The Flesh Eaters (5 page)

It is still dark when Sawney Beane’s eyes open, and he is unsure at first where he is. He feels somehow different, but he does not immediately understand the change. He turns and sees the naked Meg sleeping beside him, her head resting on the Master’s leg. The sight of the torn and bloody body brings complete recollection, and he smiles.

Sawney Beane gets up, crosses the room and splashes water from a bucket on his face. He rubs off some of the dried blood that stains his body and pulls on his breeches. He goes back to where Meg sleeps and prods her with his foot. She moans quietly in protest, but finally opens her eyes.

“Get up. We must go.”

“Go?”

“The sun will rise soon. We must leave here before then, unless you want us to be the ones cut apart at the next execution.”

She shakes her head. to clear it and looks around. When she sees the room, her sleepiness vanishes. “Where will we go?”

“Does it matter? Away.”

“But... but do we just go? What do we take?”

Sawney Beane picks up a knife from the ground and turns it lovingly in his hand. “This is all we need. Get dressed. And find me a shirt to wear.”

Meg shows no trace of the sullenness with which she has previously responded to orders. Instantly, she leaves the room to gather their clothes.

Sawney Beane paces, anxious to be away. There is a visible change in his being. His body is no longer loose-jointed, limp; he moves with control and power. His jaw, once slack, is firm and purposeful. His eyes are no longer dull and clouded; they gleam with cruel intensity. He has confidence now—authority, certainty. He is in touch with desires and sensations that before had only moved about him like beckoning shadows.

Meg returns, clad in another loose-fitting dress. She gives him a shirt and tunic, and he puts them on. He puts two knives in his belt and goes to the door. Meg stands in the center of the room, looking at the only home she has ever known. Already it seems dim and far away. Sawney Beane calls her, and she joins him without hesitation or regret.

They stand on a hill and look down at the town. The buildings are indistinct against a dark background.

“Look at it,” Sawney Beane says. “We will never return here.”

“Yes.” Meg touches his arm.

“I am the Master now.” He speaks quietly, but the authority is unmistakable. “I am free. There is nothing in that place that a man needs.”

As the eastern horizon starts to lighten, they turn away from the town. They will not see it again for more than twenty years.

On the road, they maintain a good pace and meet no one. By midmorning they have covered a considerable distance. Sawney Beane seems impervious to fatigue. Meg, however, begins to falter. He walks ahead, then waits impatiently for her to catch up and urges her to move faster. Meg protests that she is too tired to go on.

They leave the road and struggle through the bushes until they find a small clearing. Meg collapses gratefully to the ground. Sawney Beane lies down next to her.

“I’m hungry,” she says. “We should have brought some food with us.”

“I thought you were tired. Go to sleep.”

Meg is about to respond, but recognizes the command in his voice. With a sigh, she closes her eyes and goes to sleep almost immediately. Sawney Beane lies on his back. His eyes are open in a fixed stare; his forehead is wrinkled in concentration. After a while his brow clears and his mouth forms a smile.

Master Andrews walks somewhat unsteadily down High Street. He is a bit shaky this morning from too much rough wine, and from the abuse his wife heaped on him when he returned last night and resumed as soon as he awoke.

Feeling a need for a dose of the blacksmith’s hearty masculinity, Andrews heads for the smithy. Also, the possibility of seeing Meg again is not in the least unpleasant. The thought of her makes his jaws ache; he would like to squeeze and suck and bite that firm young flesh. As he nears the shop, he is surprised to see the dog sitting outside the door, barking impatiently. At Andrews’s approach, the dog becomes more excited and scratches at the door. Andrews pushes the door open, and the dog runs in ahead of him.

It seems strangely silent in the shop and his shouted greetings bring no response. The fire has gone out in the forge, and he goes around to investigate. At first he does not take in what he is seeing. When the realization hits him, he sinks to his knees. Vomit gushes out of his mouth. His stomach continues to heave long after it is empty, and it is several minutes before he is able to stand up. He keeps his eyes averted from the corpse, which looks more like something discarded by a butcher than a human body. The form that used to be the blacksmith is almost completely covered in brown dried blood. Flies have settled on the gaping wounds, some of which still glisten and ooze.

Choking back another spasm, Andrews runs from the smithy, screaming “Murder!” for all of High Street to hear.

It is with considerable distaste that the Magistrate glances at the mutilated corpse. His close connection with officially sanctioned brutality, torture, mutilation, and execution have done nothing to render him immune to the sight of this fantastic savagery. His initial response is similar to Andrews, but he knows it will compromise the dignity of his position if he heaves up his breakfast in view of the curious who fill the doorway of the smithy. As it is, his appetite will probably suffer—and on the day that his wife is serving his favorite sausages.

The crimes with which the Magistrate generally deals are straightforward, the culprits obvious, and punishment swift. This murder seems no exception. The Magistrate learns that Andrews was present in the smithy the previous evening, that he and the blacksmith ate, drank, and made merry, that nothing unusual occurred, and that the blacksmith was alive when Andrews left. Further questioning reveals that the blacksmith’s daughter and his servant are no longer about, and cannot be found. The Magistrate naturally assumes that their absence indicates responsibility for the crime.

However, Andrews, the image of Meg’s lovely tit still dancing before his eyes, refuses to believe that she had anything to do with it. He still feels her nipple tingling in his palm—how could she be guilty? Realizing that this might not be a particularly convincing argument for her innocence, Andrews launches a diatribe against Sawney Beane. He gives a glowing account of the Master’s Christian charity, decency, and benevolence toward his servant, and of how Sawney Beane repaid all this with laziness, ingratitude, and malevolence.

The Magistrate listens with mounting impatience, not only because he thinks it nonsense—he has a good idea of the blacksmith’s real character—but because he discovers that he is suddenly hungry, that he can almost hear the sausages sizzling in the pan.

