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g for forgiveness； not bothering to put on the light when dusk turned to deep darkness。
Sometime later she heard a voice； more of a whisper on the night air； that might have been inside or outside the house； but she knew only too well that it was addressing her。
'You have sinned and now you seek repentance。 But to do so you must e and confess your sins on the sacred ground which by your own efforts will soon be sacred no longer。 Your tears must dampen the hallowed soil if your soul is to be cleansed。'
She raised her head but it was too dark to see if anybody stood outside the window。 She trembled； listened； but the voice did not e again。 Shame and fear； for her Maker knew she had sinned and he had summoned her to go on a pilgrimage of repentance。
She went through into the hall and put on her coat。 Funny； the light was out and she always left it on when Barren was out。 But she didn't need it。 She opened the door； saw the weling glow of streetlamps beyond the rhododendron shrubbery which lined the garden； made out the silhouette of her Cavalier parked in the drive。
From then onwards her actions were jerky； robot…like。 She stalled the engine； then over…revved it and sent gravel flying up on to the patio。 Braking too hard； shooting out on to the deserted road； no co…ordination with the gears； like a learner…driver。 She had only been to St Monica's once； with Darren； and she had not made a mental note of the route but somehow now it all seemed so familiar。 Two miles of dual…carriageway before taking the first junction off on to a narrow B…road。 Driving flat…out； tyres screeching on unexpected bends。 Hardly any traffic； just an occasional pair of headlights ing in the opposite direction。 Usually oning lights blinded her； had her slowing right down； but tonight she scarcely noticed them； drove flat out all the way with no thought for her own safety。
That cinder track seemed so much wider than it had earlier in the Jag。 Parking in exactly the same place as Darren had parked。 Getting out； closing the door quietly in case she disturbed 。 。 。 someone。
It was dark； the moon was not due to rise for another hour。 Marion Hurst stood there undecided； not knowing exactly what to do。 Her guilt was a thousand times worse now as though she had brooded on it during the five…mile drive down here。 She experienced an urge to shout to the elements 'I'm the one who did this to your land。 Just me； nobody else。'
And then she heard voices； a kind of low； rhythmical chant ing across from where the yew trees and that big oak were just faintly visible against the night sky。 Her feet began to move； unsteady steps across the uneven grassy surface。 On more than one occasion she caught her foot against a tuft； stumbled； but did not fall。
It was lighter now； a kind of ethereal glow； not bright enough for the moon but maybe the stars … she did not really give it much thought。 She could make out moving shapes that materialised into human forms as she got closer。
They were certainly dressed strangely； long knee…length gowns with capacious sleeves and frilly necks； girded with sashes。 Sandalled feet； and they each carried a small branch of some kind； twigs recently snapped off a living tree because the leaves were still fresh and had not wilted。 Hats of some kind； like caps made from animal skins； the tails left on when the beasts were flayed。 Foxes； probably； there were no wolves left in England。 Or were there？ She tried to make out the faces of those around her but it was impossible because their features were bathed in shadow。 They were obviously expecting her； hands reaching out for her； gripping her wrists with icy fingers； leading her forward。 She tried to put into words the questions her confused brain was asking。 Why am I here？ Who are you and what do you want of me？ But somehow her brain and vocal chords refused to co…ordinate。
These people were talking in whispers just like the voice she had heard in her own home。 She managed to make out some of the words。 'This is she。 。 。 the one we summoned 。 。 。 she has e to be judged by Alda 。 ； 。 '
Marion found herself being helped up on to some kind of raised platform； a soft spongy surface as though it was constructed of turf like that pile the landscape gardeners had delivered when she and Darren first bought their house； peaty blocks which they had stacked in the drive until they were ready to lay them。 Marion's feet sank in and only then was she aware that she was barefoot。
The light was getting stronger。 She couid make out various features of the landscape； and her fear began to mount。 Trees and thorn bushes； but where were the distant lights of the town； the orange glow that lit the night sky for miles around？ The church should have been visible； too； its steeple reaching skywards。 And everywhere so silent； not even the hum of a distant car on the main road which could not be more than a mile away。
Now the moon was up； its silvery light bathing the whole scene around Marion Hurst； bringing a scream to her lips but no further。 This was madness； she was dreaming； having a nightmare！ Just barren heathland stretched before her； a still silent world where the only inhabitants were these robed figures whose faces she now saw clearly； beings so old that the stretched skin rotted on their near…skeletal bodies。 The air was filled with the stench of that same putrefying flesh。 Sheer malevolence marked their decaying expressions as they stood in a circle and pointed accusingly up at her； whispering feverishly to the tall man who appeared to be their leader。
Marion tried to tell herself that it was a nightmare because it could not be anything else； that at any second she would wake up and find herself back in her own bed。 These repulsive creatures could not exist！
'Your name is Marion Hurst and you are charged with treachery； a betrayal； not only of the Oke Priests； but of the gods whom we serve！'
The tall man's words impinged on Marion Hurst's brain。 She tried to reply but speech failed her。 Instead she nodded meekly； bowed her head。
The trial of Marion Hurst by the Oke Priests had begun。
'You are an adulteress； a whore。'
Again she mutely agreed。 She stood there dazed； hearing and understanding； the terror within her seething like a sealed cauldron unable to burst out。 Guilty； wanting them to know she was guilty … demanding to be punished to cleanse her soul！
The verdict； an angry hiss； gnarled bony fingers pointing at her； accusing。 The tall druid nodding his agreement； pronouncing her sentence in deep tones like echoes ing up from a labyrinth of underground caverns。
' 。 。 ； guilty of sacrilege and treachery。 The penalty is death； your unworthy body consumed by fire in an offering to the gods that they may not vent their wrath on us； the Oke Priests。 。 。 but others will die； too。 You are the first。 Let us beseech the old ones to bring he who is known as Sabat before us that he； too； may die for his treachery and that I may be revenged upon him for the killing of Alena！'
Cold hands grabbed Marion； dragged her down from the turf altar； pulled her across the rough ground。 She did not resist。 It would have been impossible anyway； a dead weight that scraped and bumped over stones； her flesh spiked and torn by gorse and trailing briars。
She tried to close her eyes to shut out the scene which greeted her； the huge misshapen straw creature crudely fashioned into human shape。 A face that grinned its sadistic inanimate delight； eyes that seemed to glow in anticipation of the fire which would be lighted at its feet。 Strapped into its stinking belly； damp straw from some foul stable sticking to her lips so that she tasted dung； able to scream at last but the sound muffled by the stifling smoke and the crackling of flames。
A name lodged in her crazed brain； kept repeating itself like a record with a scratched groove …'Sabat。 。 。Sabat。 。 。 Sabat。 。 。 he； too； must die for his treachery。'
Marion Hurst found that she had a partial view from the eyes of this effigy； that it was also possible to breathe in some air through the nostrils； otherwise by now the smoke would surely have overe her。 Trying desperately to work it all out although it didn't really matter because soon she would be dead； cremated by these awful creatures in human form who had tried her and found her guilty。 This； then； was the hell that had been used to scare her when she was a child。 It existed！
So hot now that the soles of her bare feet were burning。 Pain at first but then she felt no more； still living but her nerves were mercifully snapped。 Out there the one who called himself Alda was standing on a hump of raised ground； arms aloft； offering this latest sacrifice to his gods； beseeching them to have mercy。 For there were others who had yet to die for this sacrilege： Bishop Boyce； Walter Stone and Darren； of course； may the gods burn his body and soul； roast him for his corruption。
And Sabat； too。 That name again； unable to get it off her mind in her final hour； like a cha