Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1999 15:05:32 EDT
From: MGouda3464@aol.com
Subject: The 12 Maidens

THE TWELVE MAIDENS

"Dancing is forbidden on the Sabbath," said Brian, reading from the
guidebook. He stood, in the warmth of the summer evening, amidst the blue
meadow cranesbills and the creamy-white meadow-sweet. Their almond scent
loaded the air so that it seemed drenched with sweetness.

Joe looked over the hedge at the field beyond. There was a group of standing
stones, crude, rough-hewn slabs of limestone in a circle. They were grey and
lichen-stained. Apart from that, the field was empty. No flowers grew; no
birds sang. Just rank weeds and rye grass amidst the stones.

"Is today the Sabbath?" asked Joe, easing his back pack off a sore place on
his shoulder. He and Brian had been hiking and camping for a week in the
Cotswolds and, while lots of it had been fun, the days had merged
imperceptibly with each other so that Monday, Tuesday etc had become
indistinguishable though `the day the tent was trampled on by a cow', `the
night it had rained torrents and got into their sleeping-bags' and `the day
Brian had nearly lost his left boot in a peat bog' stood out clearly enough.

"Depends if you're Jewish," said Brian. "In which case it would be Saturday.
Or Christian, Sunday of course."

"What if I'm neither?" said Joe, more for the sake of being polite than out
of interest. He wanted more than anything to get into the next village, find
a decent Bed and Breakfast, have a good meal and then sink into a soft, soft
bed, preferably with Brian, to make gentle love until they both fell asleep.
Sex in a sleeping-bag where there always seems to be a sharp stone in an
inconvenient place, loses its charm after a while - however bright the stars
are overhead and balmy the night air...

"If you're a witch, there are four Greater Sabbats - Candlemas (2nd
February), May Eve (30th April), Lammas (1st August), Halloween (31st
October). Then there are the Lesser Sabbats which are the two equinoxes
(spring and autumn) and the two solstices (summer and winter)."

"How do you know all this?" asked Joe.

Brian waved the guidebook in the air, disturbing some gnats which were making
a halo round his hair. "It's all here... Now ask me what it's got to do with
those lumps of rock over there." He waved disparagingly at the stone circle,
which did its best to ignore him - and succeeded.

What's it got to do...." began Joe obediently.

"Ah! Thought you'd never ask. Well, according to legend, they were once
twelve maidens who were persuaded by the Devil to break the Sabbath and
dance. The Devil always has the best tunes, you know. They started on
Saturday night - which was OK, of course - but as midnight approached, when
they should have stopped, the Devil played on his violin faster and faster .
. . "

" . . . sort of Paganini," said Joe.

"Yes, whatever, and Bingo! As the church clock struck midnight they were
turned into stone - and there they remained ever since." He paused and stared
critically. "They're not very comely wenches, sort of a bit over-weight. Oh
and it says you can't count them. Most of the time they're twelve but
occasionally there are thirteen because the Devil himself comes back from
time to time to join them."

"What a load of rubbish!' Joe shrugged off his pack and dumped it on the
ground next to him. "I bet you I can count up to twelve." He walked down the
lane to where a wooden stile gave access.

Once in the field he walked between two of the stones into the circle. Near
to, they were even bigger than they had seemed before, and closer together,
crowding. Each must have been at least two metres high and most were a metre
wide - at least at the broadest part. There was a silence all around as if
the air was static, imprisoned between the limestone bars of a cage.

"They were big girls," he remarked to Brian who had joined him. They stood in
the middle of the circle but once there realised that it was hardly a true
circle. The stones were scattered, some behind each other so that it was
difficult to count all of them from one particular position. Added to that
the sun was low behind a bank of clouds towards the west and the air was grey
and crepuscular with a thin mist weaving tendrils across the grass and the
furthest stones were almost invisible in the half light.

"Perhaps that's what it means," said Joe. "You can't count them from one
particular spot."

"Tell you what," said Brian. "I'll stand here and you go round counting." He
stood with his back against a stone, his arms spread wide, almost as if he
was crucified against it. The sun came out briefly from behind the clouds and
lit up his blond hair, his white T-shirt, a smile that was so devilishly
attractive that it could persuade Joe into doing absolutely anything. "But
kiss me before you go."

"Go?" said Joe, looking mystified. "I'm only walking around the ring."

"Kiss me," said Brian and there was an urgency in his tone that made Joe look
at him intently. He saw the smile, the eyebrows raised quizzically, the lock
of blond hair that always flopped uncontrollably over his forehead, now dyed
a coppery orange by the touch of the setting sun.

