Samhain

I have not had the opportunity of writing much over the last month, due to working extra shifts at the Castle. However, as Halloween or Samhaim approaches, here is a short seasonal story.

If you like it, you might also enjoy my collection of short ghost stories, "Tombstoning and other supernatural tales." From 6th November to 10th November inclusive it will be available as a free e-book on Kindle. Here is the link - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tombstoning-other-supernatural-J-Gilbert-ebook/dp/B01DYQHS06/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1460099461&sr=8-4&keywords=Tombstoning

In the meantime, here is the new short story.

Profession Allen re-read the account of the inquest yet again. He struggled to come to grips with the difference between “misadventure”, “accidental death” and the “open verdict”. He laid the newspaper back on his desk and concentrated once more on the website he had discovered, which explained the legal meaning of each term. It boiled down to misadventure being someone dying doing something legal in a dangerous way; accidental death being someone dying through no fault of their own and the open verdict being a catch all for all those times when the coroner or the jury could not decide exactly how death had occurred.

He shook his head. Milo’s death had certainly been weird, but he had expected the police to discover sufficient evidence to prove what exactly had happened. He wished now that he had stayed in court after the final witness had given his evidence, so that he could have heard the coroner announcing his verdict. Then he remembered that the coroner had reserved judgment and it had only been released a fortnight after the inquest.

Milo may have been one of the most obnoxious students that Professor Allen had ever had the misfortune to teach, but he still did not deserve to die that way. Well, maybe he did from a strange, warped and almost ritual angle, but the Professor would never admit that in public.

It had all begun the previous year when the university had been contacted by a local archaeological society near Lancaster, who had asked for some assistance excavating a multi-period site. What had started as a small dig on a Roman site, believed to be a farm, had evolved into a Saxon building and then to something Celtic, that required closer investigation. Their digging season was almost at an end, but they were planning on opening further trenches the following year.

Intrigued, the Professor had travelled to Lancashire to inspect the site himself and to discuss the findings to date and the future excavation plans with the local archaeologists. He had to admit that on the journey north, he had been sceptical that the site would prove as interesting as he had been told, but he needed somewhere where his students could gain some practical experience. In a way, a slightly disappointing site might be more useful, as it would prove to them that the vast majority of their future careers would involve shifting tons of earth, with little to show for it. He could confirm that from his own personal experience.

When he arrived at the field in question, he was met by the chairman of the archaeological society, Justin Foster and several members of the dig team. The trenches were clean and well excavated and all the finds had been logged and labelled carefully. The finds trays were brought out and he examined a selection of sherds of pottery, small value coins and as yet unidentified lumps of iron. At first glance, most appeared to be Roman.

“You said you thought there was a Celtic connection,” he commented.

“It’s at the far end of the field,” Justin replied. “I’ll show you.”

They walked down to the bottom of the slope, to a spot where a small sondage or test pit had been dug. It had rained during the morning and now the hole was filled with muddy water.

“Sorry, it doesn’t look much at the moment. It hasn’t been that easy to excavate, as the area is so damp. A spring rises here, so it’s wet even when it hasn’t rained.”

Justin pointed to another sludgy pool to one side and then looked rather embarrassed as he gazed down at the ground, as if he needed to apologise for something.

“What exactly have you found?” Professor Allen asked.

“There are some cut stones, which seem to mark the boundary of something and we uncovered this just before I contacted you. That’s the main reason why I thought we needed help.”

Justin lifted the finds tray that lay at the side of the hole and removed the cloth that covered it, to reveal a broken bronze sword. It had obviously been snapped deliberately.

Professor Allen drew a deep breath.

“Can I pick it up?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He turned each piece over in his hands, carefully examining the metal work and in particular the jagged edges.

“So you think it’s some kind of votive offering?”

“It’s certainly a valuable object that has deliberately been broken and then left in what we believe to be a liminal place. What do you think?”

The professor paused for a few moments, weighing up what he had been shown so far against what he had expected to see.

“Well, you definitely seem to have found something, but I’m not sure if I would classify it as being a shrine at this point. It needs more work.”

“Would your students be able to help us next year? The only time that the site is available is at the end of October, between harvesting one crop and planting the next. There is only so much we can do each season ourselves...” Justin did not finish the sentence, as he was reluctant to sound too desperate.

“I’ll need to discuss the idea with the rest of the department, but I’ll recommend that we bring some students and use it as a training dig. If you can let us know exactly what you have in mind, I’ll see what I can do.”

Professor Allen duly returned to the university and wrote a report on what he had seen, adding his initial findings. A few weeks later, an envelope arrived for him, containing the site report to date and the plans for the following year. He copied and distributed them as appropriate and duly obtained consent for his students to attend the dig as part of their course.

When he announced the project to them, he met with a mixed reception. Some students were genuinely interested and keen to work on a multi-period site. Others were dubious that an amateur archaeology group had unearthed anything of real interest.

