points on the marsh—this one is on stilts looking out over a freshwater lake. Ruth hears the wind whispering in the reeds and thinks for the hundredth, thousandth, time of that wild night on the Saltmarsh when an owl's call lured a man to his death. Around them lies water, dark and sullen, interspersed with marshy islands. Ruth shivers and Max makes a gesture as if he is going to put his arm round her but thinks better of it. 'Almost there,' is all he says.
The car park is pitch black and deserted apart from Max's Range Rover. Inside it is blessedly warm and Ruth almost cries with happiness at the prospect of sitting down again. Is it normal for a pregnant person's back to ache this much? Perhaps it's because she's overweight.
Max negotiates the turn into the narrow road that leads to the cottages. He's a careful driver. In this respect, at least, he's nothing like Nelson.
'It was quite something, wasn't it?' he says. 'The bonfire and the Druids and everything.'
'Yes,' says Ruth, 'you can't go wrong with a fire for spectacle. I suppose that's why people used to worship it. Fire wards off the dark.'
'Like the cry of the cockerel,' says Max.
Ruth shoots him a curious look. 'Why do you say that?'
For a second Max looks straight ahead, squinting at the dark road. Then he says, 'Something that happened on the dig yesterday. I was just seeing off some sightseers. The Historical Society this time, I think. And I found a dead cockerel in one of the trenches.'
Ruth doesn't know what to say. She is dimly aware that the neighbouring farms might keep hens but she can't think how a bird can have wandered onto Max's site, isolated as it is behind its grassy bank.
'Was it left there deliberately?'
He gives a short laugh. 'I'd say so, yes. Its throat had been cut.'
'What?'
'Slit from side to side. Very neat job.'
For one awful moment Ruth thinks she is going to be sick. She takes a deep breath.
'Why would anyone want to do that?'
They have reached Ruth's cottage. Max turns off the ignition. 'Well a cockerel's a fairly traditional sacrifice. Because they crow in the morning, they're supposed to have power to hold back the darkness. That's what I meant earlier.'
Ruth's head is swimming. 'A sacrifice? Why would anyone leave a sacrifice on an archaeological dig?'
'I don't know. Maybe someone who believes that we're disturbing the dead.'
Briefly Ruth thinks of Cathbad and then shakes her head to clear it. Dead animals are not Cathbad's style.
'Of course,' Max goes on, 'cockerels have a Christian connection too. The cockerel is sometimes used to represent Jesus. It's the whole dawn rebirth thing.'
'Someone killed a bird as a Christian sacrifice?'
Max's voice changes gear slightly. 'Or an offering to Hecate.'
'The goddess of witchcraft?'
'She was the goddess of many things. The Greeks called her the "Queen of the Night" because she could see into the underworld. She's the goddess of the crossroads, the three ways. That's why images of her are often in triplicate. She is meant to haunt crossroads, crossing places, accompanied by her ghost dogs. Another name is Hekate Kourotrophos, Hecate the child-nurse. Women prayed to her in labour.'
'Are cockerels traditionally sacrificed to her?' Ruth tries to keep the disbelief out of her voice.
'Well, it was black and it was traditional to sacrifice black animals to Hecate. Usually dogs or puppies because of her sacred dogs. But birds too occasionally. She's sometimes linked to Athena and is depicted with an owl, the symbol of wisdom.'
'We heard an owl earlier.'
Max smiles, his teeth very white in the darkness. 'Maybe that was Hecate. She appears on marshland sometimes, shining her ghost lights to help you see your way.'
'A will-o'-the-wisp,' says Ruth, remembering another legend of spectral lights.
'Exactly. Marsh lights. Phosphorescence. There are lots of stories about them.'
Ruth shivers. The time on the dashboard says 22:32. 'I'd better be getting in.'
Max does not try to
The car park is pitch black and deserted apart from Max's Range Rover. Inside it is blessedly warm and Ruth almost cries with happiness at the prospect of sitting down again. Is it normal for a pregnant person's back to ache this much? Perhaps it's because she's overweight.
Max negotiates the turn into the narrow road that leads to the cottages. He's a careful driver. In this respect, at least, he's nothing like Nelson.
'It was quite something, wasn't it?' he says. 'The bonfire and the Druids and everything.'
'Yes,' says Ruth, 'you can't go wrong with a fire for spectacle. I suppose that's why people used to worship it. Fire wards off the dark.'
'Like the cry of the cockerel,' says Max.
Ruth shoots him a curious look. 'Why do you say that?'
For a second Max looks straight ahead, squinting at the dark road. Then he says, 'Something that happened on the dig yesterday. I was just seeing off some sightseers. The Historical Society this time, I think. And I found a dead cockerel in one of the trenches.'
Ruth doesn't know what to say. She is dimly aware that the neighbouring farms might keep hens but she can't think how a bird can have wandered onto Max's site, isolated as it is behind its grassy bank.
'Was it left there deliberately?'
He gives a short laugh. 'I'd say so, yes. Its throat had been cut.'
'What?'
'Slit from side to side. Very neat job.'
For one awful moment Ruth thinks she is going to be sick. She takes a deep breath.
'Why would anyone want to do that?'
They have reached Ruth's cottage. Max turns off the ignition. 'Well a cockerel's a fairly traditional sacrifice. Because they crow in the morning, they're supposed to have power to hold back the darkness. That's what I meant earlier.'
Ruth's head is swimming. 'A sacrifice? Why would anyone leave a sacrifice on an archaeological dig?'
'I don't know. Maybe someone who believes that we're disturbing the dead.'
Briefly Ruth thinks of Cathbad and then shakes her head to clear it. Dead animals are not Cathbad's style.
'Of course,' Max goes on, 'cockerels have a Christian connection too. The cockerel is sometimes used to represent Jesus. It's the whole dawn rebirth thing.'
'Someone killed a bird as a Christian sacrifice?'
Max's voice changes gear slightly. 'Or an offering to Hecate.'
'The goddess of witchcraft?'
'She was the goddess of many things. The Greeks called her the "Queen of the Night" because she could see into the underworld. She's the goddess of the crossroads, the three ways. That's why images of her are often in triplicate. She is meant to haunt crossroads, crossing places, accompanied by her ghost dogs. Another name is Hekate Kourotrophos, Hecate the child-nurse. Women prayed to her in labour.'
'Are cockerels traditionally sacrificed to her?' Ruth tries to keep the disbelief out of her voice.
'Well, it was black and it was traditional to sacrifice black animals to Hecate. Usually dogs or puppies because of her sacred dogs. But birds too occasionally. She's sometimes linked to Athena and is depicted with an owl, the symbol of wisdom.'
'We heard an owl earlier.'
Max smiles, his teeth very white in the darkness. 'Maybe that was Hecate. She appears on marshland sometimes, shining her ghost lights to help you see your way.'
'A will-o'-the-wisp,' says Ruth, remembering another legend of spectral lights.
'Exactly. Marsh lights. Phosphorescence. There are lots of stories about them.'
Ruth shivers. The time on the dashboard says 22:32. 'I'd better be getting in.'
Max does not try to
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