The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure

by Richard T. ; Ryan

  “Yes,” I replied. “What of it?”

  “Originally, I was inclined to believe the next killing might well take place in or around Glastonbury, the location believed to be the burial site of King Arthur.”

  “And of Queen Guinevere as well,” I added.

  “Only if you believe the most romantic of the legends, something I am disinclined to do. No, the whole Mordred, Lancelot, Round Table nonsense came later and was added incrementally by an array of different authors from Geoffrey of Monmouth to Chretian de Troyes to Sir Thomas Malory. All flights of fancy,” he exclaimed.

  “So if that’s not the connection, then what is?”

  “Think. I’ve just listed several of the main figures, but whom have I omitted?”

  “Not Gawain?” I asked. “This isn’t tied to that Green Knight story, is it?”

  “No,” Holmes said, “though I suppose the Yuletide connection and the pagan symbolism might lead one in that direction.”

  “I give up,” I sputtered.

  “The original druid, perhaps?”

  “Merlin!” I exclaimed.

  “Exactly,” I was hoping to find a stone circle near Glastonbury, but according to Connors’ map, one doesn’t exist. Which then leads me to conclude that our killer is quite literally going back to the beginning. Consider that Merlin first appears in Geoffrey’s Historia Regum Britanniae, written around 1130. However, Geoffrey based his wizard on the figures of Merlinus Caledonensis, a North Brythonic prophet and madman with absolutely no connection to the legendary Arthur; and Ambrosius Aurelianus, a Roman-British chieftain. Together, the two figures were joined to form Merlin Ambrosius. The problem for me is that, according to most legends, Merlin is reportedly buried in the Broceliande Forest in Brittany.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “Thus far, all of the killings have taken place here in England. Since I suspect that the whole druid motif is little more than an elaborate diversion, smoke and mirrors if you will, I cannot see them journeying to France to complete the illusion. As a result, I have been searching for possible sites that fit their leitmotif and would allow them to continue and complete the illusion, but are closer to home.”

  “Why must they complete the illusion?”

  “Surely, that is obvious,” he replied.

  “Not to me. First, I didn’t know there was an illusion until you just said so. Second, why must they complete it?”

  “Should they stop, the druidic aspects of the killings will come under much closer scrutiny as will the killings themselves, and that is something they are desperate to avoid.”

  “If they are so ‘desperate,’ how can you be so sure they won’t go to France?”

  “Too easy to trace. Their absence here would be conspicuous, especially with Christmas so close, and their presence in France when another killing took place might just provide us with enough circumstantial evidence to sway a jury. No, Watson, they will strike one last time, and then they will cease and perhaps disappear, and that is why it is imperative that we apprehend them before they do.”

  “You talk about circumstantial evidence, yet right now, you have no evidence at all to present to a jury, do you?”

  “Well played, Watson. You are quite right. At present, I have no hard evidence but I will certainly gather a sufficient quantity before I even suggest that Lestrade bring charges. These are killers who must not be allowed to go free over a point of law.

  “I have charted my course, Watson. And I will stay the course and see justice done.”

  While Holmes is normally quite reserved, he had grown increasingly passionate as he spoke. When he looked at me with those piercing gray eyes, I could tell that on this matter, he was not a man to be trifled with.

  Chapter 17

  “I do believe that we are in the clear,” he exclaimed one afternoon as she sat reading in the library.

  “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  Holding up a newspaper, he said, “The police have arrested a man from Marlborough in connection with the killing on Silbury Hill.”

  “From Marlborough?”

  “Yes, of all places! His name is Henry Dalton and he murdered his wife in much the same manner that the other killings took place.”

  “When you say ‘in much the same manner,’ what exactly do you mean?” she asked.

  “The body was found about halfway up Silbury Hill, an historic site. She was killed on the night of October 31st, the feast of Samhain. She was stabbed to death, and the police are looking to charge him with the other murders as well.”

  “Was there a druidic symbol on her forehead? Ogham writing on the body? Had it been surrounded by tree branches?”

  “The papers do not mention any of those things.”

  “Nor have they since we put this plan into motion, and the silence on those details speaks volumes. They have withheld those facts deliberately.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? They have made little progress on the case, and they were wary enough to anticipate someone emulating our style.”

  “But, in this case, couldn’t they have interrupted him before he finished?”

  “I suppose that is possible although highly unlikely. Even if they had caught him in the act, they have merely to ask him what the symbols mean or to translate the ogham. Obviously, he will refuse, but I believe this to be a very clever ploy by the police in an effort to get us to lower our guard.”

  “So, you think we must still continue with the plan.”

  “I see no other alternative,” she replied. “We want the police as distracted and as busy as possible. The more murders they have to solve, the better for us.”

  “So long as we don’t get caught.”

  She said to him, “Given everything that is at stake, I never expected to hear such moral quibbling from you of all people. Perhaps I might have been better served by a different partner.”

  However, the seeds of doubt had been sown. “I must keep a much closer eye on him in the future and bolster him at every turn,” she resolved. Then in an attempt to break the tension, she asked, “Is there any mention in the paper of Sherlock Holmes?”

