March 1945: The Origin of The Council
‘Gentlemen, it is time.’
Unanimously and less than twenty four hours previously, they had elected Carlisle to be their chairman and so, although he had raised his voice only a very little, the room fell silent and all eyes turned to face the sanctuary altar as the last of three chimes echoed far above them. There were forty-eight men crammed, improbably, in the candlelit crypt of St. James’ Church, Piccadilly.
Since it was local to their offices in St. James Street, the majority of those present were as familiar with this place as with the parish churches of the cities, towns and villages in which each had been raised. Most of them were regular worshippers at St. James’ and one, Henderson, was a churchwarden. It was he, who had arranged for them to be there and it was he, who had strung the curtain between two of the pillars.
And it was he, who, as each man had entered the crypt, handed them two tokens; one made of ebony, heavy, cool and black, the other of ivory and now he, along with the others, stood waiting for the instruction.
‘You are all honourable men,’ the chairman said and, smiling, added, ‘and yes, I appreciate the import of that observation. For we too are conspirators; let no-one be under any illusion. That we have all agreed to this - whatever the outcome may be – is a true testament to those very things to which we are all committed. I salute you. All.’ He gave a small bow. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we divide.’
He nodded towards the curtain and, without fuss or ceremony, the nearest man raised a corner and disappeared behind it. A moment later, a faint “click”. Another moment after that, the man reappeared.
Unhurriedly, the little ceremony was repeated until all had passed behind the curtain, as the chairman stood impassively, regarding those who had placed this great burden upon him. He recognised them all and some he had known since childhood. There was even one of his former masters from Harrow, who had to be helped to the pillar but who insisted on drawing it back and placing his own token unaided. It took him almost a full minute but when he emerged from behind the curtain, the expression of pain on his face was visible to the others for only an instant and was replaced by one of… triumph.
And then, it was over.
Henderson untied one end of the curtain and it fell to the floor, revealing a small table, upon which stood a small, carved walnut box, which he lifted and, his companions parting to let him pass, took to Carlisle. He held out a gloved hand and Carlisle placed a token into it. Instantly, the hand closed over it and no-one save Carlisle knew the colour. Henderson placed the token into the slot in the top of the box and, with a slight bow, handed the box to the chairman.
Carlisle held the box in plain sight, as he pushed, pulled and twisted several latches, the whereabouts of which were known only to him. At last, he was able to open the lid.
‘I thank you for the confidence you have shown in me. I shall begin the count.’
It took two minutes but all had known the result long before the last token joined its fellows on one of the two piles on the stone altar. There were just nine black tokens.
The chairman addressed the assembly. ‘Gentlemen, I know that I need say no more. I am truly sorry.’
It was only a moment before one of the company slowly raised his left hand towards his breast pocket, at the same time presenting his right to one of those near to him to have it shaken, warmly. He removed his left hand from his pocket and placed the capsule into his mouth, bit down and died. Almost simultaneously, seven others performed the same act and, in under a half a minute, eight bodies lay on the stone floor.
The chairman surveyed the remainder of the group.
‘There are nine tokens,’ he said. For the first time since he had asked for silence, Carlisle heard a murmur go up from the other men. Slowly, he stepped out from behind the stone altar and moved amongst them, looking at each as he did so. Presently, he stood before the entrance to the crypt and turned to face them
‘Mr. Graveney,’ he said. ‘You alone disappoint me.’ Every eye followed Carlisle’s gaze and the man on whom it rested smiled a nervous smile – too many teeth.
‘I…I don’t know what you mean, Carlisle.’
‘I believe you do. You alone have shown no honour, this evening. You have been untrue to yourself and to the rest of us.’ The Chairman gestured with his right hand, his long fingers languidly describing an arc that took in the remaining men. ‘It was agreed, Graveney. No matter what the outcome, if the majority view carried a weight of at least two thirds over the minority, then the defeated party would forfeit… everything.
‘But… but I voted in favour. I’m with you, Carlisle!’
‘No,’ Carlisle said, simply. ‘You are not.’
‘But I voted in favour, Carlisle. How could you possibly think…?’
‘Show me the black token,’ Carlisle said.
