The Macbeth Prophecy (13 page)

“Please –” I knelt down and touched one of the women's shoulder. “Please don't do that. We can't talk when you're in that position.”

Slowly, to our infinite relief, they rose, but they didn't resume their seat on the bed. They stood waiting with bowed heads like supplicants at some papal audience.

Philip said silently, ‘We don't understand. Why are our names so important?'

‘The Bear Twins have returned to Crowthorpe!'

Philip's fingers bit into my arm, but another question was flowing towards us.

‘My lords are making use of the stones?'

‘We're – building up power, yes.'

‘Excellent. You have two years, perhaps. No longer.'

‘What will happen then?' Eve asked anxiously.

‘The spirits will be released and the Crow put to flight.'

‘We'll need your help' I told them.

‘Of course, my lord. As always, we are ready, and there is much to do.'

It was impossible to know which twin was transmitting. Perhaps they used the same source jointly.

‘How wonderful,' they added shyly, ‘to reach out and be understood.'

When we took our leave of them, they again bowed low and remained in that position till the door had closed behind us.

In the privacy of the car, Philip said jerkily, “They can't really believe we're the bear gods, surely?”

“They are unbalanced,” Eve reminded us. “Having tuned in to them, it's hard to remember that, but you must have recognized it, Philip?”

“I don't know what I recognized,” he said flatly. “The whole affair shattered me. That instant contact and then the – the act of worship. It was mindbending.”

“Had you heard the names of the Bear Twins before?” I asked Anita.

“No, but I know that words beginning a-r-t and m-a-t have bear connotations in Celtic, and that's coincidence enough.”

When we got back to Crowthorpe, Anita invited us to tea at the Greystones. Some of the unease still lingered and, hoping the everyday atmosphere of the hotel would dispel it, I was pleased to accept. To my surprise, though, Philip declined.

“You go, Matthew, but I promised to contact Dr Sampson about some results he was expecting from the path. lab. Don't hurry home; I'll see you later.”

So I went to the Greystones with Eve and Anita. George joined us – it was some time since I'd seen him – and we all had drinks on the terrace looking down the sloping gardens to the clear blue lake.

Later Anita brought salad and fruit and we sat talking desultorily, grateful for the blessedly normal presence of the hotel guests further along the terrace. For that short space of time we could pretend we were no different from them.

It was after ten when I returned to the flat and to my surprise Philip was not there. Perhaps the Sampsons had invited him to supper. The flat seemed strange and empty without him. I flung the windows wide and leaned out, watching the lights of the cars along Lake Road and the mooring lights bobbing at the water's edge. And I thought of the old ladies in exile in Carnforth, and of the twin gods Matunus and Artio, whose quarrel over a girl had been their downfall.

At last, I heard Philip's car come round the corner of the house, its door slam and voices laughing. Madeleine's voice. And something cold and hard and frightening closed round me.

I was still standing at the window when Philip's key turned in the lock and a moment later he came whistling into the room behind me.

“Hi! Been back long?”

I turned and he came to a halt. “You've been with Madeleine,” I said.

“What if I have? It's all in the family!”

“You told me you were going to the Sampsons.”

“So I did. And as I left I met Madeleine coming back from the church fête. She thought I was you!”

“Did you disillusion her?”

He moved uncomfortably. “Look, Matthew, I don't know what you're making such a fuss about. We've always shared everything.”

“Did you tell her who you were?” I repeated stonily. “Eventually.”

I moved blindly forward, my hand raised, but he caught hold of it and held it fast.

“Matthew! For God's sake, it's me – Philip! Look, we've done this before, both of us! It's never mattered!”

“It matters this time.”

“Yes, I see it does.” He let go my arm. “Are you in love with her?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me? Does she love you?”

“No.”

He let his breath out softly, as though my answer was the one he'd hoped for. The leaden weight continued to press down inside me. After a moment he said, “What are you going to do?”

