Phil Rickman - A Crown of Lights

‘All right,’ Ellis had then said, ‘let me tell you the truth about this church, Robin. This church was dedicated to St Michael. How much do you know about him?’

Robin could only think of Marks and freaking Spencer, but was wise enough to say nothing.

‘The Revelation of St John the Divine, Chapter Twelve. “And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon fought Michael and his angels.” ’

Robin had looked down at his boots.

‘ “And the great dragon was cast out... that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world. He was cast out... into the earth.” ’

‘Uh, right,’ Robin said, ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

‘Interestingly, around the perimeter of Radnor Forest are several other churches dedicated to St Michael.’

‘Not too much imagination in those days, I guess.’

Ellis had now taken off his beret. His face was shining with rain.

‘The Archangel Michael is the most formidable warrior in God’s army. Therefore a number of churches dedicated to him would represent a very powerful barrier against evil.’

‘What evil would this be precisely, Nick?’ Robin was becoming majorly exasperated by Ellis’s habit of not answering questions – like your questions are sure to be stupid and inexact, so he was answering the ones you ought to have asked. It also bugged Robin when people talked so loosely about ‘evil’ – a coverall for fanatics.

Ellis said, ‘I visit the local schools. Children still talk of a dragon in Radnor Forest. It’s part of the folklore of the area. There’s even a line of hills a few miles from here they call the Dragon’s Back.’

Robin shrugged. ‘Local place names. That so uncommon, Nick?’

‘Not awfully. Satanic evil is ubiquitous.’

‘Yeah, but is a dragon necessarily evil?’ Robin was thinking of the fantasy novels of Kirk Blackmore, where dragons were fearsome forces for positive change.

Ellis gave him a cold look. ‘It would seem to me, Robin, that a dragon legend and a circle of churches dedicated to St Michael is incontrovertible evidence of something requiring perpetual restraint.’

‘I’m not getting this.’

‘A circle of churches.’ Ellis spread his hands. ‘A holy wall to contain the dragon. But the dragon will always want to escape. Periodically, the dragon rears... and snaps... and is forced back again and again and keeps coming back...’ Ellis clawing the air, a harsh light in his eyes, ‘until something yields.’

Now he was looking over at the ruins again, like an army officer sizing up the field of battle. This was one serious fucking fruitcake.

‘And the evil is now inside ... The legend says – and you’ll find references to this in most of the books written about this area – that if just one of those churches should fall, the dragon will escape.’

Then he looked directly at Robin.

Robin said, ‘But... this is a legend, Nick.’

‘The circle of St Michael churches is not a legend.’

‘You think this place is evil ?’

‘It’s decommissioned. It no longer has the protection of St Michael. In this particular situation, I would suggest that’s a sign that it requires... attention.’

‘Attention?’

Robin put on a crazy laugh, but his heart wasn’t in it. And Betty didn’t laugh at all.

‘What does he want?’

‘He...’ Robin shook his head. ‘Oh, boy. He was warning me. That fruitcake was giving me notice.’

‘Of what? What does he want?’

‘He wants to hold a service here. He believes this church was abandoned because the dragon got in. Because the frigging dragon lies coiled here. And that God has chosen him, Ellis, given him the muscle, in the shape of the biggest congregations ever known in this area, given him the power to drive the dragon out.’

Betty went very still.

‘All he wants, Bets... all he wants... is to come along with a few friends and hold some kind of a service.’

‘What kind of a service?’

‘You imagine that? All these farmers in their best suits and the matrons in their Sunday hats and Nick in his white surplice and stuff all standing around in a church with no roof singing goddamn “Bread of Heaven”? In a site that they stole from the Old Religion about eight hundred years ago and then fucking sold off? Jeez, I was so mad! This is our church now. On our farm. And we like dragons!’

Betty was silent. The whole room was silent. The rain had stopped, the breeze had died. Even the Rayburn had temporarily conquered its snoring.

Robin howled like a dog. ‘What’s happening here? Why do we have to wind up in a parish with a priest who’s been exposed to the insane Bible-freaks who stalk the more primitive parts of my beloved homeland? And is therefore no longer content with vicarage tea parties and the organ fund.’

‘So what did you say to him?’

‘Bastard had me over a barrel. I say a flat “no”, the cat’s clean out the bag. So, what I said... to my shame, I said, Nick, I could not think of letting you hold a service in there. Look at all that mud! Look at those pools of water! Just give us some time – like we’ve only been here days – give us some time to get it cleaned up. How sad was that ?’

Just like Ellis, she didn’t seem to have been listening. ‘Robin, what kind of service?’

‘He said it would be no big deal – not realizing that any kind of damn service here now , was gonna be a big deal far as we’re concerned. And if it’s no big deal, why do it? Guy doesn’t even like churches.’

‘What kind of service?’ Betty was at the edge of her chair and her eyes were hard.

‘I don’t know.’ Robin was a little scared, and that made him angry. ‘A short Eucharist? Did he say that? What is that precisely? I’m not too familiar with this Christian sh—’

‘It’s a Mass.’

‘Huh?’

‘An Anglican Mass. And do you know why a Mass is generally performed in a building other than a functioning church?’

He didn’t fully. He could only guess.

‘To cleanse it,’ Betty said. ‘The Eucharist is Christian disinfectant. To cleanse, to purify – to get rid of bacteria.’

‘OK, let me get this...’ Robin pulled his hands down his face, in praying mode. ‘This is the E-word, right?’

Betty nodded.

An exorcism.

THE ANSWERING MACHINE sounded quite irritable.

‘Mrs Watkins. Tania Beauman , Livenight. I’ve left messages for you all over the place. The programme goes out Friday night, so I really have to know whether it’s yes or no. I’ll be here until seven. Please call me... Thank you.’

‘Sorry.’ Merrily came back into the kitchen, hung up her funeral cloak. ‘I can’t think with that thing bleeping.’

Barbara Buckingham was sitting at the refectory table, unwinding her heavy silk scarf while her eyes compiled a photo-inventory of the room.

‘You’re in demand, Mrs Watkins.’ The slight roll on the ‘r’ and the barely perceptible lengthening of the ‘a’ showed her roots were sunk into mid-border clay. But this would be way back, many southern English summers since.

Walking through black and white timber-framed Ledwardine, across the cobbled square to the sixteenth-century vicarage, the dull day dying around them, the lights in the windows blunting the bite of evening, she’d said, ‘How quaint and cosy it is here. I’d forgotten. And so close.’

Close to what? Merrily had made a point of not asking.

‘Tea?’ She still felt slightly ashamed of the kitchen – must get round to emulsioning it in the spring. ‘Or coffee?’