Milo Naismith’s immediate reaction was disbelief that they were being sent somewhere that potentially would be wet, windy and probably would have few amenities suitable to student life. Or as he commented to one of his fellow students as they left the room:

“My mate’s doing archaeology at Sheffield and they’re off to a dig in Italy. How come we just get a poxy site in Lancashire? And Celts of all people! There not exactly the most interesting bunch.”

Unfortunately for Milo, he had not realised that the professor was standing behind him. Nothing was said, but the professor made a mental note and decided to knock a few marks off the next time Milo handed any work in.

His attitude did not improve over the intervening months, with his assignments often being handed in late. Even then, they were sloppily written, with little or no logic to the arguments he was putting forward. The professor hoped that Milo would drop out of the course, but he did just enough to stay. Rumour had it that his parents were footing all his tutoring fees and his bills and that they had told him in no uncertain terms that if he failed to graduate with a decent degree, they would cut off all his allowances and make him stand on his own two feet. To the professor’s mind, it was something that should have happened years ago.

As the starting date for the dig approached, the final arrangements were put in place. Accommodation for the students had been arranged at a local youth hostel, which was only ten minutes away from the farm. They could eat breakfast and dinner there and the farmer’s wife had volunteered to provide lunches. It seemed the height of luxury to the professor, when compared to the digs from his student years. They involved sleeping in tents, cooking on camp stoves and the occasional visit to the local pub, when funds permitted.

Milo however, complained about the digs and asked if there was a hotel nearby. There was, but the professor had made it crystal clear that he was there as part of a team and had to behave that way. Milo moaned and grumbled all through the journey on the minibus and it was no surprise later that no-one wanted to share a room with him. As a result he found himself in a pokey side bedroom at the back of the hostel, with a view from the window that looked over the dustbin compound.

The professor had drawn up a rota, to make sure that all the students had a chance to try everything: from digging, to sieving, then labelling and recording. On the day Milo was assigned to digging, the heavens opened repeatedly. He had been told to help by the spring and spent most of the day bailing out the now extremely enlarged hole, to uncover the cut stone and trace which way it ran. It proved to be a fruitless day. There was too much water and mud to clearly see what lay beneath the soil.

The following morning, however, a different student found another broken sword within a few inches of the spot where Milo had left off work the previous afternoon.

As the week wore on, it appeared that Milo was being dogged by bad luck. Pieces of equipment that he was using broke or went missing and then when he tried to save the results of an afternoon’s recording on the computer, it blew up. His moaning increased with each new incident. Gradually the other students and the members of the local archaeological society began to avoid him.

Then on the Tuesday of the second week of the dig, Milo failed to come down for breakfast. No-one paid much attention to his absence though. Someone had noticed that it was 31st October, so they were discussing superstitions and Celtic mythology as they breakfasted. Eventually they finished eating, got ready for their day’s work and set off.

Arriving at the field, they separated to do their allotted tasks. It was at that point that Milo made his presence known in a totally unexpected way.

Sally was due to work on the spring that day and began walking to the end of the field, carrying her tools and chatting to the amateur archaeologist who accompanied her. When they reached the boundary she screamed. Everyone on site rushed to see what was wrong and found her standing over Milo’s prone body. He lay face down, with his head in the pool of cold, muddy water. Someone dragged him clear and rolled him over, but it was obvious to all present that he had been dead for some time. The other thing that was all too clear to see was his trowel, which was protruding from his chest. Blood stained the front of his clothing and a red slick had spread out across the ground where he had so recently been laying.

Even though he was shocked, Professor Allen had the presence of mind to take control of the situation.

“Everyone get away from here and go back to the top of the field. I’ll call the police.”

The students and amateur archaeologists turned and began walking; glad to be moving away from the body. A couple stopped on the way, to be sick, never having seen a fresh dead corpse before. They were more accustomed to finding just bones.

After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only about twenty minutes, a police car and an ambulance appeared in the lane leading to the farm. Professor Allen strode over to meet them, rehearsing in his mind what he wanted to say. After some perfunctory introductions he explained how the body had been found and moved to lead the police officers to the spring.

“Could you wait here please, sir,” the constable began. “If this is a crime scene, we want as few people as possible to go near it so that we can preserve any evidence.”

“I’m sorry, but we all went down there before we realised what had happened. We’ve all walked over the site.”

The two police officers walked away, closely followed by the ambulance crew. They inspected the body and after a brief discussion, the paramedics returned, climbed into their ambulance and then drove off. This time they did not bother with their blue lights.

Professor Allen watched as one of the policemen spoke into his radio, but was too far away to hear what was being said. Then they walked towards him one more.

“A CID officer is on his way and he’ll take over when he arrives. In the meantime can we all go into the farmhouse and I’ll take everyone’s details. We’ll need statements in due course.”

Everyone trudged back to the house and the initial information gathering began. During the remainder of the day, full statements were given, the scenes of crimes officers arrived and began their investigations and several press crews descended, all looking for a story.

