The Druids seemed to be like Waldo in the Where’s Waldo children’s books, she mused, popping up in both her research and in Cam’s. Sometimes that happened in research, she knew. And it was important not to suffer from something called apophenia, the proclivity to attach meanings to or see patterns in random events or occurrences—sometimes the decorations on a cookie were just that, decorations, and held no secret message. But her instincts told her the Druids were important to understanding Baphomet. Curious, she entered the words Druid and Baphomet in a Google search. Thirty minutes and a full sheet of legal paper later, she had a list of additional connections between the two.
First, the Druids worshiped the pentagram, or five-sided star, as a sign of the godhead; Baphomet, likewise, was usually portrayed with a pentagram on his forehead, or even as a pentagram himself.
Baphomet Depiction
Second, she learned that John the Baptist’s executioner was a man named Mug Ruith, an Irish Druid who had somehow found his way to Jerusalem to study with the magician and New Testament figure, Simon Magus. Here she had paused, that quiet but insistent little voice inside her head calling to her: Hadn’t she read once that some scholars believed the Baphomet skull to be the head of John the Baptist, the word Baphomet being a derivation of ‘Baptism’? Had the Druid executioner Mug Ruith somehow absconded with John the Baptist’s skull and brought it back to Europe, where the Templars eventually gained custody of it? It was an intriguing, and potentially explosive, possibility.
Third, she found further support for the conclusion Cam had reached, based on his trip to Washington, that Freemasonry and the ancient Druids were closely related. In a magazine entitled PS Review of Freemasonry, she read, “There is a school of Masonic research holding that Freemasonry is descended from the Druids and other truly ancient Celtic priesthoods of the sun.” This sun worship tied things back again to John the Baptist—and by extension to Baphomet: John the Baptist’s birthday was celebrated on the summer solstice, the sunniest day of the year.
So what did it all mean? Nothing, yet. But the connections between the Druids and Baphomet reinforced her original theory that the skull the Templars worshiped was part of an ancient pagan Cult of the Head veneration.
As was so often the case with the Templars, it raised an intriguing and troubling question: Why had the so-called Army of the Church engaged in pagan head-worshiping rituals? That the head might have belonged to John the Baptist would explain some of it. But the veneration of Baphomet seemed to go beyond that.
Based on the number of Templars tortured and killed by the Church, their Baphomet worship clearly had hit a nerve at the Vatican. The Church would not move to wipe out an entire army simply because of some overzealous relic worship. Amanda sensed there was something else here, something more fundamental and more incendiary that the Church was trying to keep hidden.
After seven hundred years, the truth might never come to light.
Cam’s phone rang as he navigated his SUV through late morning traffic on his way to a Wednesday real estate closing. He had asked an old law school classmate who now worked at the state Department of Environmental Management to snoop around the feds and see what he could learn about the Groton property. “Hey Mitchell,” Cam said. “What did you learn?”
“As a kid I learned never to accept candy from strangers, and this week I learned the same applies to real estate. And I learned you’re in deep shit.”
Cam swallowed. Mitchell was his friend, but there was often a competitive tension between lawyers. Cam’s predicament put Mitchell above him in some judicial pecking order. “Yeah, I got that part already. Can you fill in some details for me?”
“This spill came in as an anonymous tip.”
“When?” “Last November. Some guy called in and said he noticed a blue liquid pooling up on the property.”
“How bad is the contamination?”
“Actually, not terrible. It doesn’t seem to have made it into the groundwater yet. And the nearby stream is clean.”
“So can I get out of this cheap?”
Mitchell snorted. “If by cheap you mean millions rather than tens of millions, yeah. It’s not the cleanup itself that’s so expensive—though it can be, of course. It’s the monitoring and testing and administrative work and legal fees that burn through the cash.”
That was good news, at least. Nobody was getting cancer from this. Yet.
“I gotta say, Cam, someone must really be out to get you. This is brilliant, in an evil genius sort of way. But you should never have cut that lock. You know, offer and acceptance and all that first year contracts stuff.”
“Yes, Mitchell, I get that.” Cam took a deep breath. “Let me guess, One Wing Industries is judgment proof.” It was a term that meant a defendant, even if found legally responsible, possessed no assets to pay any judgment against it.
“Pretty much. They’re a wholly-owned sub of some larger corporation. Looks like it was created just to purchase Middlesex Semiconductor. Only asset is the land.”
“What about the machinery?”
“They claim they scrapped it.”
Of course they claimed that. And the EPA was not going to chase machinery across the Atlantic. “Does EPA think One Wing knew about this when they bought the business?” Normally a buyer would examine a property for contamination before the closing, to avoid potential liability.
