　mouth　moved；　stretched　into　a　laugh；　a　sound　that　had　shivers　running　up　and　down　Kent's　spine。
　　
　　'You're　a　stranger　here；　sir；'　eyes　that　seemed　to　bore　into　Kent。　'But　you　can't　divorce　yourself　from　this　situation　because　the　cancer　within　the　Church　is　spreading　so　that　eventually　it'll　rot　us　all　like　some　right…wing　dictatorship　that　has　got　a　stranglehold　on　the　nation。　They've　misappropriated　funds　and　trusts　to　suit　themselves。　e；　sir；　let　me　show　you　the　state　of　the　church　roof。　There's　enough　moonlight　to　see　it　by。　It'll　collapse　before　long；　the　roof　I　mean；'　another　forced　laugh。　Td　like　you　to　see　for　yourself　so　that　you　can　go　back　to　wherever　you've　e　from　and　tell　your　friends　what's　happening　in　the　Church　today。　〃Spread　the　word〃；　eh！'
　　
　　Kent　didn't　want　to　go。　The　last　thing　he　wanted　to　do　was　to　go　back　to　that　cemetery　and　its　adjacent　ground。　He　even　tried　to　think　of　a　good　excuse　why　he　should　not　acpany　this　volatile　eccentric　on　a　moonlit　tour　of　consecrated　ground　but　he　failed　to　e　up　with　one。　Gulping　down　the　remainder　of　his　whisky　he　found　himself　nodding　his　agreement；　a　schoolboy　unwilling　to　concede　to　a　forceful　master's　whims。
　　
　　The　tall　man　smiled；　put　his　glass　back　on　the　bar。　Kent　saw　that　it　was　still　full；　some　kind　of　wine。　He　wondered　why　the　other　didn't　drink　it　up；　perhaps　they　would　be　returning　here　after　their　short　excursion　into　the　night。
　　
　　A　full　moon　cast　its　light　across　the　countryside；　illuminated　St　Monica's　Church　with　its　sagging　roof。　Somewhere　a　night　bird　was　calling　vehemently；　almost　as　though　it　was　screeching　some　kind　of　warning。　Kent　found　himself　hurrying；　almost　breaking　into　a　run　to　keep　up　with　his　panion's　gangling　gait。　What　the　hell　was　the　hurry？
　　
　　'Look　at　that；　it's　a　disgrace！'　the　tall　man's　voice　escalated　to　a　shriek　of　rage；　frustration；　a　long　arm　pointing　up　to　the　church　roof。　'They　had　the　money　to　repair　it　but　they've　squandered　it　so　now　they're　scrounging　off　the　parishioners。'
　　
　　God；　it　was　cold。　Kent　wished　he　had　gone　back　up　to　his　room　to　get　a　coat。　But　he　could　not　even　voice　a　protest；　just　as　though　his　brain　had　been　stupefied　by　some　kind　of　drug；　forced　to　follow　in　the　steps　of　the　other；　nod　his　agreement　to　every　statement。　Maybe　he　was　ill；　he　hadn't　left　his　room　at　all　and　was　dreaming　all　this；　the　beginnings　of　a　nightmarish　fever；　shivering　in　his　bed。　Soon　he'd　start　to　sweat。
　　
　　Somewhere　in　the　distance　thunder　was　rumbling。　At　least　the　noise　sounded　vaguely　reminiscent　of　an　electric　storm；　but　that　was　impossible　because　the　night　was　still　and　clear　with　a　spring　frost　in　the　air。　Like　a　series　of　explosions　that　went　on　and　on；　some　louder　than　others。　Vivid　flashes　lit　up　the　sky　against　a　spreading　glow　as　though　there　was　a　huge　fire　burning　a　few　miles　away。
　　

　　Kent　tensed。　That　noise；　a　buzz　that　was　growing　louder　and　louder；　a　vibration　ing　closer　all　the　time；　had　him　clutching　his　hands　to　his　ears　in　a　futile　attempt　to　shut　it　out。　He　wanted　to　scream　his　terror　aloud。
