Tales From The Dark Past - Books 4-5

Chapter 2-2

I slept then, with the strangest of images forming inside my head. I could see the baby within Agnes, and knew it would be a boy, with dark hair like its mother and the same serious eyes as his father. I knew that yet did not know how I knew. I slept with that knowledge and woke only once, to see the friendly light from a cottage high on the hill opposite.

Agnes had told me the cottage belonged to Charlie Fleming, who worked a pendicle – a small skelp of land – on the hill. I fixed my eye on that, knowing, somehow, that as long as Charlie was secure in his pendicle, I was safe on the low ground far beneath. I trusted in that light as seamen trust in the Pole Star.

I had lived with apprehension and fear most of my life so that wherever I was, I prepared for my next move. My previous attempts to put down roots had failed. Now, as Charlie Fleming’s light flickered on the hill, I fastened my eyes on that solitary beacon.

“Please, God,” I prayed, “help me find peace.”

So far in my life, God had seldom answered my prayers. Perhaps this time he would. Maybe I could live a humdrum, everyday life, rather than remain a stoorey-foot, a nomad with the dust of the road on my shoes.

Oh, please, God, answer my prayers.

Oh, please, God, answer my prayers.* * *

“You two.” Mrs Lunan scowled across to Agnes and me. “I heard you were abroad last night.”

“Yes, Mrs Lunan,” Agnes admitted at once.

“Well, you won’t be out tonight,” Mrs Lunan said. “Not tonight of all nights.”

“Why not tonight?” I asked.

“There’s an initiation,” Mrs Lunan said, looking me up and down. “When that happens, we leave the boys alone.”

“Ah.” I nodded without understanding. “What sort of initiation?”

“Our third horseman is learning the Horseman’s Word,”

I nodded again. I had heard about the Horseman’s Word, a semi-magical concept that gave the horsemen power over horses and women. Glancing at Agnes’s very pregnant condition, I wondered if the Word worked.

“Don’t forget!” Mrs Lunan left our room after a very pointed look at me.

“I’ve never seen an initiation,” Agnes said. “What do you think?” Her eyes were bright with mischief. “Are we going to watch?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

Agnes nodded. “Are you sure you’re game?”

“If you are,” I said. “I’ve always wondered what happens at initiations.”

“We’ll have to be very quiet,” Agnes said. “If Mr Lunan catches us… “She did not complete her sentence.

“Let’s make sure that he doesn’t,” I said.

“Mrs Lunan is worse,” Agnes said. “She’s a tyrant.”

I nodded, although I had met much worse than Mrs Lunan.

We did not know where the initiation was taking place, so left our room in the early evening and waited in the steading’s dark shadows. I heard an outburst of hilarity from the bothy and then the door opened, a rectangle of yellow light against the dark of the night. One by one, the men came out, with Peter at the back, until Dougie pushed him back inside the bothy.

“This is a night for men,” Dougie said. “Children cannae come.”

“I’m not a child,” Peter complained.

“Get back inside,” Dougie said, spun the boy around, and landed a solid kick on his rump. “And stay inside.”

I could not make out Peter’s reply, although I doubted it was polite.

Dougie slammed the door shut, laughed, and led the way through the tangle of buildings that made up the steading. Agnes and I followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows, ensuring our feet made no noise on the ground and trying to hear what the bothy-boys were saying.

“They’re going to the Muckle Barn,” Agnes said.

By that time, I knew where the Muckle Barn was, and nodded.

“We’ll go to the hayloft, above,” Agnes said.

As the men stopped to tease the third horseman, Agnes and I slipped ahead, to enter the Muckle Barn – the largest barn in Kingsinch - and climb the ladders to the hayloft. From there, we would have an excellent view of everything that was happening below, while being invisible to the horsemen. As somebody had left the skylight open, I hastened to close it, first peering into the surrounding darkness.

“Somebody else is coming.” I pointed to the swinging pinpricks of light that indicated men carrying lanterns along the track. Further back, I saw a brighter glow from the fixed light on its lonely post.

“Horsemen from other farms,” Agnes said. “Come to help the initiation.”

“Tell me,” I said, “why is there a lantern at the bend of the track.”

“In case it rains,” Agnes said. “The fields can flood in the autumn rains, and if that happens, we get cut off. The path is the only way in and out, and sometimes the floodwater covers that too.”

“So, the lantern keeps people on the path,” I said.

“That’s right. Dougie sends Peter the halflin out to light the lantern.”

“Lucky Peter,” I said.

Agnes laughed. “Peter doesn’t mind,” she said. “He thinks it makes him look like a man.” She shook her head. “These young lads are desperate to become men.”

The horsemen filed into the Muckle Barn, all wearing broad flat caps and their voices low growls in the gloom. There was an expectant air as the men gathered around, perhaps a dozen strong, with ages from their late teens to mature, be-whiskered men in their thirties. In keeping with their profession, they were lean, fit men without an ounce of spare fat, hard-featured, weather-beaten, with a laconic turn of phrase rather than a gift for rhetoric. I have always been able to sense the atmosphere, and here there was a taste of excitement, even a s****l tension that worried me a little, although Agnes was happy enough.