“Keep trying, so you can bloody well stay away from her.”

“You have rather thrust us together, you know. Had you forgotten we have the same taste?” His eyes moved over my stiff face. “Relax, Matthew,” he said heavily.

“It was supposed to be a joke but obviously it misfired. Of course she knew it was me.”

It was an effort for me to speak. “Is that the truth?”

“For a moment she did think I was you, but as soon as she caught up with me she said, ‘Oh, sorry! It's Philip, isn't it?' So you see after all these years there's one person who can tell us apart. Perhaps that's a good omen for you.”

My breathing was still laborious. “But you spent the evening with her.”

“It's not a crime, is it? We just had a drink together. I felt in need of some normal company after the afternoon we'd spent. Look, brother mine, don't make a heavy drama out of this. If I've ruffled your feathers I'm sorry, but it's your own fault for not telling me how you felt about her.” He held out his hand with a tentative smile and after a moment I took it. “That's better. Now for God's sake let's forget it. OK?”

I nodded and he moved away, loosening his tie. “Lord, it's hot up here. We should draw the curtains when we go out, to keep the sun off. Did you have a pleasant evening?”

“Not as pleasant as yours, I imagine. It was all right.”

“Are you going to have a shower?”

“You go first, if you like.”

“Right.” He left the room and I went on standing there. We'd shaken hands but things still weren't right between us. It was the first time I'd ever had so much as a disagreement with Philip, and the fact that it was about Madeleine made it all the worse. Remembering that little sigh of relief, I wondered bleakly how he would have replied if I'd had the courage to ask if he loved her himself.

Several months have now passed since that day, but its events have been far-reaching, for the sudden upsurge of power contributed by the Carter twins has tipped the balance from the manageable level to the dangerous. Nor, on subsequent visits, have we been able to establish any coherent links with them and such messages as we receive are garbled; wild imagery and disconnected ramblings. Perhaps, as Eve feared, our first visit had unhinged them further, or perhaps the power they contribute has diminished them in some way. It may even be that, having established the longed-for contact, they are content to let lucidity slip away again; a kind of heathen “Nunc dimittis”.

For myself, I no longer seem to have any discrimination in the way I use my influence, satisfying passing whims rather than adhering to the “grand design” with which I'd originally set out. Once, I clamped a boy's mind shut during an important test, because I'd overheard him making a snide remark about me. I didn't even realize what I'd done till I found him in tears afterwards.

Philip is finding the same thing, but with more serious consequences. One afternoon I came back from school to find him with a glass of whisky in his hand.

“Starting a bit early, aren't you lad?” I chided lightly, trying to hide my disquiet.

“I've just killed someone,” he said.

I felt for a chair and sat down abruptly, my eyes on his face.

“He was desperately ill but I knew what the trouble was, and how to save him. I deliberately did nothing and he died before my eyes. My God, Matthew,
what's the matter with me
!”

I shook my head. “Remember asking me if I thought we were being used? We both know the answer now.”

“But why in this way? What's the point in destroying life?”

“It's a symbol of power, that's all. An arbitrary toss of the dice. Yesterday you might have elected to save him, today you didn't.”

He took another gulp of his drink. “Power like that is only justifiable if it's used for good.”

“Is it even then? Remember our plans for a Utopia, the healthiest people, the brightest pupils? The trouble is that power works both ways; it affects the one who wields it as well as his subject. We should have thought about that before we stockpiled so much of it.”

The television set in the corner crackled into life and Fred Hardacre's face materialized on the screen. “Tonight at the Crow's Nest. Seven-thirty.”

Philip and I hadn't moved. After a moment he said flatly, “We've all infected one another, battened on each other to increase our own faculties. It's – grotesque.”

“If we went away –”

He gave a short laugh. “Too late, Matthew. It was always too late. We'll have to see it through.”