　　
　　'What　the　hells　happening？'　The　journalist　did　not　know　whether　he　managed　to　get　the　words　out　or　whether　he　just　heard　them　in　his　own　brain。
　　
　　Shapes　filled　the　moonlit　sky；　huge；　lumbering　bird…like　objects　flying　in　formation。　Planes！　Antiquated　bombers　that　he　recognised　from　illustrations　in　picture　books；　aircraft　that　were　outdated　long　before　the　advent　of　the　jet。　And　there　was　not　a　light　to　be　seen　amongst　the　entire　squadron　that　stretched　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see！
　　
　　'You　mean　you　don't　know'　incredulity　on　that　pallid　face；　the　silver　hair　glinting　in　the　moonlight。　'Those　are　the　Jerries；　the　Luftwaffe！　They've　bombed　Coventry　tonight；　razed　it　to　the　ground。　The　cathedral；　too。　That'll　teach　those　church　hypocrites　a　thing　or　two！'
　　
　　You're　mad；　Kent　decided；　his　brain　reeling；　his　limbs　seeming　to　be　paralysed　so　that　he　could　not　obey　the　powerful　basic　human　instinct　of　self…survival　and　throw　himself　behind　that　huge　headstone　in　an　attempt　to　save　himself。　And　so；　obviously；　am　I！
　　
　　'But　there's　no　war　on！'
　　
　　'Of　course　there　is；'　the　other　stared　at　him；　those　grey　eyes　penetrating；　beginning　to　smoulder　with　anger。　'We　are　at　war　with　Germany！'
　　
　　Kent　nodded　his　head　slowly；　accepting　what　he　heard；　knowing　that　he　must　believe　it　because　it　was　true；　the　proof　was　there　for　him　to　see。　The　night　sky　lit　up　by　a　blazing　city　twenty　or　so　miles　away；　bombs　still　exploding；　the　stutter　of　retaliatory　anti…aircraft　fire。　The　raiders　passing　over；　their　mission　pleted。
　　
　　The　noise　receded　until　finally　it　was　only　a　distant　hum；　the　glow　dying　away。　A　city　had　been　bombed　and　burned；　only　the　embers　remained。　Kent　thought　that　he　could　smell　the　acrid　stench　of　burning　bodies；　roasting　human　flesh　that　made　him　want　to　throw　up。
　　
　　'e　now；'　the　tall　man　beckoned　and　Kent　moved　forward；　swaying。　'I　have　other　things　to　show　you！'
　　
　　Kent　found　himself　staring　at　the　huge　tombstone；　the　one　he　had　wanted　to　crouch　down　behind；　the　one　where　he　and　Sabat　had　discovered　the　naked　Sheenah　lying　only　。　。　。　oh　Jesus　God；　how　long　ago　had　that　been？　Now　it　seemed　to　shine　with　the　newness　of　polished　marble　which　the　elements　had　not　had　time　to　spoil！
　　
　　'Read　it；'　his　panion's　face　was　close　to　his　own；　the　features　screwed　up　with　anger；　shouting。　'Read　it；　and　tell　me　what　it　says！'
　　
　　'Sir　。　。　。　Henry　。　。　。　Grayne　。　。　。　'　Kent　had　to　spell　out　each　word　in　the　manner　of　an　infant　learning　to　read；　stumbling　over　pronunciations。　'Passed　away　。　。　。　November　。　。　。　1942。'
　　
　　'My　time　is　short；'　the　tall　man　sighed。　'Too　short；　and　as　such　I　must　engage　one　to　do　that　which　otherwise　I　should　have　done　myself。'
　　
　　'Your　time？'　Kent's　mouth　was　dry。
　　
