Read Online Randalls Round by Eleanor Scott - Free Book Online Page B

later hands had daubed thickly on the original wall. There were undoubtedly mural paintings on the portion he had begun to uncover. Soon he had laid bare quite a large stretch, and could see that the decoration formed a band, six or seven feet deep, about two feet from the ground, nearly the whole length of the wall.
    The light was fading, and the colours were dim, but Maddox could see enough to interest him extremely. The paintings seemed to represent a stretch of the seashore, and though the landscape was treated conventionally he thought it looked like part of the beach near Kerouac. There were figures in the painting, too; and these aroused his excitement, for one at least was familiar. It was a tall shape, hooded, with hanging draperies – the figure he had seen the night before on the beach. Perhaps it was due to the archaic treatment of the picture that this figure gave him the same impression of flatness. The other figure – if it was a figure – was even stranger. It crouched on the ground before the hooded shape, and to Maddox it suggested some rather disgusting animal – a toad or a thick, squat fish. The odd thing was that, although it squatted before the tall figure, it gave the impression of domination.
    Maddox felt quite thrilled. He peered closely at the painting, endeavouring to make out clearly what it represented; but the short October afternoon was drawing in fast, and, beyond his first impression, he could gather very little. He noticed that there was one unexpected feature in the otherwise half-familiar landscape – a hillock or pile of large stones or rocks, on one side of which he could just make out words or fragments of words. “Qui peuct venir he read in one place, and, lower down, “Celuy qui ecoustera et qui viendra… sacri… mmes pendus…”
    There was also some vague object, a pile of seaweed, Maddox thought, lying heaped below the hillock.
    Little though he knew either of art or of archaeology, Maddox was keenly interested by this discovery. He felt sure that this queer painting must represent some local legend or superstition. And it was very odd that he should have seen, or thought he had seen, that figure on the beach before he had discovered the mural painting. There could be no doubt that he had seen it; that it was no mere fancy of his tired mind there was the box and the incantation, or whatever it was, in his pocket to prove. And that gave him an idea. It would be extremely interesting if he should find that the old French words on the mural painting and the Latin words on the parchment in any way corresponded. He took the little metal case from his pocket and opened it.
    “ ’Clamabo et exaudiet me’. ’I will call and he will hear.’ That might be any prayer. Sounds rather like a psalm. ’Quoniam iste qui venire potest’ – ah! - ’qui peuct venir! – what’s this? ’sacrificium hominum’ - Heavens! What’s that?”
    Far off across the heath he heard a faint cry – the distant howling of the thing he had seen on the beach…
    He listened intently. He could hear nothing more.
    “Some dog howling,” he said to himself. “I’m getting jumpy. Where was I?”
    He turned back to the manuscript; but even during the few moments of distraction the light had faded, and he had to strain his eyes to see anything of the words.
    “‘E paludinis ubi est habitaculum tuum ego te convoco’”, he read slowly aloud, spelling out the worn writing. “I don’t think there’s anything in the painting to correspond with that. How odd it is! ’From the marshes where thy dwelling is I call thee.’ Why from the marshes, I wonder? ’E paludinis ubi est habitaculum tuum ego te convoco -’.”
    He broke off abruptly. Again there came that dreadful howl – and it certainly was not the howl of a dog. It was quite close…
    Maddox did not stop to consider. He leapt up, ran through the yard into the presbytery, and locked the door behind him. He went to the front door and locked