‘Wh… what?’
‘The black token.’ He pointed down the length of the crypt towards the altar. ‘If it is not there,’ he said, ‘it must be about your person.’
Graveney considered trying to stall, to pretend to look for the token but then saw clearly that his desperate bluff had failed. Without another word, he removed his service revolver from the pocket of his jacket and pointed it directly at the chairman.
‘You can’t do this, Carlisle,’ Graveney said. ‘It’s insane!’ Sweat beaded on his brow and, with every flicker of the candles, his expression appeared to shift between anger and fear.
‘They didn’t think so,’ Carlisle said, indicating the bodies on the stone floor.
‘Well, they were fools! I’m not about to kill myself simply because my conscience won’t allow me to live with the consequences of your treason! Now, move away from the door and let me pass.’
‘You know I won’t do that, Graveney.’
‘Then I’ll kill you!’ The chairman remained impassive.
‘Assuming your revolver is fully loaded and assuming you manage to discharge every round,’ he said, ‘ you will still kill only six of us before the rest overpower you. Haven’t you realised by now that none of us is afraid to die?’
‘Ha! We’ll see about that, won’t we?’ Graveney levelled the pistol at Carlisle. ‘Now. Move away!’
Carlisle stood his ground and Graveney’s hesitation told Henderson all he needed to know. He lunged at Graveney who fired, almost as a reflex. Clutching his chest, Henderson fell and Montague-Smith leapt over him. Another shot and he too toppled forwards but he was closer than Henderson had been and as he fell, he was able to strike his killer on the chest. Although Graveney’s thumb was already on the hammer by the time three other men were upon him, he had no chance to shoot again. He was forced to the ground. Standing over him, Carlisle removed the capsule that had been in his own pocket.
Then he knelt on Graveney’s neck. As the fallen man gagged and gasped for air, Carlisle slid the capsule into Graveney’s mouth. A crunch followed by a brief, yet vehement stream of invective issued from him and then he was still.
‘Someone may have heard the shots,’ said Carlisle. ‘Be watchful when you remove the bodies.’
It was the first order to be issued by the Leader of the Council.
‘Gentlemen, it is time.’
Unanimously and less than twenty four hours previously, they had elected Carlisle to be their chairman and so, although he had raised his voice only a very little, the room fell silent and all eyes turned to face the sanctuary altar as the last of three chimes echoed far above them. There were forty-eight men crammed, improbably, in the candlelit crypt of St. James’ Church, Piccadilly.
Since it was local to their offices in St. James Street, the majority of those present were as familiar with this place as with the parish churches of the cities, towns and villages in which each had been raised. Most of them were regular worshippers at St. James’ and one, Henderson, was a churchwarden. It was he, who had arranged for them to be there and it was he, who had strung the curtain between two of the pillars.
And it was he, who, as each man had entered the crypt, handed them two tokens; one made of ebony, heavy, cool and black, the other of ivory and now he, along with the others, stood waiting for the instruction.
‘You are all honourable men,’ the chairman said and, smiling, added, ‘and yes, I appreciate the import of that observation. For we too are conspirators; let no-one be under any illusion. That we have all agreed to this - whatever the outcome may be – is a true testament to those very things to which we are all committed. I salute you. All.’ He gave a small bow. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we divide.’
He nodded towards the curtain and, without fuss or ceremony, the nearest man raised a corner and disappeared behind it. A moment later, a faint “click”. Another moment after that, the man reappeared.
Unhurriedly, the little ceremony was repeated until all had passed behind the curtain, as the chairman stood impassively, regarding those who had placed this great burden upon him. He recognised them all and some he had known since childhood. There was even one of his former masters from Harrow, who had to be helped to the pillar but who insisted on drawing it back and placing his own token unaided. It took him almost a full minute but when he emerged from behind the curtain, the expression of pain on his face was visible to the others for only an instant and was replaced by one of… triumph.
And then, it was over.
Henderson untied one end of the curtain and it fell to the floor, revealing a small table, upon which stood a small, carved walnut box, which he lifted and, his companions parting to let him pass, took to Carlisle. He held out a gloved hand and Carlisle placed a token into it. Instantly, the hand closed over it and no-one save Carlisle knew the colour. Henderson placed the token into the slot in the top of the box and, with a slight bow, handed the box to the chairman.