The day after this conversation, because I felt there ought to be some record of how it all built up, I started to write this account. I'm almost up to date now and I daren't go on much longer. The controlling power is exerting considerable pressure to make me destroy it and I'm finding it harder and harder to resist. Just a few more pages, and then I'll stop.

In all these months Philip and I have never again discussed Madeleine. I don't think either of us dares to. Our three-way friendship continues but I don't seem any nearer to winning her round. Sometimes I catch Philip looking at her and there's a terrible fear in me.

Granny Lee has been down to the village several times lately. I don't know why, she never speaks to anyone. We found her once standing on the corner of Ash Street, that obscene bird perched on her shoulder, staring up at our windows. I heard from Eve that she'd been hanging round the Greystones too and George had to ask her to move away because she was alarming the guests. Not to mention poor Anita: she hasn't been too well these last months.

Philip has finally stopped his long-standing visits to the camp. The need for them is gone, since the boys come to all our meetings now, but privately I think he was finding it impossible to face Granny's crow. To my shame, I still resent his closeness to the Smiths, particularly since with their glossy black hair and bright eyes they resemble a pair of crows themselves. Which reminds me of an episode a week or two ago, which caused me acute embarrassment:

One Saturday Madeleine and I set out with packs on our backs to walk up the mountain alongside the lake. It was a gorgeous day, clear and bright and with no trace of the mist which occasionally conceals the peaks. The ground was firm and springy and it was exhilarating to feel the tug of muscles as we made our steady progress.

“We'll be coming to the waterfall in a few minutes,” she told me. “It's possible to walk round it; there's a rickety little fence screening the drop, but it's safe enough if you've a head for heights.”

Crowswater Falls were spectacular. We went in single file up the narrow gorge while the torrent, swollen by the rains of a generally wet summer, hurtled in spumes of spray to the lake far below. Here, amid the overhanging foliage, it was dim and damp, and lush ferns grew along with a few marshy flowers. The roar of the water made conversation impossible. When we came out at the top of the ravine and the path branched upwards again on to the open hillside, we laughed aloud for sheer exuberance.

I felt more relaxed than I had for months. Up here alone with Madeleine it was possible briefly to forget the strains and anxieties which were now so much a part of everyday life. But I was not to be allowed to forget them for long.

We stopped for our picnic in the lee of a barren crag, which afforded some shelter from the stiff easterly breeze. The view before us was breathtaking. We were roughly midway down the lake, and from this height it was possible to see the cluster of houses that was Crowthorpe rising up the slope at one end, while on our left the more concentrated buildings of Barrowick were also visible.

We ate hungrily; chunks of new bread and cheese, crisp apples and slices of pink ham. And when we'd finished I tossed what little remained of our feast in the direction of a small inquisitive bird. At the same moment there was a sudden flapping sound and to my horror a large crow landed on the rock immediately behind us. I started to my feet, knocking over the vacuum flask, and leapt to the other side of the clearing.

“Whatever's the matter?” Madeleine asked in surprise. “It's only after the food!”

But the bird, aware of my discomfiture, started flapping its wings and uttering a high-pitched rasping screech which seared into my brain. I clasped my hands to my ears and the creature suddenly swooped down at me, filling my nostrils with its rank dusty odour, the wind from its wing-beats blasting in my eyes. It was then that I screamed and Madeleine, her face white and uncomprehending, finally succeeded in chasing it away.

Sweating, nauseous, shaken beyond all reason, I sank to the ground and sat with my head in my hands, my breath tearing through my lungs like dry, convulsive sobs. I was too ashamed to face Madeleine, but after a moment she sat beside me and I felt her arms come round my shaking body. Gently she pulled me against her, cradling my head against her breast and murmuring soothing platitudes while the thunderous pounding of my heart gradually abated.

“I'm sorry,” I said thickly at last. “That was quite an exhibition, wasn't it?”

“I'd no idea you felt like that about birds. You've always seemed to like them.”