For the professor and the students, the whole experience was surreal. It was one thing to uncover a skeleton during the course of an excavation, but it was beyond their experience and imagination to discover one of their fellow archaeologists dead. Some of the students felt slightly guilty that they had shunned Milo over recent days, but none of them could genuinely say they were upset about his death.

“I thought I heard a noise from his bedroom just before midnight last night,” one told the detective inspector who arrived to head up the investigation, “but I didn’t pay that much attention to it. Maybe it was Milo going out. I don’t know exactly.”

Another reported seeing Milo coming out of the village store the previous afternoon, carrying a bottle of whisky and a packet of Bakewell tarts.

“He seemed addicted to them. Milo was always buying them, but he would never share them with anyone.”

“The same with the whisky,” commented another. “If you were buying a round, he’d have one, but he never put his hand in his own pocket.”

The police suspended the dig for two days, to enable all the necessary forensic tests to be carried out. By the time they declared the site could be opened again, the local archaeology society had lost heart and decided to call a halt for the year. They chose to write up their findings to date and begin organising a plan of action for the coming season.

Professor Allen and the students returned to the university in a sombre mood. Hardly a word was spoken on the way home and everyone headed for their digs when they arrived, instead of going to the pub as usual.

Over the following weeks, the police made contact on a few occasions, to clarify points and check details. They were cagey about how the investigation was progressing and the professor came to the conclusion that it was in fact going nowhere. From the questions he was asked and the comments the detective inspector made, it was clear that the only finger prints on the trowel had been Milo’s. The professor had seen the trowel for long enough after the body was turned over, to notice that the initials “MN” were painted in red on the handle. He had seen Milo using a trowel that fitted that description, so he had no doubt that it had belonged to him.

Other than that, he felt completely left in the dark.

Then the professor received a call saying that a coroner’s inquest was being arranged and that he and the students would receive notification of the date, time and venue shortly. A few days later, an envelope arrived for each of them, summoning them to attend to give evidence. Accordingly they found themselves once again in the minibus heading back towards Lancaster.

When they arrived at court, the whole procedure was explained to them and then they were lead into a waiting room, pending their names being called. As the professor had been in charge of his class, he was called first and answered all the questions as clearly and precisely as he could. He was followed by the students, the members of the archaeological society and then the farmer.

Then it was the turn of the forensic pathologist. Professor Allen had decided to remain in the courtroom after giving his evidence and leaned forward as the scientific evidence began.

Asked to list his findings, the pathologist initially said he had been unable to determine the exact cause of death. When he was prompted for an explanation, his first comment was that Milo’s blood alcohol level was elevated and that if he had been stopped whilst driving, he would have been three times over the drink driving limit. That was obviously the reason for the repeated questions from the police about Milo’s drinking habits and the mention of him buying the bottle of whisky. It had in fact, been found in his bedroom and was empty.

Secondly the pathologist turned to the trowel.

“It had entered into the body just below the sternum and penetrated at a slight angle, nicking the aorta. The deceased would have bled profusely, hence the staining on the clothing and the pool of blood under the body.”

“So did the deceased die from exsanguination?” the coroner asked.

“There is a further complication,” the pathologist commented. “There was water in the lungs, so it appears that he was breathing for some moments after he fell into the spring.”

“And what is your opinion about the injury caused by the trowel? Do you believe it was inflicted by someone else?”

“That is possible, but only the victim’s fingerprints were found on the handle. It is conceivable that someone wearing gloves stabbed Mr. Naismith with the trowel, but the alternative is that Mr. Naismith stumbled because he was intoxicated and as he fell he landed on his own trowel and unfortunately for him, his final resting place, so to speak, was the spring.”

“Are you saying that you cannot decide the exact cause of death?” the coroner asked.

“That is exactly what I mean.”

Then the police officers gave evidence that Milo had not been popular with his fellow students, but had been unable to find anyone who hated him. Certainly no-one seemed to have a motive to kill him. The reason why Milo had left the digs and gone to the spring that night had never been discovered, although there was a strange entry in the diary he kept on his laptop. It was enigmatic and simply said:

“They’re in for a surprise about this so-called Celtic site – I’ll make sure of it.”

So far the police had not been able to ascertain what, if anything, he actually intended to do.

At the end of a long day in court, the coroner looked at the clock, announced that he needed time to consider the evidence and would release his verdict in a few days’ time. Professor Allen did not have the heart to return to court again to hear it being read out and decided to wait for the press reports.

Now as he sat in front of his computer, reading the article in the local paper, his conscience pricked him. Should he have reported the other disparaging comments that Milo had made about the Celts? Did the coroner understand that a spring could be regarded as a liminal place, where this world and the underworld or spirit world are closely connected? Especially on 31st October or as the Celts knew it, Samhain, the day when the spirits can return to the earth? And the Celtic idea of the triple death, so often seen in bog bodies, where three methods of slaying the victim have been used at the same time?

On reflection, it was probably best that he had said nothing. The court would not have believed him and besides, even if they had, it still did not identify who had killed Milo. Unless, of course, you believe that some Celtic spirit had crossed that fragile boundary and returned to seek redress.