  “No,” he answered. “I read the story twice.”

  “Now that I find odd. We know that Holmes is involved, yet there is no mention made of it.”

  “Perhaps the papers are deliberately withholding that information as well,” he offered.

  “I am certain you are correct,” she said. “However, I have the feeling that it might benefit us greatly were we able to find Holmes something else to focus on - at least for the near future.”

  “Have you any ideas?”

  “I have two possibilities, but they are both just rough plans. They will need to be refined and perfected before we can even consider employing one, or possibly both, of them.”

  “Would you care to tell me about them?”

  Although she really had no interest in discussing her plans with him, she decided to share her thoughts. After all, they were in this together - at least for the moment and hopefully forever. Better to assuage any doubts he might have at the present, she thought, than to have him question her at some crucial moment in the future.

  So for the next 15 minutes, she discussed her ideas. When she had finished, he looked at her and said, “Brilliant. I always knew you were a scheming woman, but now it is obvious that your devious nature knows no bounds. I particularly like the second idea.”

  “I am so glad that you approve, she said, all the while thinking, “I wonder what your reaction would be, were I to tell you the third plan that I am developing.”

  Interrupting her thought, he asked, “How soon do you think it will be before we can begin?”

  “That’s one of the details I am working on,” she answered, “but no more of this for now. Let us take another look at the map and begin to plan our grand finale.”

  Chapter 18

  On the first of December, Professo
r Connors arrived at Baker Street late in the afternoon. After Mrs. Hudson had shown him in, he said, “I have some important news for Mr. Holmes.”

  As Holmes had stepped out and I had no idea when he would return, I informed the professor that he was welcome to wait if his schedule permitted. He seemed amenable to the idea so we passed a pleasant hour discussing subjects, ranging from the construction of the stone circles to the possible religious connotations they carried. As he digressed into the differences between the Paleolithic and Neolithic periods, he must have seen the look of confusion of my face.

  “I do apologize, Doctor Watson. Those terms are fairly new, and they may not have made their way into the popular lexicon just yet. In fact, they are less than 40 years old, and I suppose they largely remain the province of the scientific community.”

  “Are they?” I asked.

  “Indeed,” he replied. “The term ‘palaeolithic’ was coined by the archaeologist John Lubbock in 1865. It derives from Greek: palaios or ‘old’ and lithos or ‘stone’. Quite literally it is translated as the ‘old age of the stone’ or ‘Old Stone Age’.”

  He continued to wax poetic about the Neolithic period as well, all the while I wanted only to hear what news he had for Holmes.

  He was so earnest and scholarly that I hadn’t the heart to tell him that all his information was grist for Holmes’ mill and not mine. Fortunately, it was only a minute or two later that Holmes came through the door.

  “Professor Connors,” he said, “what a pleasant surprise it is to see you. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Not at all,” Connors replied, “and Doctor Watson here is an excellent listener.”

  “I can certainly vouch for that,” said Holmes. “On many occasions, he has proven himself quite useful as a sounding board, who occasionally takes issues with the points I raise. However, you didn’t come here to talk about Watson. How may I be of service Professor?”

  “I believe that I may be of service to you, Mr. Holmes.”

  “I’m a tad confused here,” said my friend.

  “Remember a few weeks back, you asked me to look into the various burial places of Merlin?”

  “Yes, and you said that according to most legends he is entombed somewhere in Brittany.”

  “I did say that, but now I’m going to utter just one word, and see if you can figure it out.”

  “And the word?” asked Holmes.

  “Marlborough,” replied Connors.

  As Holmes pondered Connors’ pronouncement, I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or overjoyed.

  Eventually, he smiled a rather wan smile. “Of course,” he said, “I have been looking for the exotic, the outre, if you will. And the whole time, the key has been staring me in the face.

  “Oh, I have been a blind beetle, Watson.”

  “Well, I am still in the dark,” I said. “Would either of you care to explain what is going on?”

  Holmes looked at Connors and said “I will defer to your expertise.”

  Connors smiled and quickly warmed to his subject. “When Mr. Holmes told me that the burial place of Merlin might play a role in this case, I immediately thought of Merlin Sylvestris, who was said to have been baptized and converted to Christianity by Saint Kentigern on the altar stone at Drumelzier, a village on the Scottish borders.

  “According to legend, Merlin prophesized his own death of falling, drowning and stabbing and, in fact, died his three deaths there after he was chased off a cliff by shepherds where he tripped and fell, impaled himself upon a fishing rod on the sea bed and died with his head under the water.

  “In fact, there is a prophecy that states:

  ‘When Tweed and Powsail meet at Merlin’s grave,

  Scotland and England shall one monarch have.’

  “If you believe in legends, that prophecy came to fruition in 1603 when Queen Elizabeth I died childless and without any immediate heirs. As a result, her second cousin, King James VI of Scotland, was made monarch of both countries. Allegedly, on the day of the Union of Crowns the Tweed is said to have burst its banks and its waters mingled with those of Powsail Burn at the site of Merlin’s grave.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” I exclaimed.

