The Bog Read online

  He broke into a run, but to his horror he realized that the fall had disoriented him and he was blundering deeper into the thicket. A blackthorn branch gouged him painfully in his face as he turned around madly, trying to get his bearings, and the pain in his jaw intensified. Whatever it was was just a few feet behind him now. Gasping like a marathon runner, he lunged forward, but again he became entangled in the underbrush and fell. He screamed again. Before him branches and twigs snapped as if something was ripping them apart to get at him. Any second now he would feel its teeth and claws.

  Suddenly all was silent and a light clicked on. He looked up to see Melanie standing a few yards away, holding a flashlight. She was pale and frightened. “David, what is it? What’s the matter?”

  He looked around him in the thicket and, to his astonishment, saw that he was quite alone. The brush around him seemed broken, but there was no sign of any intruder, not even a small animal scurrying away. Whatever it was, if there had been anything at all, had evaporated like a mist into the darkness.

  THREE

  Hovern Bog: 53 B.C.

  The Roman vice-prefect, Lucius Divitiacus, gazed out silently over the moors. His expression was impassive, but inwardly he was in torment. He had never faced a problem like this before. Now that the brunt of the fighting was over, and Celtic rage had been broken on Roman discipline, it should have been child’s play to effect political reorganization in this isolated and unimportant tribe of the Britanni. The Romans had long ago established themselves as old masters of the game. They knew just how much of a culture to allow to remain intact, and just how much to change. With the consummate skill of a professional gambler and a keen eye for human weakness, they would seduce a foreign race, gradually acquaint them with the pleasures of public baths and develop in them a taste for colonnades, until they were drunk for want of experience and no longer realized that their growing hunger for Roman splendor was only contributing to their greater subjugation.

  But these tricks had not worked here. The people of this valley tribe were peculiarly apathetic to Roman ways. It was not that they were hostile or combative. On the contrary, they had not even put up a struggle when the first phalanx of Roman troops had entered the valley. They had simply stood and scowled, but there had been something in their glower that had troubled him, even then. It was as if deep in those submissive eyes there was a smugness, even a sort of pity. It had puzzled him for a long time. Now he agonized because he was beginning to understand.

  Behind him in the tent he heard something stir, and he turned to see that his wife, Valeria, had come up behind him. She put her arms around him and rested her face against his back.

  “Why don’t we just leave, Lucius?” she asked.

  He laughed, a short, bitter laugh. How could she ask such a question? He had been educated for war since childhood, and had spent most of his life in field or camp. The major element of his existence was discipline, and that meant cowardice was an unforgivable sin. He himself was empowered to behead any soldier or officer who strayed in any way from orders, however favorable the result. If he pulled up and left the valley before completing his assignment, the very least he could hope for was death by flogging.

  “You know that I cannot do that,” he said.

  “But you saw the body of the girl before they tossed her into the bog. You saw what happened to her. How can we consider staying?”

  Lucius turned and faced his wife. “I also saw that you attended their abominable ceremony.”

  Her gaze fell to her husband’s feet.

  “And I’ve noticed that your most expensive comb is missing. The one that I bought for you in Campania.” She grew even more penitent.

  “May the gods preserve us, Valeria, why did you do it? You know that Caesar himself has ordered us to eschew their rites. I could have your hand cut off for such a deed. I just hope none of the soldiers saw you.” He paused a moment in thought. “Do you know what has become of the comb?”

  “They buried it with her... in the bog.”

  Lucius was somewhat relieved. “We may at least be grateful for that. But my question still remains. Why did you do it?”

  She looked away, feeling too wretched to suffer the sharp scrutiny any longer, and he noticed something in her expression that alarmed him.

  “Valeria, is there something else that you’re not telling me?”

  She looked at him entreatingly, her eyes filled with pain. “No, it’s nothing.”

  “What’s nothing?”

  “I’m just upset. I’m frightened by what’s happened, and I’m terribly sorry that I’ve offended you. Can you ever forgive me, my husband?”

  He looked at her harshly for but a moment longer and then his expression softened. “Of course I can forgive you this time. But you must never let it happen again.”

  She nodded submissively as she collapsed into his arms. She was pleased that he forgave her, but inside she was still in turmoil. She wanted desperately to tell him, but how could she? She knew that her husband was obdurate in his adherence to rules and a Roman to his soul. If he had threatened to cut off her hand for her infraction when it came to the comb, what would he say or do if she told him her most terrible secret? And yet she was bursting to tell him. A part of her knew that she had to tell him, regardless of the consequences, for if she did not reveal to him what she knew, had witnessed, and now suspected, she had an awful feeling that they would never leave this valley alive.

  FOUR

  David spent the better part of the morning looking for any sign of Ben. In the clear light of day the almost existential fear that had gripped him the night before had dissipated, and although he was still deeply troubled by everything that had happened, it was easier for him to accept that there had to be some rational explanation.