Joe brushed the waiting lips with his. "A proper kiss," demanded Brian and
took him in his arms. His lips, soft and inviting, pressed like a contract
against his and then opened to allow his agile tongue to enter Joe's mouth,
to find and embrace Joe's tongue, to play up his hormones and arouse his
prick so that their erections pressed hard against each other. Joe felt his
emotions surge. This was his love, his life, his all. He had never felt like
this about anyone else before - and was sure he never would again. The kiss
seemed to go on for ever. The world turned but here it stayed still.

Suddenly Brian released him and Joe gasped as if he had been spurned.

"Off you go," said Brian, "and count each one as you pass it."

Joe stepped forward leaving Brian still with his back to the stone. He
reached the next one, touched it lightly with his fingertips, feeling the
hard, cool surface, the grain. "One," he said and went on. "Two . . . Three .
. . Four . . . Five . . . Six." That should be half way and he turned to look
across at Brian - but already it was too dark to see him. Even the next and
the last stones were just vague blurs in the greyness all around.

"Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . Ten . . . Eleven. . . " Brian should be
at the next stone but there was no one there. Joe ran, touching the next one
desperately. "Twelve!" and then he saw Brian, a lighter blur against the
darker. "Thirteen," he said and touched his lover's chest.

"So the Devil is with us tonight," said Brian and smiled, his teeth showing
whiter in the dusk.

Joe felt a sudden feeling of apprehension. "How many stones are there
supposed to be?" It was all nonsense of course but . . .

"Twelve," said Brian, smiling his impish grin.

Joe felt a primeval fear twist in the pit of his stomach, the darkness, the
unknown, the stones, towering around, huge, implacable - and too many.

Brian laughed delightedly and Joe suddenly understood. "You bastard," he
said. "You moved on one place, didn't you?"

"Had you going for a minute!"

Joe felt a momentary spurt of anger, had a sudden urge to hit Brian,
sublimated it into an embrace which practically cracked Brian's ribs.

"Ouch," he said, then put his arms round Joe. "Dance with me."

"What for?"

"Just to prove that the whole thing is nonsense."

Of course it's nonsense. The legend or whatever must have been invented in
the 17th Century, when the Puritans were around. Those who were against
dancing and singing and pictures and things. In the Old testament it was
considered a good thing to dance as part of a religious ceremony. Didn't King
David dance before the Lord?"

"So . . ."

"But the stones are prehistoric. Must have been here for thousands of years."

"Dance with me then. . ."

Joe felt the same strange sense of apprehension he had felt before. It was
quite dark now and the stars pricked out, one by one. Directly opposite where
the sun had gone down a pale moon appeared, gibbous and bloated.

"It's not the Sabbath. I've worked it out. It's Friday."

"It's August 1st," said Brian - almost triumphantly. "Lammas tide. The
witches' Greater Sabbat." For the third time he asked, "Dance with me."

Joe couldn't understand why he was so reluctant. The warmth had gone from the
evening as if it had been sucked away. He wanted to go to the Bed and
Breakfast. Brian's smile danced before him. It was both seductive and yet in
a way, cruel. He had thought he would never be able to refuse Brian anything
and yet he wanted more than anything to be away from this place. Three times
he had asked and three times been refused.

Suddenly Brian whirled away. "I'll dance on my own," he said. Sinuously,
provocatively he began to dance, his hips, his body snaking to a tune and a
cadence which Joe could not hear, a rhythm of Brian's own making. His arms
and hands wove patterns in the air and his feet tapped out the beat. At first
Joe was tempted to laugh but Brian's expression made it clear that he was
perfectly serious about it. The dance grew quicker. Brian turned in circles
getting further and further away from Joe until the only thing that
distinguished him from the stones was his motion. And then even that seemed
to translate itself for, as Joe stared into the darkness, the stones
themselves whirled into a vertiginous dance of their own.

Suddenly nauseous, Joe clutched onto the stone behind him, closed his eyes
and felt the world settle around him. He took a deep breath and peered into
the circle now lit by the moonlight.

"Brian," he called but nothing moved. He felt anxiety in the pit of his
stomach again.

"Brian, don't be a shit."

Joe took a step forward, Only the stones surrounded him, bleak, almost
threatening - and surely too many. He felt an inrresistible urge to count
them but knew he could not from a single static position. He took his
handkerchief from his pocket and laid it on the stone behind him, making it
secure in a crevice.

He started out, touching each stone as he passed with finger tips that
crawled at the contact.

"One . . . Two . . . Three . . ."

The night around him watched him with a billion billion sightless eyes. The
uncountable ages of the stones from which the circle had been built pressed
on him with their billions and billions of accumulated years.

"Six . . . Seven . . . Eight . . . "

Evil and good with their separate and fallible interpretations, their myths
and legends, whispered their truths and lies in his ears. The silence
shrieked; the stars flared. Blind, he reached for the next stone and the next.

`Twelve.'

Where was the handkerchief? It should be glimmering softly in the darkness.

"Thirteen."

And there it was. The marker announcing the last stone.

"Fourteen."


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