“No. It doesn’t look like they did much due diligence. They didn’t care about the factory itself; they were planning to strip it and shut it down anyway. They just wanted to eliminate their competition.”
“And the widow?” Cam asked.
“She netted almost a million for the property but the rest of the money, for the sale of the business, went to other stockholders. And most of her money’s gone—she owed a chunk for taxes and the rest went to a nursing home.”
“So I’m the only fish on the hook.”
“Afraid so.”
“Any chance they’re going to reel me in, hold me up for some pictures and then throw me back?”
Mitchell snorted again. “Doubtful. I think they plan to skin and fry you—butter, garlic, and lemon. The EPA has been spending a ton of money the past few years and not recovering much. These guys know they might be out of a job if they don’t start generating some income.” He paused. “I don’t need to tell you, Cam, don’t bother trying to hide any assets. That’ll just piss them off. And it opens you up to criminal prosecution for fraud. You don’t want to go there.”
“What about the fact that I’m sort of innocent in all this? You know, the whole idea of fairness?”
Mitchell guffawed. “Come on, Cam. We’re talking about a bunch of lawyers here. Who gives a shit about innocence and fairness?”
Chapter 5
Amanda sang along to a classic rock-and-roll station while Cam drove south on Route 495, the rush hour traffic heavy but still flowing on a cool, bright Thursday morning. Through some connections Cam had tracked down a local woman to give them a tour of the Gungywamp property in Connecticut and, after grabbing sweatshirts and putting Astarte on the school bus, they jumped into the SUV for a day trip.
Amanda had bookmarked some sites on her phone. After an hour of rehashing their financial predicament, she changed the subject. “Enough of that. Time to talk about Gungywamp. As you said, the name is Gaelic for ‘Church of the People.’ It’s a bit like America’s Stonehenge, with mysterious stone chambers, rock walls, and other stone features that seem ancient.”
“Do the chambers contain alignments?”
“One alignment marks the equinoxes.”
Cam nodded. Some chambers marked the summer or winter solstice, others the equinoxes. “The issue, of course, is that the site could have been built by Native Americans, like Astarte said. Or the Colonists.”
Amanda waved the comment away. “I think that possibility is a distant third. I found a letter dated 1654 from a fur trader describing stone walls and chambers there—that was before the
area was colonized.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I agree, 1654 is early.”
She continued. “Plus, your Colonists had calendars; they didn’t need chambers to mark astronomical events. And most of these chambers have no utilitarian use. I don’t think life was so easy in Colonial times that farmers had free time to build play forts for their kids.”
Based on what Amanda had seen, the chambers in New England resembled ones in the British Isles. But she understood that resemblance was not enough—in the end the question would be decided by hard evidence. She said, “Another reason some researchers believe ancient Europeans built the site is because a Chi-Rho symbol is carved on one of the stones.”
Cam turned. “A Chi-Rho, as in the Christian symbol?”
“Yes.” Amanda found a website and read aloud: “The Chi-Rho symbol combines the Greek letters Chi, which is written like an X, and Rho, which is written like a P. These letters make the first two sounds in the word Christos, or Christ.” She turned her phone. “Here’s what it looks like; this is on a church in Europe.”
Chi-Rho Symbol
“Well,” Cam said, “that would eliminate the Colonists and Native Americans. When was the Chi-Rho in use?”
After a few minutes of surfing, she smiled. “You’re going to like this. One of the most famous examples of the Chi-Rho is in something called The Book of Kells, an illustrated Gospel book. It contains the most lavish and largest Chi-Rho symbol of the period.” She paused for effect. “The Book of Kells dates back to sixth century Ireland. Same period as your man Brendan the Navigator.”
Cam’s head jerked. “You’re kidding. That’d be amazing to tie this site back to the Brendan voyage.”
She squeezed his thigh, happy to see him animated and excited. “From what I’m reading, the Chi-Rho at Gungywamp has faded, but you can still make it out.” She pointed. “There’s your exit.”
Ten minutes later they pulled down a narrow paved drive not far from the New London Naval Base. A woman in her late twenties wearing sunglasses and a windbreaker marched over to greet them, shaking both their hands with a firm grip. “I’m Shannon Jilligan,” she announced. “You’ll need comfortable shoes. And tuck your pants into your socks to keep the ticks off of you. Then you can follow me.”
Amanda guessed this Jilligan woman, based on her clipped speech, short hairstyle, and upright posture, was in the service, probably at the nearby naval base.
Shannon led them along a path through the woods at a brisk pace, explaining that this property was an old YMCA camp that had been donated to the state. “How did you get interested in this site?” Cam asked.
