Deliver us from Evil (11 page)

'It is in Latin,' said Mr Aubrey, pointing to a block of text by the illustration in the first book. 'It tells how the Druids used to practise their magic on certain sacred days.'

'And these?' asked Captain Foxe, pointing at the symbols. 'What do these mean?'

'They are ancient signs, drawn from the Magical Arts. Dr Dee bad a great understanding of such secrets. See, here' - he opened up another book - 'he has written out their meaning. They symbolise the sacrifice days - what we call in this our Christian age, Yuletide, Innocents' Day, Candlemas, and the like.'

'Yuletide,' said Captain Foxe slowly. 'Innocents' Day Mr Aubrey nodded. 'But
I
do not think, Captain, that the symbols refer to the sacred days alone.' 'What do you mean?'

Mr Aubrey closed the book, and slipped it into his pocket; then reached across the table for a bundle of maps, and smoothed them out. 'Some of these Dr Dee brought back from Germany,' he explained, 'and some are in his own hand, for you must understand that the Doctor made many maps and charts for the Queen. Now -
observe.' He pointed to one of the maps. 'What do you see?'

Captain Foxe looked; and at once, felt his heart begin to pound. For there, drawn across the map, were the symbols he had already seen in three different books, linked, as before, by a single straight line.

‘I
t is a map of Bohemia,' said Mr Aubrey, 'and all the wonders of that land. But look carefully - observe which places are marked with the symbols. Do you see, Captain? Monuments dating from the most ancient of days, raised in Bohemia as they were also raised here - and my argument would be that these monuments were pagan temples, and built by the Druids.'

Captain Foxe frowned. 'But
I
do not understand
..
.' he said slowly. 'The line which has been drawn through them
...
it is perfectly straight. How is it possible that the monuments should all be so aligned?'

Mr Aubrey shrugged. 'Doubtless it was achieved by the Druids' magic'

'And the sites around here? What of those?'

Mr Aubrey stared at him, his eyes very wide and his expression solemn. 'Do you have a map of Wiltshire in this place?' he asked. 'Naturally,' replied Captain Foxe.

'Then
I
wish to see it. The most comprehensive you possess.'

Captain Foxe rose to his feet at once, and led the way to the records room. Mr Aubrey scanned through the various maps available and then, finding one of Salisbury and its neighbourhood, asked Captain Foxe to inspect it closely. 'Murder number one,' he said, pointing with his finger, 'Clearbury Ring. Then murder number two' - he inched his finger upwards - 'the Cathedral - here. We now have a straight line, linking the two sites.'

'And beyond those two sites, if you extend the line?' Captain Foxe turned to a nearby clerk. 'Quick, man, your pen!'

The clerk handed it to Mr Aubrey, who began carefully to draw a line across the map, from Clearbury Ring to the Cathedral and then beyond.

'Of course,' murmured Captain Foxe, watching as the line was extended. 'Old Sarum.'

'
I
observed the alignment several weeks ago,' said Mr Aubrey, 'when
I
climbed to Clearbury Ring, and looked out from its edge, shortly before
I
discovered the corpse of the old man. But look further - if
I
continue beyond Old Sarum - there is another monument on this perfectly straight line. You see, Captain? Look!'

With two dramatic scratches, he marked a large cross.

Captain Foxe peered across to see what lay beneath it. '
I
should be surprised,' he whispered. 'And yet how can
I
be? Stonehenge.'

'It was their chiefest temple,' nodded Mr Aubrey.

Captain Foxe stared at him. 'You said that you knew where the killing would be.
I
assume, from what you have just shown me, that you believe the killer will leave his victim at Old Sarum.'

Mr Aubrey inclined his head.

'And after that?'

‘I
f you do not capture him before?' 'Yes.'

Mr Aubrey swallowed. 'Then doubtless at Stonehenge.' 'And the dates?' 'The dates?'

'Yes,' said Captain Foxe impatiently, 'we must know
when
the killer will strike. You said you knew.' He poi
nted his finger at Old Sarum on
the map. "When, Mr Aubrey? In the name of Christ
–
when?
'

‘
I
have here
..
.' Mr Aubrey patted his coat, then drew out the book which he had earlier slipped into his pocket. He handed it over to Captain Foxe. 'You remember them - the symbols drawn by Dr Dee?' 'Symbols?'

'Illustrating the dates. Of the ancient feast days.' Mr Aubrey took back the book, and opened it. 'Here,' he said, pointing
at
a symbol with his finger, 'Yuletide, the twenty-second of December - we have had that. And here - the twenty-eighth of the same month -
Innocents' Day - we have had that as well. So the next. ..' - he traced his finger down the page - 'here.'

'Yes?' pressed Colonel Foxe, as Mr Aubrey read the script. 'Tell me.
I
am aflame.'

'Candlemas,' said Mr Aubrey. 'So called by we Christians, but doubtless a holy day from very ancient times. February the second, Captain; that is your date.' He studied the map, then rolled it up and handed it across. 'Be at Old Sarum on Candlemas, Captain Foxe, and my presumption is that you will discover the murderer there, with evil purpose in his soul.' He paused, and bowed his head. 'Let us only pray, you do not discover him too late.'

'That there be good and evil times, days lucky and unlucky, many profane authors mention.'

