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📖 Chapter One – King Greene

Beltane — Wednesday 1st May, 2013

Although it was still dark, the sun would begin to rise soon. Good ears would hear the distant soft rhythmic thumping of bodhrans and other skin drums floating across the Bourne valley. Listening more carefully you could piece together the muted rummaging’s, coughs and murmurs and conclude that a handful of residents of the narrow streets of the sleepy fishing village below the hill were beginning to wake. Doors quietly creaked open and clicked closed, the occasional jingle of flat sounding bells tiptoed along narrow and twisting alleyways and snickets.

A giant as tall as the bedroom windows of the timber framed cottages was aided through the High Street, and up to the castle in silence by four men. Their faces painted with soot, one of them wore an archaic headdress; a complete stag’s skull with antlers and hide still intact. This was worn as representation of the 'Horned God'; consort of the Triple Goddess – He is the God of nature, wilderness, sexuality and hunting, one of the two primary deities of Neopaganism.

A partygoer from the night before staggered and tacked his way home. He drunkenly attempted to kick a discarded drink can across the road. The rattle attracted the attention of a seagull, who immediately began to laugh. Within minutes every gull in the vicinity had joined in with the mirthful chatter, the shrill squawking would not dampen until lunchtime.

Over the channel to the east, the edges of large cumulus clouds were becoming visible, outlined with fuchsia and peach as the sun began its slovenly rise. As the minutes ticked by, more and more shadowy figures convened at the Maiden’s Parlour to ‘Dance in the Dawn’ and celebrate the arrival of summer. A large circle of worshippers interlinked hands around the edge of the green, and they began to gently sway as they sang:

Feathered winds come dance with me
Lift me from the ground.
Join my waltz, my spirit, freed
As we’re upward bound.

Tongues of flame come jump with me
Ye purifying fires,
Join my joy, my playful glee
As we move yet higher.

Tears from seas, come sing with me
Roll from out the caves,
Join my verse, my body cleansed
In your healing waves.

Mother Earth come laugh with me
Set aside your toils
Join my chant of forests green
Secure me in rich soil.

Earth and Air, Fire and Sea
I call you all, come dance with me!
Grant me now a sacred space
While working magik in this place.

The chain of hands was broken by the Horned God, and the Giant then ushered into the circle. He was followed by ‘Jack O’ the Green – A huge, verdant cavorting woodland sprite, decorated in flowers, ribbons and greenery. He darted around the inner circle colliding with the revellers like a whirling dervish. Finally, Hannah the Witch was granted entry, and the Morris troops would clatter batons and smash bells until daylight.

Beyond the Maidens’ Parlour at the cliff edge, two men also dressed in suits of green and brown ribbon were having a heated but hushed discussion. They cursed and pushed at each other, whether they had been drinking it would be difficult to have said, but certainly, they acted with the carefree bullishness of the inebriated. Then one of the men, using all his strength was successful in pushing the other over the edge. The pagan celebrants were too noisy and entranced in their own merry making to hear the man’s cries as he fell 100ft onto the rocks below, nor did they notice the antagonist rejoin the party. Beltane was upon them, and for one of their gathering, a sacrifice had already been made.

🕯️ Teaser – The Cursed Inn

Jamaica Inn, Cornwall · December 1811

Thomas and Jenna Hawkey had only meant to act as stewards of the Jamaica Inn until the squire had arranged for suitable full time custodians to establish permanent residence there. But locals and frequent stage travellers using the turnpike twixt Launceston and Bodmin, had warmed to their generous and hospitable housekeeping.

Having modern stables and food of great reputation it was, for the first few years of their tenure, perhaps the most patronised and revered Inn in all the county of Cornwall. However, the abolition of slaving had had great impact on shipping and as a result traffic from Falmouth had thinned out to perhaps one or two sailors or merchants a week.

Poverty was everywhere, from the breakers of the Lizard to the fair and tranquil banks of the Tamar. High taxes on Brandy, tobacco and lace had turned many good God fearing men into smugglers and evaders, whilst malaise and disease drifted across the moor from coast to coast.

But The Hawkeys had grown to love the Inn as much as their patrons had cared for them, and with the good will of the squire and good faith from the money lenders, they had by 1807 their own names above that heaving great oak door.

With fair face and clockwork precision, the Hawkeys unlatched the locks at 06.30 every morning, and entertained whoever should cross their threshold until ten each night.

The autumn of 1811 had been particularly hard, and despite the relatively temperate start to winter, trade was noticeably slow. But the Hawkeys were nothing, if not tenacious. On the night of December 17th, a knock on the door would change everything for the family, and all the Hawkeys for generations to come...

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