“The men won’t like us to see this sort of thing,” Agnes whispered.

“All the better for us, then,” I said, although the actions of men were not a mystery to me.

Agnes smiled across to me and settled her belly more comfortably on the straw-streaked planks.

“Is Mr Lunan not coming?” I asked.

“No,” Agnes whispered. “This is only for horsemen. Nobody else is allowed, not even the farmer.” She smiled again. “It’s all very secretive.”

I smiled back, for nothing binds women together than sharing a secret, especially a secret about men.

Dougie gave an order, and two of the younger men lit lanterns, which gave smoky light to the centre of the barn while darkening the shadows in the corner. I wondered how often horsemen had performed this ceremony in this place and how old it was.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Agnes asked. “Like a secret society!”

The horsemen formed a circle, with a bottle of whisky passed around from hand to hand. Each man took a swig, wiped his mouth, and passed it on before sitting on a hay-bale. Dougie settled on a large saddle perched on a bale, so he was higher than the others. I could not see Andrew or Jim. The barn reeked of tobacco smoke from half a dozen pipes.

“Bring in the candidate!” Dougie announced in a big voice.

Agnes nudged me with a sharp elbow to ensure I was paying attention. After a moment’s delay, Andrew came in with another man, both leading a blindfolded Jim.

“Take him to the centre of the sacred circle!” Dougie ordered.

Andrew and the second man led Jim to the middle of the watching horsemen, and left him there, blindfolded and undoubtedly nervous.

“Who are you, candidate?” Dougie asked.

“Jim Blair,” Jim said.

“Speak clearly!” Dougie was enjoying his power. “What is your full name?”

“I am James Walter Blair!” Jim nearly shouted.

“James Walter Blair, are you ready to be initiated into the Sacred Society of horsemen?”

“I am!” Jim said, pulling his shoulders back and standing to attention.

“Let us see you, James Walter Blair!” Dougie ordered.

Even from my perch, I could sense Jim’s confusion. “You can see me,” he said.

“Let us see all of you,” Dougie ordered. “Strip!”

I sensed amusement from the horsemen. They were enjoying humiliating Jim, as they had all been humiliated during their initiation.

“Isn’t this fun?” Agnes whispered.

“Not for Jim.” I felt sympathy for Jim. I knew far too well how it felt to be the butt of others’ vindictive humour.

I had a memory of cowering in the orphanage dormitory as the other waifs sneered at me and Miss Deas ordered me to wash my sodden bedclothes by hand in cold water.

“She’s wet the bed again, the dirty little teuchter!”

“She’s wet the bed again, the dirty little teuchter!”“Dirty little teuchter!” the orphans repeated.

“Dirty little teuchter!” the orphans repeated.“She’ll have to wash her bedclothes, the dirty little teuchter!” Miss Deas said.

“She’ll have to wash her bedclothes, the dirty little teuchter!” Miss Deas said.“Dirty little teuchter!”

“Dirty little teuchter!”“Take them off and wash them!” Miss Deas ordered as the orphans mocked me with forced laughter. I never knew if they intended to hurt, or if they were as scared as I was. I only knew I felt like dying as I stripped n***d in front of everybody.

“Take them off and wash them!” Miss Deas ordered as the orphans mocked me with forced laughter. I never knew if they intended to hurt, or if they were as scared as I was. I only knew I felt like dying as I stripped n***d in front of everybody.“Dirty little teuchter! Dirty little teuchter!”

“Dirty little teuchter! Dirty little teuchter!”I shook away the memory. I had too many of that kind.

As the crowd watched in silent amusement, Jim stripped off his clothes to stand stark n***d in the centre of the circle, both hands covering his genitals. Many of the horsemen made crude comments that had Agnes stuffing her fingers in her mouth to stifle her giggles. I noted that Andrew looked slightly uncomfortable and did not join in the ridicule.

“Kneel before the senior horseman!” Dougie ordered, and Jim knelt on the cobbled floor, still with his hands folded in front of him.

“Repeat the tender of the Horseman’s Oath!” Dougie ordered.

I listened intently, for only horsemen knew such things, and Andrew, Jim’s mentor, must have taught Jim what to say.

“Here, conceal, never reveal; neither write nor dite nor recite not cut nor carve nor write in sand,” Jim said the words clearly, without hesitation. They meant nothing to me.

Dougie had a broad grin on his face as he asked a series of technical questions about horses, ploughing and ploughs, few of which I understood. Jim, still blindfolded, answered them all without hesitation.

“He’s not freckled all over.” Agnes was examining Jim with great interest. If she had binoculars, I swear she would have focussed on his most intimate areas. “Only on his face and arms.” She suppressed a giggle. “His other parts are normal.” Agnes gave me a sharp dig with her elbow. “What do you think of him, Ellen? Is he tasty enough for you?”