3

The motion, combined with the smell of cigarettes and shit, had almost made him vomit behind the hood.

‘Billy boy, Billy boy, this is your night,’ his brother kept repeating. His size ten, muck-covered boots kept digging into Billy’s back. ‘Our Grandpa did it, our Pa did it, I did it and tonight, Billy boy, is your night.’

They had come for him at eight at night, shoved the hessian bag over his head and bundled him below their feet at the back of the car. Four of them: Billy’s brother and three strangers. The rain and the hood muffled the street sounds that would normally identify his Belfast; too many turns and double backs to follow.

The car stopped suddenly and then they were out. Rough hands grabbed him as he stumbled up some steps. He gulped in the cold air, trying to reduce the nausea from the ride.

‘For fuck’s sake, Tommy, get your brother’s mask off!’

The light blinded him, but slowly he took in his surroundings: only two men now, one his brother; a bare room, two doors closed.

Then the questions from the older man that he did not know. ‘Have you been here before, lad? Do you know about the Purple Order of the Loyal Orange Institution? Has anyone talked about this to you before, Billy?’

Billy glanced at Tommy whose face remained impassive. ‘No, I don’t know anything,’ he stuttered.

‘Good lad. Now, before we go on, Billy, you must make a solemn oath to bind you to us as Royal Arch Purple Brethren. Kneel on your right knee, take this Bible in your right hand and read this oath.’

Tommy placed a simple black-framed hand-written document in front of Billy, on the floor.

‘I, Billy Robertson,’ he read, ‘do most voluntarily, solemnly and sincerely declare, I will never reveal the proceedings of my Royal Arch Purple brethren in this Chapter assembled. I will not disclose any matters, unless to a Brother who is known to me, or unless I am authorised to do so by the legal authorities holding a Warrant under the Grand Royal Arch Purple Chapter of Ireland. I am a member of good standing in the Loyal Orange Lodge. I am over eighteen years old and was born in wedlock to Protestant parents. I will do my utmost to maintain the Protestant religion and glorious Constitution of 1688 against all foes, foreign and domestic. I declare never to marry a Papist nor stand sponsor for the child of a Roman Catholic when receiving baptism from a Papist priest, nor allow a Roman Catholic to stand sponsor for my child when being baptised. I will obey, without scruple or reserve, the rules and regulations drawn up by the Grand Royal Arch Purple Chapter of Ireland.’

‘Good. Now, is there anything you have said that is false or a pledge there you cannot keep?’

‘No,’ he stuttered.

‘Do you swear by Almighty God to remain steadfast in your solemn vow, to be a Royal Arch Purple Man, taken under this Warrant held under the jurisdiction of the Grand Royal Arch Purple Chapter of Ireland?’

Billy looked up at the older man and his brother. Tommy was nodding at him.

‘Yes, I swear.’

Tommy and the older man helped him off the floor and led him through one of the closed doors into another smaller room.

‘Now it’s time for the initiation, Billy. Except for your trousers, remove all your clothes,’ the older man ordered.

Once stripped, Billy had a small piece of purple ribbon tied to his trousers by Tommy, who also made him roll them up to the knees. Tommy replaced the hood over his brother’s head.

‘Billy, listen carefully,’ Tommy whispered. ‘I’m your Conductor tonight. I’ll be introducing you to the Chapter. Whatever happens, just take it like a man, like Pa would have.’

There were three loud knocks and he felt the rush of air as a door was opened. Tommy guided him through with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm. He could hear the murmur of men through the stifling hood. A knife or something sharp cut into his chest. Tommy let his grip go and whispered, ‘I’ll see you at the end.’

Other hands propelled him forwards, some slapping him on the back. Someone fired a gun next to his head and he collapsed, cowering on the floor before being forced to his feet again. His ears ringing, he could just make out words from the Bible being chanted: ‘Thou shall make the Tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen and blue and purple and scarlet …’ the voices droned on. ‘Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness … Let the wicked fall into their own nets, whilst I withal escape.’

He could feel his bare feet being cut by sharp branches. ‘Oh death, where is thy sting?’ He was shoved onto the floor – ‘Oh grave, where is thy victory?’ – and roughly dragged back onto his feet again. Men were hugging him, reassuring him, praising him, their tobacco breath, hot and fetid, in his face.

Then all went quiet and one man, not from Ireland, spoke. ‘Foot to foot: you shall not be afraid nor ashamed to go a foot or two out of your way to serve a Brother Royal Arch Purple Man, in his time of need. Knee to knee: you shall not bend your knee in prayer, without remembering your Brethren in your prayers. Hand in hand: you will go hand in hand with your Brethren in all just actions. Breast to breast: you will keep and conceal the secrets of the Royal Arch Purple Brethren within your breast.’

The speaker, or Master, as Billy later found his correct title to be, forced Billy’s left hand painfully behind his back. ‘Repeat after me, Billy: I testify that I will be as true and faithful behind a Royal Arch Purple Man’s back as I would before his face. I will allow no plots nor plans to be laid out about him without giving him due and timely warning of all approaching danger as far as in my power, so that, on one hand, he can move forward to meet it, or on the other hand, step aside to avoid it.’

Billy repeated the words, his voice shaking with pain and fear. The Master then commanded him to kneel on what Billy thought was a box and repeat another solemn oath. ‘With my knees upon this coffin, my toes extended over the earth, I testify that I am duly prepared to suffer death before I would divulge anything I have received or am about to receive.’

At these words the assembly shouted as one: ‘In whom do you put your trust?’

Before he could answer, he was violently shoved into a blanket, arms pinned to his side and rolled tight.

‘In whom do you put your trust?’

Then, the kicking. Unrelenting blows to his face and defenceless torso.

‘In whom do you put your trust, Billy? In God and us you put your trust,’ were the last words he remembered before vomiting, and blackness ended all thoughts.