Andrews speculates that Meg has been abducted by Sawney Beane, who will perform upon her various unspeakable acts. Andrews has in mind the same acts that he himself has fantasized perpetrating on Meg’s lush, young body.

The Magistrate’s stomach rumbles. He announces that a search party will leave to look for the culprits when he has completed his dinner.

A short while later, the Magistrate having been refreshed, a party of about ten men on horses rides from the town. Among them is Andrews, who relishes the double distinction of being the victim’s friend and the discoverer of the crime. It is all he can do to keep from smiling when he notices people pointing at him as he passes by. Then, seeing his wife scowling darkly from the doorway of their house, he puts his head down and urges his horse to a trot.

In the clearing, Sawney Beane is still lying on his back, staring upward. Meg is curled up at his side. She rolls over and opens her eyes. He is immediately aware that she is awake.

“You are rested now,” he says. “We must go.”

“Give me a minute. Did you sleep?”

“I do not need it now. Hurry up. We must go.”

Meg tries to postpone further activity. “Where are we going?”

“We will find a place that is safe.”

“But how will we live?”

“We will live. We are free. We need nothing but ourselves. Do you believe that? Or do you wish yourself back in... that place?” He spits out the last two words contemptuously.

“I do not wish to be back there,” Meg says, shaking her head. She speaks slowly, struggling to find the right words. “Do you know, while I was asleep I dreamed of what we did last night. Again, I felt the knife go into his flesh. I saw the blood rush out. In my dream I even tasted his blood again.” She smiles. “It was a pleasant dream.... Last night was the first time I felt I was alive.”

Sawney Beane nods in understanding. “I know. Before that everything was... was... far away, like in a dream. Last night—the knife and the blood—it was right there... close. It was real. I am now awake.... We shall do it again.”

“Aye.... Aye.”

Suddenly it has become very clear to Sawney Beane. Where there was doubt, there is now certainty. He smiles. “That is how we shall live.”

“What do you mean?”

“We will become hunters. We will be like the great wolves of the forest. Only we will not attack cows and sheep and deer. We will hunt men.”

“We will become robbers?”

“Robbers? Robbers!” He explodes in frustration that she does not understand. “What do they have that we should want? What good is their money? To spend in towns. We will never again enter a town.... Does the wolf kill the sheep for the wool, or the cow for the milk?”

Eventually his meaning becomes clear to her, but still she hesitates. “You mean... that... we will...”

“Aye, eat them! Feed upon them. You are not scared?” Sawney Beane has never felt like this before, and his certainty gives him fluency. The words rush out. “Think of the knife going in. Think of the warm, rich blood! You have drunk your father’s blood. What step is this to take? You eat the flesh of a cow and a sheep. A man is no different. We will be wolves. We will hunt our food.”

Each phrase causes Meg to gasp, though the idea of what he is saying does not really shock or scare her. She is drawn to his power. Her one protest is feeble: “But the danger...”

Sawney Beane laughs, knowing the argument is won. “There need be no danger. We will learn from the wolf who attacks only when it is safe. He attacks strays and those that fall behind. We will do the same. It would be far more dangerous for us to take real cattle and sheep. Men guard their herds closer than they guard themselves. We will be wolves, and strike fear in the hearts of the cattle and sheep. Think about it. Recall last night.”

Meg lowers her head, lost in concentration. His words mingle with images and tastes and smells and sensations from the previous night and build to a crescendo in her mind. She raises her head and smiles. “Do you know, I am very, very hungry.”

Sawney Beane smiles back at her.

They are walking along the cleared track that serves as one of the main roads of Scotland. The country is rugged and inhospitable. They see no other human beings, only an occasional small farmhouse in the distance. Meg is excited by the idea of what they are to do, and impatient to begin: Sawney Beane is calmer and more serious. He is attempting to work out the best way to perform their task. Carefully, he studies the countryside and the woods that line the road. He begins to develop what seems to him a satisfactory plan. Though lacking in normal intelligence, he has a deep instinctive feeling for the best way to hunt his chosen prey. Until this time, nothing in his life has made sense to him, but now he moves with the ease and confidence of an animal returning to its natural habitat.

They reach a place in the road that suits his purposes. Sawney Beane explains to Meg that she will hide in the woods a short distance from the road, while he climbs a small hill from which he can observe anyone approaching. When someone suitable comes along, she will go out on the road and distract the traveler while he sneaks up from behind and makes the kill. Meg has misgivings about how she will play her part, but she unquestioningly accepts his authority. Before he goes up the hill, he gives her one of the knives, and the weight of the sharp weapon in her hand makes her feel more comfortable.

Sawney Beane settles himself on the hill to begin his vigil. He has the patience of the natural hunter, but there are very few travelers on the road, and several times he has to fight down the temptation to move against an unsuitable target.

Finally he spots a solitary, prosperous-looking traveler on foot. After carefully determining how long it will take the traveler to reach the ambush point, he goes down to join Meg. His approach startles her, and she almost attacks him with her knife. He tells her to ready herself.

Tense, they wait for the right moment. Then, in the silence of the wood, they hear the traveler whistling a merry tune.

Sawney Beane nods that Meg should be off. When she disappears from his view, he feels a twinge of nervousness, but it only serves to heighten the acuteness of his senses. Suddenly, he hears a new sound. He races through the bushes and catches up to Meg just as she is about to go out on the road. She is startled by his sudden appearance.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He puts his hand over her mouth and tells her to listen. Soon they hear the sound of horses, and then the search party appears. At the same time, the solitary traveler comes into view from the opposite direction. The traveler and the search party stop and face each other, only a few feet from where Sawney Beane and Meg are hidden in the bushes.