A Reasonable Sacrifice

O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by
Francis James Child

I've lived all my years in the village of Chauterfield, in the lovely Gray Thistle Glen some thirty miles into the Southern Uplands of Scotland. Chauterfield lies a few miles south by southwest from a stark bluff that the locals call "The Mound". A spring issues forth mid way down the western slope of that bluff. It skips and splashes along its way near the forested path and runs on down to the floor of the glen below.

This would be the one what's always been called the "Burn of Bliss".

From the eastern face of the bluff a waterfall drops straight down some eighty feet onto the rocks below then follows it's time worn path down into the valley. It has always been called the "Burn of Mourning".

A half-mile further down below the bluff the two burns meld into a stream that runs its course toward our village. It is dammed at the northern edge of the village to form our millpond that lies just above the village green.

The name "The Mound" isn't for the bluff itself but rather for the strangely symmetrical circle raised atop the bluff. We're not talking of a ring of stones as you find in Castlerigg and elsewhere about the countryside. No, we speak of a perfectly symmetrical mound. From the exact center of the mound protrudes a vaguely phallic rock nearly six feet in height.

Chauterfield is noted in "Dunnfields' Guide to Touring Scotland" as a quaint hamlet well off the beaten path which some may find worthy of the trip as it is a lovely spot for both the birding and antique enthusiast. The Mound is not mentioned in this or any other local tour guide and yet it manages to attract a steady stream of tourist who take the meandering five-mile trek up to the top of the bluff for the fine view of our lovely valley bellow.

Memories always have a way of running deep in the old backwater places like our quaint hamlet and the mound has always played a pivotal role in the lands about our village. It has never been a cheerful place and the locals will avoid it at all times but most especially during those few weeks before the summer solstice.

We've always been known as close knit kinfolk. Some might even say we're a clannish lot and perhaps a bit tight-lipped. We will none of us speak of our local history to a stranger unless severely pressed (Though if you catch some of us in the evening at the "Hound and Pheasant Pub" we might become a bit too talkative as the twilight falls.) In any event you will rarely hear from any of them what I do tell you now.

A castle once stood on the bluff in the mid-eighteenth century. It was the last stronghold of the Jacobite's, and stood defiant for over a year after Bonnie Prince Charles lost his men and nerve at Culloden. Aye, those brave lads stood firm as their Prince ran off to hide behind Papal skirts. On the eve of the summer solstice in 1747 the castle fell to an overwhelming English force. There were 63 men defending the castle but none survived its capture.

Bloody King George ordered the castle torn down stone by stone and the rocks scattered about and buried in the glen. It took an entire company of Royal Engineers over three months to accomplish that task but through it all not a one of that lot dared to touch the mound. The defenders were buried together in an unmarked grave but ten years later a secret monument was raised in the local cemetery that lists the names of each of the 63 men as well as their Clan.

There is a mysterious 64th entry for an "Abigail of the Mac'Gregor Clan" but none now know the meaning of it.

If the local archeologist is to be believed (and why not? He is local.) this would also be the site of a Roman fort nearly two millennia ago. It would have been the northernmost known settlement built by the Romans. nearly 40 miles beyond the site of Hadrian's Wall. Among the artifacts that have been found is a keystone block with a Latin inscription that describes the completion of a northern gate authorized by a centurion Flavius Victrix commanding the 2 nd century of the Sixth Legion.

If it all be a hoax, as several scholars do claim, it is a well researched and well planned one. The stone is old, as is the incising. Like the century stones found in Hadrion's Wall the script is common Latin chiseled in the crude manner as might befit a soldier. Some might claim it be in truth a century stone stolen from the wall and carried north. That indeed might explain it's presence but for a simple fact. While indeed the Sixth Legion was stationed on the northern frontier it was recalled to fight the 'Goths in 86 CE. This would mean that the construction on this site must have predated the building of Hadrian's Wall by at least fifty years. Of the fort there is no structure left standing. Other bits of glass, pottery and metal from the Roman era show evidence of destruction from intense heat so it is quite likely The Jacobite's were not the first to be massacred on this spot.

More recently there was a poorly explained suicide pact which took the lives of five lads, up from the University on holiday. They were found dead at the base of the falls after apparently leaping one after the other to from the top of the bluff. A lone young lady was found wandering among the broken bodies but she had gone quite mad and never could explain what had happened. That caused quite a stir back in 1936. Since that time we have never tried to clear folk from the woodland during the summer solstice and almost every year a hapless tourist or some local lass will disappear for a spell. It has come to be accepted in these parts.