　　'Yes；　my　time。　For　I　am　none　other　than　Sir　Henry　Grayne；　he　who　gave　money　in　trust　for　the　maintenance　of　the　roof　of　St　Monica's。　For　the　upkeep　of　this　tombstone。　And　also　gave　the　land　in　keeping　to　the　new　religion　so　that　the　old　one　could　remain　undisturbed；　our　spirits　continuing　to　worship　unmolested。　And　now　that　New　Religion　has　performed　an　act　of　unprecedented　treachery　in　an　attempt　to　destroy　those　who　worshipped　here　when　this　land　was　young！　And　you；　too；　who　are　known　as　Kent　have　joined　forces　with　the　man　called　Sabat　so　that　we　may　be　destroyed　forever　r
　　
　　A　denial　was　impossible；　Kent　found　himself　muttering　some　inprehensible　words　of　agreement；　experienced　a　wave　of　guilt　and　shame；　a　criminal　standing　in　the　dock　awaiting　sentence。
　　
　　'You　could　and　should　die　this　very　minute；'　the　man　who　called　himself　Sir　Henry　Grayne　snapped。　'Oh；　that　we　the　latter…day　druids　could　sacrifice　you　to　the　old　gods；　but　you　are　of　great　use　to　us。　Our　way　was　not　to　sacrifice　human　life　as　did　our　predecessors；　but　now　that　is　forced　upon　us。　We　have　no　choice　。　。　。　have　we；　brethren！'
　　
　　''Nay；　we　have　no　choice。'
　　
　　Kent　felt　sheer　terror　grip　him；　all　the　worse　because　movement　was　denied　him。　He　hadn't　seen　the　others　approaching；　they　had　arrived　silently；　now　ringing　the　two　men　standing　by　the　large　headstone。　Robed　and　barefooted；　men　whose　expressions　bore　the　hatred　forced　upon　them　by　avarice　of　those　who　came　after。　A　sect　determined　to　fight；　to　shed　blood　on　behalf　of　their　ancestors　to　whom　the　taking　of　life　was　a　mon　ritual。
　　
　　The　journalist　felt　his　legs　go　weak；　it　was　a　miracle　how　they　still　continued　to　support　his　weight。　These　friends；　these　madmen；　were　going　to　kill　him　。　。　。　sacrifice　him　to　their　gods！
　　
　　One　of　the　group　stepped　forward；　handed　something　to　Sir　Henry　Grayne；　an　object　that　glinted　in　the　moonbeams　…　a　long…bladed　sword　with　a　jewelled　hilt；　the　stones　flashing　blood　red　as　though　they　anticipated　crimson　death。
　　
　　Sir　Henry　raised　the　weapon；　pursed　his　lips　and　kissed　the　flat　of　the　blade。　'O　sacred　sword　of　Alda；　high　priest　of　the　Oke　Priests；　too　long　hast　thou　lain　idle；　thy　keen　edge　deprived　of　flesh　and　blood。　Well；　thou　hast　not　long　to　wait　now！'
　　
　　'Kill　the　unbeliever！　He　has　no　god；　not　even　one　of　his　own！'
　　
　　'Be　patient！'　Grayne　turned　to　face　them；　held　his　weapon　aloft。　'Oh；　it　would　be　easy　to　slay　this　one；　but　I　have　a　far　more　cunning　idea。'
　　
　　'Speak　then　or　else　the　moon　will　begin　to　wane　and　we　shall　be　recalled　to　the　shadows　to　await　the　Summer　Solstice。'
　　
　　'I　will　be　brief；'　Sir　Henry　drew　himself　up；　his　voice　now　powerful　with　no　trace　of　a　lisp。　'The　hypocrites　who　seek　to　destroy　our　sacred　ground　have　brought　the　man　known　as　Sabat　here　to　aid　them　in　their　determination　to　drive　us　from　here；　banish　us　forever　to　wander　in　the　dark　places。　Sabat　is　strong；　strong　enough　to　destroy　Alena；　the　witch；　and　to　deprive　Alda　of　his　powers。　This　one　whom　they　call　Kent　works　with　Sabat　and　the　traitoress；　Shyaena。　For　us　to　attempt　to