  When he found no trace of the retriever, he procured a long stick and carefully poked away at virtually every square foot of land within several hundred feet of the house. Although he had done this before they had moved in, he thought that perhaps there was an undiscovered sink or an abandoned well somewhere in the yard that he had missed. At least, if Ben had been running and had fallen into some sort of pit, that would explain the suddenness with which his barking had been cut short. It would not explain the strange experience he had had in the thicket, or the pain in his jaw, but if he were to find a simple explanation for Ben’s disappearance he knew he could more comfortably chalk those events up to over-active imagination.

  When he still found nothing, he reluctantly went back into the house. When he entered he found Melanie waiting for him in the living room.

  “Did you find him?” she asked.

  “Not a trace.”

  She dropped down into one of the living room chairs. “My God, what do you think has happened to him?” Although David’s own alarm was growing, he knew that if he expressed his honest feelings it would send Melanie into a blind panic. He tried to look unconcerned. “I think he probably just caught wind of something and ran off chasing it. You know, when I was a kid we had a cat that would stray off and it wouldn’t come back for days.”

  “But you heard the way his barking ended. It was as if a giant hand just reached down and plucked him right off the face of the earth.”

  “Maybe it was just a trick the wind played on our ears. Or maybe it was his last yelp before he went off chasing something. Dogs can make funny sounds sometimes. Remember how Ben used to make that funny wa-wa sound and we used to think it was Katy crying?”

  “Oh, David, if that were the case, wouldn’t we have heard him barking in the distance as he continued to chase the animal? I mean, dogs bark when they chase things. They don’t just stop barking abruptly and then chase them in silence.”

  “Maybe he kept barking and the sound was just swallowed up by the trees.”

  Melanie grew cross. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  David found his own patience growing short. Basically he agreed with her, but because he had opted for the adversari
al position he found himself growing annoyed at her persistence in shooting down everything that he said. “Okay, then what do you suggest? There was no blood. No body. What could have possibly happened to him if he didn’t just run off?”

  “I don’t know,” she returned. “That’s what scares me.

  He gulped down one last swallow of his coffee and then turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” she asked unbelievingly. “I’m going to the digs. After all, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  Melanie lost her temper. “You mean you’re going to go traipsing off to be with your dead bodies and just leave me and the kids here alone?”

  He looked at her incredulously. “What am I supposed to do, sit out in front and stand guard with a gun?” He looked at his wife angrily and then stormed toward the front door. Melanie jumped up from her chair and followed him.

  “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I just can’t believe that after last night you can take this thing so lightly.” David’s own temper had now reached boiling point. “So what am I supposed to do?” he demanded again. “What would make you happy?”

  “I think we should leave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we should pack up and move.”

  “Oh, that really takes the cake! I make the archaeological discovery of the decade, and just because our dog disappears you tell me that we should gather up all our things and move away.” He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

  Melanie seemed to see the ridiculousness of this suggestion, but the incidents of the previous evening still had her deeply shaken. “Well I don’t know what else to suggest!” she cried.

  “Well neither do I!” he shouted back, and at almost precisely the same instant the air was split by several loud banging sounds. They looked at each other in confusion. Something had pounded on the door.

  David approached it and opened it cautiously. Outside, standing on the steps, was a tall, grim fright of a woman with severe features and salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a matronly bun.

  “I heard you shouting,” she said dryly. “I knew I had to knock loud to get your attention.”

  David blushed, growing slightly embarrassed. Both he and Melanie stared at the woman curiously.

  She looked back at them with equal uncertainty. “You did advertise for a housekeeper, did you not?” she said. “If I’ve come at an inopportune moment, I’d be glad to come back some other time.”

  This time it was Melanie’s turn to be embarrassed. “Oh, no, please come in. You see, our dog vanished inexplicably last night, and it’s just got us a little rattled.”

  “As I can see.”

  “Please come in,” Melanie repeated. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Mrs. Comfrey,” she said.

  “Have a seat, won’t you, and please forgive us.”

  Mrs. Comfrey did as she was invited. Both David and Melanie looked at each other sheepishly, not knowing what to say to the other next. Mrs. Comfrey intervened. “Please pardon me my presumption, but if your dog has vanished, I shouldn’t fret too much about it.”

  “Why?” David asked.

  “Because the brambles around these parts are filled with enough rabbits to lead a dog astray for days.”

  “You see,” David said, casting Melanie an I-told-you-so glance. He looked back at Mrs. Comfrey and assessed the features of his new and unexpected ally. To his regret, Mrs. Comfrey was a dour-looking creature with a rather too-small head, and sharp, pale features. Her dowdy, navy-blue cotton dress covered a large and bony body, and on her long, shapeless legs she wore heavy brown nylons. He noticed also that her lilac perfume was just a little too oppressive and marveled once again at the bizarre creatures Fenchurch St. Jude seemed to turn out.

  Melanie offered Mrs. Comfrey a cup of tea and when Mrs. Comfrey accepted Melanie vanished momentarily into the kitchen to fetch it. David followed her. After the kitchen door shut behind them he walked up to his wife’s side and gave her a hug. “Honey, I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

  Melanie turned around. “Oh, David, I’m sorry too. I know I can’t expect you to abandon your work just because Ben’s disappeared, but I have a terrible feeling that something awful has happened to him.”