Present day legend has it that the mound will only seek a virgin lass now. That tale may well be the invention of some of the local lads trying their best to protect their sweethearts from a virgin's dire fate.

It was two elderly women; birder's out early in the morning mist, that found the girls body. She lay as if cradled on the moss covered rocks in that hollow of land where the two burns mingled. She was naked, bruised and battered about, but alive, though she was completely unresponsive. It was almost as if her mind had fled her body to find some better place. The two old women were at a loss as to what they might do.

We locals knew how best to deal with these situations of course. Alas the two birders who found her called in the county authorities. That was most unfortunate for they in turn called in more outsiders and in the end a " Major Crimes Unit" was sent down from Edinburgh to conduct a most thorough investigation.

She was a blonde tourist from New Zealand, a schoolteacher I believe. As luck would have it she was one of the people who had won an all expenses paid mid summer vacation that was offered on the net as part of a charity raffle by our local tourist board.

She was no real help to the investigators. She had obviously been assaulted; She must have spent the night naked and exposed by that cold woodland brook. Still other than some swelling, bruises, and abrasions she was actually in fairly good shape.

She occasionally whispered what one Inspector swore sounded like " Tram Line" but other than that she could say nothing of use and in any event she seemed quite completely disconnected from her harsh reality. They found no semen so the investigators concluded the assailment must have used "protection" to hinder their investigation. The local constable rolled his eyes at this but he held his peace and he let these well trained and highly skilled professionals proceed about their business.

She had nearly torn away two fingernails during the struggle. The scrapings yielded a lot of detritus but not a trace of human flesh. The investigators were also at a loss to explain her lack of clothing. One of the local lads took pity on them and eventually lead them up to the top of the bluff and then guided them to the mound itself. There they found some bits of her pink cotton nightgown and a white terry cloth robe there but it only added to the investigator's puzzlement.

What little was found of her clothing was in such tiny fragments it was impossible to tell what had happened. It was almost as if her clothing had suddenly turned as brittle as fine porcelain and then shattered into a million bits. More peculiarly some of those very strands of cloth were found imbedded in trees and rocks at distances of up to forty paces from the mound. If this was indeed the site of the attack they need wonder how the woman made it down the treacherous path on the dark moonless night in her impaired condition. If she was assaulted where she was found how then did her clothing get up here and what in Gods name had happened to them?

The special team mucked about for a few weeks all the while complaining of the lack of local co-operation and assistance. The woman's cuts and bruises were treated and then she was sent away to the psychiatric ward of the charity hospital with a diagnosis of " hysterical amnesia".

There was a whiff of scandal some 28 days later when an orderly of nearly 30 years standing was let go. When the unnamed occurrence reoccurred at the next rising of a new moon the man was reinstated with back pay and a proper apology. On the third month when the near catatonic woman was fully restrained and yet the incident happened once again our village council stepped forward and offered to place the poor woman into a suitable local nursing home where she could be cared for and protected.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and life once more returned to normal. The woman remains nearly comatose but for those evenings when a new moon rises. It is then that you can find her naked on her hands and knees panting grunting and thrusting back against an ethereal lover that only she can see. The following morning will find her as unresponsive as ever with fresh bruises and abrasions though we all know these are purely psychosomatic. Throughout the month her belly swells even as the moon grows full in the sky. It is almost an accelerated mimicry of gestation. The psychiatric professionals that oversee her care can also explain this away. (Though there seems to be a touch of hysteria in their voice if you should ever care to actually listen to them desperately try to explain it all.) When the new moon is born her womb empties and shortly after that her lover returns.

It has been going on for almost nine months now. If all things carry on as these events have always played out she will awaken after the thirteenth lunar cycle. She will have lost a year of her life, and whatever maidenly virtue she arrived with. She should be grateful though, there's been no deaths for nearly seventy years.

The old gods are much less demanding now, I guess like all good things Scottish, even the gods mellow with age. The villagers often take up a collection for the befuddled lass when she awakens. We hand her that small token along with our best wishes just before we send her on her way.

But I say enough of this sad tale. Let's buy a round of bitter for the lads and we'll raise our pints, for now 'tis time to look to the future. The council has sent out five new prize vacation packages in this afternoon's post. The lucky winners are all young women, each single, and every one of them with golden hair. Let us pray that at least one of them will tickle Tam Lin's fancy.

And may God have mercy on our souls.

Copyright © Mad Lews 2005