That admirable man of business, Mr Fenton-Jones had shepherded the last of his charges into the coach, which then glided smoothly away on its journey to Little Sprodwell under Fosse and tea with his Aunt, the redoubtable Mrs Jenkinson, while the tourists drank in their fill of   the fete and its lurid attractions.  This lady had phoned him a minute or so before his departure to brief him on the latest developments and he had been able to assure the excited party that they would arrive shortly after the commencement of a re-enactment of an ancient sacrifice in which a young virgin was slaughtered to appease the Fertility Goddess and secure a good harvest.

One or two of the more nervous ladies in the group had gone pale at the receipt of this titbit of information, but he was able to assure them that the lovely and naked young lady volunteer would not suffer the ultimate fate, but only a more gentle, though deeply humiliating one - precisely what, they would find out later in the day!  "I wonder how she fixed it?", he thought to himself as he sank back into his seat and let the miles go by.

His assistant Mr  Goldberg kept up a running commentary for the benefit of those who had not been lulled to sleep, being very careful not to be too specific and inadvertently trigger any awkward to answer questions - there were a couple of smart-arses in the party and they would have to be treated very carefully.  The first stop of the day was at a country hostelry, where the two associates intended to stay long enough to make sure the party were, as near as possible, high as kites by the time they arrived at the village.

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The theology student Rugby team and their supporters were on their way to the game and would not be in the village until early evening, in time to see the so-called sacrifice.  They would then  follow the girls as they rounded off the day with their canal side walk.  Sadly for these young people they would see little else.  And there would be much else to see as the day progressed.

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The International Anthropological Congress was also on its scholarly way to see at first hand this  ancient relic of England's pre-Roman past.  All except the cynical and world-weary Professor Potts-Johnson were eagerly looking forward to the day's outing.  They were armed with notebooks, tape recorders and cameras, prepared to take home with them a full record of all that they saw and heard and the many recorded interviews with ancient locals with all their wealth of antique memories.

 As far as the Englishman was concerned, a call to his friend, the Rector had confirmed all his very worst fears about the day's forthcoming events.  This particular Fete promised to be the sleaziest yet, with an assortment of half-naked and totally naked girls being displayed in a variety of degrading and unpleasant ways.  He comforted himself with the thought that he would at least get to look at a bit of bare and, hopefully, luscious young female flesh.  After that he would find somewhere to get a decent pint before going to the Rectory.   The Rector had invited him to stay for afternoon tea and also meet a distinguished colleague, his predecessor as Incumbent of  the Parish.  He closed his eyes wearily and fell asleep as his colleagues chattered excitedly around him in a multiplicity of languages which was making his head spin.
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Professor, Canon Hurst-Pierpoint-Majors was also on his way to Little Sprodwell.   His other engagement for the day had fallen through at the last minute, and he had phoned his successor and very good friend, the Reverend Mr  Jeremy Scott-Talbot.  Old Jerry was a delightful fellow, as well as very able, and Canon Majors was a little surprised that over the years he had continued to occupy this obscure rural incumbency when he had several times been offered a Canonry at one of the country's most famous Cathedrals.

"This place has its charms, dear boy" had been Mr Scott-Talbot's only explanation of his odd lack of ambition.  The chap needed a wife to spur him on was the Reverend Professor's opinion.  Someone to make him buck his ideas up - some nice girl from one of the better families in the village - what about Julia or Beatrice?  They must be eighteen or nineteen by now - a little young, but very good family, a perfect match socially for an ambitious young cleric.  He would see  what he could do by way of guiding his young colleague's footsteps in the right direction.  He loved managing people's lives for them!

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Giles and Piers had decided not to attend until later in the day, if at all.  Giles in particular had a feeling that today was going to be a hard one for his darling Julia and he was torn between a wish to be there to protect her from harm and give her moral support,  and a feeling that she really had to face whatever was in store for her alone.  He also strongly doubted that Julia would appreciate his presence until whatever crisis that was in wait for her had passed one way or another.  His thoughts were very much and constantly with her, but he realised his actual presence would be no help to either of them.  He would be so glad when today was over and he and his sweet girl would make love once again in her London apartment tomorrow afternoon.

Piers was less worried about Beatrice.  This tall and quiet girl  had never flaunted her charms in the same shameless way as  had her cousin.  Although certainly by  no means a friend of the lower orders, she entirely lacked Julia's icy and obvious contempt for her perceived inferiors (not that either girl was ever downright rude to anyone, but there are polite ways of putting people down and Julia was a supreme mistress of them).  No!  Julia was the one who needed to watch her back, but if Giles intended to stay away, then so would he.  They decided to go to Twickenham where Piers's brother, Victor, a budding vicar, was playing for his seat of theological learning against some other college.

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The two girls, meanwhile, had completed their naked walk down to the centre of the village and,  since there was still a little time before the fete got properly under way,  were inspecting the various attractions,  none of which, they noticed, looked likely to rival,  in appeal, their fresh and luscious charms - charms which had already caused the square to be fuller of people than was usually the case this early in the proceedings!

They examined the tank of chilled water and the lever mechanism which, when subjected to a direct hit from a heavy ball,  was to drop Tracy, Darlene and Kylie (and later, Julia) into it.

"Look at that, Beatrice!  It would have to be a semi-paralytic blind man who missed that and couldn't hit
it hard enough to work the lever.  Those poor kids will be for the drop with every throw!  Trust Uncle and that Jenkinson to fix the odds - what an utterly egregious pair they are!"

The  slab of marble  serving as the sacrificial altar was next to be inspected.

"I'm sure she still intends to have me tied down on that, Beatrice.  I hear from a little bird that she has a wheeze to get me down there - pathetic cow!  Still - it certainly needs an occupant and must have one.  The 64 million dollar question is, who, exactly?  Who will be the hapless victim?"