  David stared affectionately into his wife’s eyes and decided to express his true feelings. “Well, I think something might have happened to him also, but I don’t know what. Let’s give it a few days and see. Maybe he’ll turn up.”

  As they continued to embrace, David wondered if he should mention his slightly less than favorable opinion of Mrs. Comfrey, but decided against it. So far Melanie had not expressed any similar criticisms, and he decided it was best to leave well enough alone. He did, however, resolve to stay awhile and see how things went.

  They returned to the living room and Melanie proceeded with the interview. David was pleased to see that in spite of her off-putting appearance, at every twist and turn Mrs. Comfrey handled the questions like an old pro, and near the end of their conversation Melanie seemed quite taken with her.

  Suddenly Melanie blurted out, “You’re so nice, you can’t be from—” She stopped abruptly, realizing that her remark could be taken as quite offensive.

  Mrs. Comfrey smiled knowingly. “—from Fenchurch St. Jude? No, I’m not, and I must say that I’m pleased that you’re not also.” Then she looked from side to side and lowered her voice as if to make sure no one was listening in and said: “Just between you and me, the people of Fenchurch St. Jude have quite a reputation in these parts for being... well, for being a bit queer. I’m from Leeming.”

  “Oh, the place where the woman was shot,” Melanie interjected.

  Mrs. Comfrey’s features darkened. “What a nasty bit of business that was. Twice in the back. Still haven’t caught the fellow, you know.” She shook her head in concern.

  After a few other sundry exchanges Melanie looked across at David and he perceived the meaning of her glance. She wanted to hire Mrs. Comfrey and she was looking for his approval. He nodded favorably.

  Melanie turned back to the older woman. “Mrs. Comfrey, if you like, the position is yours.”

  “Very good,” Mrs. Comfrey said amiably.

  “There’s just one other thing.”

  Mrs. Comfrey regarded her quizzically.

  “Would you like the position to be live-in, or would you be returning home every evening to... your husband or something?”

  “I’m widowed,” Mrs. Comfrey said matter-of-factly. “And I don’t fancy making the long haul back to Leeming every night, especially with the shooting and all. I’d prefer it if the position were live-in.”

  “Then live-in it is,” Melanie said, clinching the deal.

  David was surprised at the outcome, for given Melanie’s mood earlier in the morning he would have thought it impossible to please her in any matter. But he was delighted that in this one small item, their life seemed to be working out. He decided to test the waters further.

  “Would it be all right if I left for the digs now?” he asked cautiously.

  Melanie looked at him quickly and for a brief moment her eyes still seemed to be filled with anxiety. But then she smiled. “Will you excuse me for a moment,” she said to Mrs. Comfrey as she stood and accompanied her husband to the door.

  She looked at David apologetically. “Darling, I just wanted to say one more time that I’m sorry about this morning. I know things are going to go better now that I have some help around here.” She kissed her husband good-bye and he departed.

  Outside, it was another gray day, bright, but with a solid layer of clouds still completely obscuring the sun, and on his walk to the excavations David found himself once again troubled about the episode the night before. He looked at the thicket uneasily as he passed by, and wondered anew what could possibly explain the mysterious pain he had experienced.

  When he reached the camp he found Brad, as usual, already deeply immersed in work. Davi
d looked down into the pit and saw that the younger man had almost completely excavated the second body. David whistled appreciatively and felt a chill of excitement when he saw the state of preservation of the second fallen form. This time, resting on the murky red mat of dog’s flesh was the body of a man, an old man, again as eerily intact as if he had died only a few days earlier. On his head he wore a pointed skin cap typical of men during the Iron Age, and around his waist there was a smooth hide belt. Other than that he was naked. Whatever excitement David felt, however, was quickly alloyed with fear when he looked at the old man’s visage. Although peat-encrusted, around his neck and chest were the same distinctive marks of deterioration as they had first observed in the young girl, and his face was contorted with the same terrible rictus of death. He too had been a sacrificial victim to the ancient and unknown animal.

  “My God, what are we on to here?” David murmured. Brad looked up. “It’s really incredible, isn’t it?”

  “It’s more than incredible,” David returned. “It clinches the importance of the find.”

  “What do you mean?” Brad asked. “I thought we knew the find was important as soon as we discovered the bite marks on the young girl.”

  “True. But if we had only that information to publish, it would have been challenged in the academic literature as a fluke, a one-time occurrence. But with the discovery of this second body we have far more persuasive evidence that it was a regularly practiced ritual. The people who lived in these hills had quite a relationship with the creature responsible for this. I honestly can’t think of any historical precedent for such a thing. I mean, the Aztecs used to feed portions of their sacrificed victims to animals in the royal menagerie, but that was only after they had been killed by human hands. In this instance, however, it seems that the Iron Age tribe to which these two people belonged had developed a regular and consistent relationship with an animal that roamed wild, probably lived in the bog. I really can’t think of another instance of that happening in history.”