He stepped over the rutting figures and closer to the stone, where several men who had remained aloof from the orgy were waiting, but instead of them making obeisance to the beast, Moccus knelt to them. Mother resumed her intonations as many pairs of hands grasped the god’s outstretched arms and pulled, bringing his head lower, to within closer range of a great knife with a black, crescent-shaped blade that was held by one of the men. The sickle-wielder plainly had never done this before; he was nervous, the blade trembling in his hand, and at the height of Mother’s chanting Moccus threw back his head with a roar that made the very flames sway, but the butcher made such a half-hearted and shallow sweep of the killing stroke that the beast was more maddened than hurt, and the other men struggled to hold him. If he hadn’t already been so weak with age he’d have broken free and wrought carnage about the clearing. As it was, the only carnage was visited upon his throat – a messy, amateur hacking that the deserter found infuriating to witness. The least they could have done was make it quick. They tried to catch as much of his blood as they could – cruor, he heard them calling it – in three great bronze bowls but a lot of it was lost to the ground. Mother was saying: ‘He Who Eats the Moon, we thank thee for this, thy bounty,’ and in his memory the deserter saw Bill praying for the German boy that he’d killed for his leg.
As Moccus’ convulsions ceased the orgiasts slowed their frenzies and gradually disengaged from each other, coming forward to cup their hands in the bronze bowls and ladle the god’s cruor over their bodies, painting the stone with the rest. The butcher and his assistants prepared the carcass; certain items of the viscera were set aside (the heart and liver, he presumed) while the unwanted offal was taken into the woods for Gar’s kin and the flesh was parcelled up in leaves and set amongst the bonfire’s embers. He was watching them bury the head, hide, and bones at the foot of the pillar when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and whirled. It was Gar.
‘Ee-nuff now,’ he said. He was chewing on something, which rendered his speech even more indistinct than usual. ‘Go.’
The deserter’s sigh of relief deflated him. ‘You know you move very quietly for a big lad,’ he said.
Gar bunched a ham-sized fist in the front of his coat. ‘Ee-nuff. Now. Go.’
‘Fine, I’m going, I’m going.’
The only other people remaining in the village were the few servants and drivers, with whom he had no desire to make small talk, so he hid himself away in his cottage until Ardwyn came to find him a few hours later. She was dressed and clean and if he hadn’t seen with his own eyes what she’d been doing up in the woods he wouldn’t have believed it. Far from being revolted by her participation in the orgy, the thought of who she might have had between her legs only made him want her more. She produced a charred, leaf-wrapped bundle. From it arose the smell of roast pork, but it was richer than that, a deeper aroma that was familiar and set his mouth watering.
‘I’ve persuaded Mother to let you have this,’ she said. ‘You have no idea how unprecedented it is. She must really want you to stay.’
He unwrapped it and looked at the handful of cooked meat. ‘So, I just eat it, then?’
‘You could try wearing it as a hat but I don’t think it would be particularly effective.’
‘No, I mean, do I need to say a prayer or anything?’
‘That which you would pray to, you hold in your hand. What would be the point of prayer? Show your gratitude by accepting what is offered.’
So he ate.
It was heavier than pork, somewhere between that and man, though its effect on his system was much more immediate and pronounced. It reminded him of the one time he and Bill had found some dead stretcher-bearers and scavenged from their pockets the tins containing phials of morphine and ether. A dreamy languor spread out from his belly and into his limbs, and the tightness in his chest eased – a tightness that he’d lived with for so long that he’d become unaware of it until now, as it passed, and he drew in a huge lungful of air and laughed it out without coughing for the first time in as long as he could remember.
‘My God, this is incredible!’ He beamed at her, then took her around the waist and twirled her around the room, laughing.
‘Your god indeed!’ She laughed with him. ‘So, does it taste like man? I’ve always wanted to know.’
‘You want to know what man tastes like?’ He grinned, pulling her towards the sofa. ‘Let me help you find out.’
7
REPLENISHMENT
‘NOW THEN,’ SHE SAID AFTERWARDS, STRAIGHTENING her skirt as he sprawled naked beside her. ‘I’m going to tell you something that you’re not going to like hearing, but you’re going to keep your mouth shut and not interrupt me and at the end of it you’re going to agree with me, otherwise you leave here tonight and never return. Are we clear?’
He propped himself up on one elbow and frowned. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘I’ve just told you what your choices are. Weren’t you listening?’
‘Then we’re clear, I suppose.’
She reached between his legs and cupped her hand around his balls, caressing, and he grunted with