  “Perhaps,” replied Connors evenly, “it’s too bad that we shall never know the veracity of the legend. At any rate, as there are certain similarities between the area and the other sites, I decided to continue my research and see if I might find something more similar to the other scenes. Also, the presence of Saint Kentigern, a sixth-century holy man in the legend seemed to preclude that location as it put the events in the wrong time period.

  “As I mentioned, a second legend, perhaps the most popular of them all, has the wizard buried in Normandy and there are certainly plenty of stone circles in the region, but the fact that all the crimes have taken place in England gave me pause.

  “It was an offhand remark by a colleague, Jane Dieulafoy, a Frenchwoman noted primarily for her work in Iran that jarred my memory and made me recall a trip I had taken as a youngster to Marlborough. I spent much of the day running up and down Merlin’s Mound and playing hide-and-seek.”

  “Merlin’s Mound!” I exclaimed, “Never heard of it.”

  Holmes looked at Connors and said, “May I, Professor?” After Connors had nodded, Holmes took up the narrative. “As you know Watson, Marlborough is quite close to both Avebury and Stonehenge. That alone would make a point of interest for us.

  “The mound itself is located on the grounds of Marlborough College, I believe. Having spent a day or two there in my youth, I am somewhat familiar with it, but for some reason, it escaped my memory, perhaps because I only ever heard it referred to as the Marlborough Mound.

  “At any rate, it is a rather bizarre conical mound of earth with a path that spirals around from top to bottom, giving it a sort of terraced appearance. Like Silbury Hill, it is a man-made mound, and there is quite of lot of history surrounding the location, I believe.

  “However, what makes this hill different from the others we have looked at is the fact that there is an abundance of trees growing on all sides. Trees, Watson!”

  I can assure you that Holmes’ reference was not lost on me. At that point, Connors said, “Mr. Holmes, if I may add something.” After Holmes nodded, he continued, “According to many myths, Merlin built the circle at Stonehenge, and while I do not ascribe to that rather fanciful school of thought, I find myself in agreement with any number of other scholars who hold that the sarsen stones of the largest circle at Stonehenge came from the Marlborough Downs.”

  Holmes clapped his hands, “And there you have it. The circle has been closed.”

  “One more point, Mr. Holmes,” said Connors. “Again, this is only one school of thought, but there are those who believe that the town Marlborough may be a derivation of the phrase ‘Merlin’s Barrow.’ In fact, the town’s motto is Ubi nunc sapientis ossa Merlini. (Where now are the bones of wise Merlin?) And while it certainly makes for a good story, I am inclined to believe the town name is actually derived from the medieval term for chalky ground ‘marl,’ which thus translates to the ‘town on chalk’.”

  “Professor Connors, you have done splendidly,” enthused Holmes. “I cannot thank you enough for all your help.”

  “I just hope you catch the fiend responsible for these atrocities,” said Connors.

  After a bit more small talk, and another offer from Connors to call upon him should we need further assistance, he went on his way.

  “Slowly but surely, Watson, all the pieces are coming together. In addition to when the next crime will be committed, I now know where.”

  “I assume you think the next crime will take place at this Merlin’s Mound.”

  “Were I a wagering man, such as yourself, I should be inclined to bet on it.”

  “Don’t you think the killer is taking a tremendous risk?”

  “The killer takes a chance every time he strikes, but what makes this a greater ris
k?”

  “You said the mound is located on the grounds of Marlborough College.”

  “And so it is.”

  “Well, there are always students about at all hours of the day and night. Who knows who might be out and about that night?”

  “The winter solstice falls on Friday, December 22nd. With Christmas falling on that Monday, I am inclined to think that the grounds will be deserted. The students will have left to spend the holidays with their families. If there are classes on that Friday, they will be dismissed long before midnight arrives. No, Watson, that’s the genius of this locale. It completes the illusion, and were we not involved, the local constabulary and the Yard could spend years looking for a secret pagan society that never existed to begin with.”

  “And since you now know the date and the place, do you know the killer as well?”

  “I believe that I have definitely identified one of the guilty parties,” my friend said, “but at present, the other still eludes me. However, I intend to close the net so tightly that there is no chance of his escape.”

  We continued our discussion through dinner, and then there was a gentle knock on the door.

  “Come in Mrs. Hudson,” said Holmes.

  Our landlady entered carrying a telegram. “I am sorry to disturb you Mr. Holmes, but this just arrived by messenger. I was told that a reply is expected, and the messenger is waiting downstairs.”

  “What in the world?” I exclaimed.

  “There is only one way to find out,” said Holmes, tearing open the envelope. He read the telegram and then looked at me and said, “Lady Deveron would like to meet with me tomorrow.”

  Sitting at his desk, Holmes jotted a quick note. Turning to Mrs. Hudson, he said, “Give this to boy.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few coins and said, “Give these to the lad as well. And Mrs. Hudson, thank you very much.”

  “What could Her Ladyship possibly want with you?” I asked.

  “I suppose we shall have to wait until tomorrow to find out,” replied Holmes. “She said that she would like to call upon us at one o’clock, if it is convenient. In my reply, I put myself at Her Ladyship’s disposal.”