John Aubrey,
Miscellanies Upon Various Subjects

T
he horses snorted and shook their heads, as though disturbed by the coming of the new day. Captain Foxe bent low in his saddle and whispered soothing words, then, patting his horse's neck, he stared east at the first cold beams of sunlight
as
they rose behind the distant hump of Clearbury Ring. The mist in the valley beneath was stained purple; and for
a
moment, all of Salisbury seemed blotted out, save only for the spire, which rose like the mast of a ship above spray. But then the mist began to fade from the valley; and even in the February cold, Captain Foxe could feel the sun against his face. He looked along the ramparts of Old Sarum, where he had stationed his men. He hoped they were ready. Candlemas had dawned.

He turned to Sergeant Everard. 'Take your first patrol now. Around the hill - but not too far.'

Sergeant Everard nodded, and spurred his horse down the rampart side and out across the ditch. Three men accompanied him. Captain Foxe watched them depart, then turned to Sir Henry who had been sitting silent beside him for the past hour. '
I
am going to inspect the other men. You should come with me.'

Sir Henry shook his head. 'You are the captain.
I
do not wish to intrude.'

'But it is you who has been threatened.
I
am reluctant to leave you alone.'

Sir Henry gestured towards a trooper who had been stationed along the rampart. '
I
will stay with him.' 'If that is what you would prefer.'

'
I
have faced danger before. You need not worry, John.
I
will be all right.'

'
I
do not believe you would have been so threatened yesterday, had it not been for a purpose.'

Sir Henry smiled. '
I
will be careful.'

Captain Foxe nodded curtly. Then he wheeled his horse and descended the rampart into the ancient town itself, where he was soon lost amidst yews and shapeless grassy mounds.

Robert sat huddled alone in the upstairs room. As he studied his book, he was careful to nestle it in the folds of his cloak, for he did not want to be discovered reading it. Not that his parents would have heard of Ovid, he thought - his father had merely given him the volume, in obedience to Mr York's will, along with the rest of the dead tutor's books. But Robert was worried, now that he was staying with the Vaughans, that Lady Vaughan might find him; for she understood Latin, and would know the kind of poems Ovid had written. She would be amused, no doubt; she might even mention it, as a joke, to his mother.

The very idea made Robert flush; and he was almost moved to hide the book away. But there was no sound of footsteps from outside; and after he had sat in silence for several minutes, he bent forward once again and returned to the book. Two months ago, even had he been able to obtain it, he would not have chosen to read the poem - not before Hannah's death. But since then everything had changed, and all that Robert had been taught - of the goodness of the world, of the vanquishing of sin - had come to seem more and more uncertain, for although he still turned to the scriptures for comfort amidst the terrors of life, he wondered whether this might not be from love of his parents rather than from any love of God. In Ovid, certainly, he found no comfort at all - just the opposite, indeed, for the poetry seemed nothing but a record of depravities and crimes, of a kind that Robert had never heard of before, but which he now suspected, following Hannah's death, to be the very stuff of life. Doomed passions, strange transformations, the hunger for infamy, and the terrors of love: all of these were drawn in Ovid's pages and seemed, to Robert's wondering mind, a glimmering portent of what it might mean to be alive and no longer a child. For mingled with his fear there was also guilty pleasure: he knew things now he had not formerly understood. He knew, for instance, what Hannah must have done to have grown her baby; and he knew why he liked to kiss Emily.

He stopped reading. For several minutes he gazed at nothing, then started suddenly, as though waking from a trance. He tried to remember what he had been thinking about and realised, with an embarrassed smile, that it had been Emily, and the feel of her lips against his own. At once, he snapped his book shut; then leapt to his feet and hurried downstairs. He knew she would be in the house. Since yesterday, when he and his mother had been brought to the Vaughans', no one had been allowed outside and, just to make certain, there was a militiaman at every door. Robert wondered again what his father had discovered, to insist on such precautions; but he did not doubt that they were justified. Suddenly, he thought of the danger not as a game, not as an excuse for him to stay with the Vaughans, but as something terribly imminent and real. He felt a brutal jolt of self-reproach. It might be Emily who was threatened; might be Emily who needed protection the most. And yet what had he been doing? Reading a book.

He found her in the passageway by the parlour door. She glanced round, her face screwed up with concentration, and motioned him to be quiet, then pressed her ear back to the door. 'And now there is silence,' she complained. 'Nothing to hear.'

'Is that my fault?' Robert asked.

'As everything is.'

He took her in his arms. She allowed him to kiss her, then pushed him away. 'Have you been reading that book again?' she asked. 'It needs no book, Emily.' 'Indeed?'

'It is not poetry which teaches me to love you, but Nature only.' 'We are learning fast from her, then, are we not?' 'So we must.'

'Why?'

'We shall not be children long. We must be married soon.' 'You have not even asked me yet, if
I
will be your wife.' '
I
do so now.'

Emily smiled. She allowed herself to be kissed a second time. 'And yet . . .' she murmured suddenly. Robert could feel her stiffen in his arms; she looked up at him, and he saw foreboding reflected in her eyes. 'What if we are never to be married?' she whispered.

'Why do you ask that?'

'Because of what
I
have heard.' She gestured back at the parlour door, then bent down close again. At length, she frowned and shook her head. 'Still nothing.'

'But what did you hear before?' Robert seized her arms and raised her to her feet. 'Tell me, Emily. What did you hear?'

'It was my mother,' she whispered, 'talking to yours. About the soldiers, about why we all must stay inside.'

'Well? You are being too mysterious. Tell me what you mean.'

Emily took his arm and began to lead him down the passageway. 'My father,' she whispered, settling on the stairs. 'He is in danger - he has been threatened by the foreigner at Wolverton Hall.'