Carlisle held the box in plain sight, as he pushed, pulled and twisted several latches, the whereabouts of which were known only to him. At last, he was able to open the lid.
‘I thank you for the confidence you have shown in me. I shall begin the count.’
It took two minutes but all had known the result long before the last token joined its fellows on one of the two piles on the stone altar. There were just nine black tokens.
The chairman addressed the assembly. ‘Gentlemen, I know that I need say no more. I am truly sorry.’
It was only a moment before one of the company slowly raised his left hand towards his breast pocket, at the same time presenting his right to one of those near to him to have it shaken, warmly. He removed his left hand from his pocket and placed the capsule into his mouth, bit down and died. Almost simultaneously, seven others performed the same act and, in under a half a minute, eight bodies lay on the stone floor.
The chairman surveyed the remainder of the group.
‘There are nine tokens,’ he said. For the first time since he had asked for silence, Carlisle heard a murmur go up from the other men. Slowly, he stepped out from behind the stone altar and moved amongst them, looking at each as he did so. Presently, he stood before the entrance to the crypt and turned to face them
‘Mr. Graveney,’ he said. ‘You alone disappoint me.’ Every eye followed Carlisle’s gaze and the man on whom it rested smiled a nervous smile – too many teeth.
‘I…I don’t know what you mean, Carlisle.’
‘I believe you do. You alone have shown no honour, this evening. You have been untrue to yourself and to the rest of us.’ The Chairman gestured with his right hand, his long fingers languidly describing an arc that took in the remaining men. ‘It was agreed, Graveney. No matter what the outcome, if the majority view carried a weight of at least two thirds over the minority, then the defeated party would forfeit… everything.
‘But… but I voted in favour. I’m with you, Carlisle!’
‘No,’ Carlisle said, simply. ‘You are not.’
‘But I voted in favour, Carlisle. How could you possibly think…?’
‘Show me the black token,’ Carlisle said.
‘Wh… what?’
‘The black token.’ He pointed down the length of the crypt towards the altar. ‘If it is not there,’ he said, ‘it must be about your person.’
Graveney considered trying to stall, to pretend to look for the token but then saw clearly that his desperate bluff had failed. Without another word, he removed his service revolver from the pocket of his jacket and pointed it directly at the chairman.
‘You can’t do this, Carlisle,’ Graveney said. ‘It’s insane!’ Sweat beaded on his brow and, with every flicker of the candles, his expression appeared to shift between anger and fear.
‘They didn’t think so,’ Carlisle said, indicating the bodies on the stone floor.
‘Well, they were fools! I’m not about to kill myself simply because my conscience won’t allow me to live with the consequences of your treason! Now, move away from the door and let me pass.’
‘You know I won’t do that, Graveney.’
‘Then I’ll kill you!’ The chairman remained impassive.
‘Assuming your revolver is fully loaded and assuming you manage to discharge every round,’ he said, ‘ you will still kill only six of us before the rest overpower you. Haven’t you realised by now that none of us is afraid to die?’
‘Ha! We’ll see about that, won’t we?’ Graveney levelled the pistol at Carlisle. ‘Now. Move away!’
Carlisle stood his ground and Graveney’s hesitation told Henderson all he needed to know. He lunged at Graveney who fired, almost as a reflex. Clutching his chest, Henderson fell and Montague-Smith leapt over him. Another shot and he too toppled forwards but he was closer than Henderson had been and as he fell, he was able to strike his killer on the chest. Although Graveney’s thumb was already on the hammer by the time three other men were upon him, he had no chance to shoot again. He was forced to the ground. Standing over him, Carlisle removed the capsule that had been in his own pocket.
Then he knelt on Graveney’s neck. As the fallen man gagged and gasped for air, Carlisle slid the capsule into Graveney’s mouth. A crunch followed by a brief, yet vehement stream of invective issued from him and then he was still.
‘Someone may have heard the shots,’ said Carlisle. ‘Be watchful when you remove the bodies.’
It was the first order to be issued by the Leader of the Council.