“I grew up in Putnam County, New York, just across the border from Connecticut about an hour north of the City.” She spoke matter-of-factly, chin up and voice steady. She had one of those healthy, wholesome faces that didn’t need makeup. “We had stone chambers in the woods that everyone said were built by the Colonists as root cellars. A few years ago I went to Ireland, where my family is from, and I saw dozens of similar chambers. I was stationed here at New London at the time, and when I heard about this site I came out here to take a look around.”
“And?” Cam asked.
She looked sideways at him. “And nothing.” She shrugged. “You asked how I got interested.”
Cam tried again. “I meant, do you think these chambers around New England are related to the ones in Ireland?”
She walked in silence for a few seconds, swinging a walking stick she had picked up along the trail. “I don’t think I’m qualified to make that determination. One of the reasons I agreed to show you around is I heard you—both of you—are good researchers. I’d like to hear what you think after showing you the site.”
Amanda asked her about the Chi-Rho symbol.
“I can show you that,” Shannon said. “In fact, it’s just ahead.”
She stopped alongside a boulder the size of a refrigerator. “This used to be part of a chamber.” She gestured to the other rocks that had collapsed around it. “Researchers have identified as many as seven Chi-Rho symbols carved in these ruins.”
Cam and Amanda peered closer. Amanda could barely make out a brown-colored P with a diagonal line slashing across from southeast to northwest.
Shannon handed them a piece of paper. “Here’s a photo of a rubbing. I’m afraid the carving has faded.”
Gungywamp Chi-Rho Rubbing
Amanda and Cam studied the rubbing. Amanda knew how difficult it was to work with centuries-old carvings. Over time, they faded—simple as that. “It looks like one of the X lines of the Chi is missing,” Cam said. “The upper right stem.”
“Not missing. They just incorporated it into the vertical line of the Rho, or the P,” Amanda replied.
“Makes sense. You’re carving into stone, which is never easy, so you might abbreviate a bit.”
“That’s one of the things that always bothered me,” Shannon said. “Would they really modify a religious symbol like that?”
“Actually, it happened all the time,” Amanda said. “I was looking at Chi-Rho symbols on our drive down today and I found seven or eight different versions. Different groups make minor modifications and, over the years, those modifications became magnified. I think it would be more surprising if a Chi-Rho symbol in Constantinople was identical to one in Ireland, over a thousand miles away.” Amanda continued. “Think about all the different versions of the cross—in addition to the traditional Latin cross, there’s a Celtic cross with a ring around it, the Templar’s splayed cross, the Cross of Lorraine, the three-barred cross, the Sinclair scalloped cross, and probably a dozen others. But they all signify the same thing.”
Shannon nodded, seemingly satisfied. She led them along, stopping to inspect a few structures that were clearly Colonial, before coming upon a stone chamber.
Cam grinned as Amanda snapped a shot. “A little sister to our girl in Groton,” he said.
Gungywamp Chamber
They ducked into the chamber and Shannon pointed out a square hole high on the back wall. “On the equinoxes, the sun shines through that opening and illuminates a white quartz stone by the entryway.”
Shannon continued. “There’s also a winter solstice illumination.” She stood in the doorway of the chamber, facing out, and pointed diagonally off to her right. “On December 21 the sun comes up in the southeastern sky and illuminates the same white quartz stone.” She pointed with her left hand to a low spot just inside the chamber entryway.
Amanda and Cam exchanged a glance; the second alignment made it even more likely the chamber was built by some pagan, sun-worshiping culture. “We didn’t know about the winter solstice alignment,” Cam said.
Shannon nodded. “Most people don’t. There’s an excellent researcher from Yale who documents all this stuff, but most of the locals still insist Gungywamp is Colonial.”
“Wait,” Amanda said, “there’s a professor from Yale researching this? I thought it was taboo in academia to study pre-Columbian contact.”
“He got his masters degree from Yale in archeology, but he’s not a professor there,” Shannon replied. “Anyway, like I said, most of the people down here don’t listen to him because they’re convinced this is all Colonial.”
Cam shook his head. “Yeah, can’t be having smart people with master’s degrees from Yale weighing in on this stuff.”
They spent twenty minutes examining the chamber, Amanda again struck by the similarities between it and its British Isles counterparts, before Shannon led them up a slight rise to a flattened area marked by a circular formation of flat-lying stones. “We think this is an old mill of some type,” Shannon said. “In Colonial times it was probably used to tan sheepskin to make vellum. There was probably a middle post sticking up from the ground, and some kind of farm animal would walk in a circle outside the ring to power the operation.”
Gungywamp Stone Circle
As Cam and Amanda inspected the stones, Shannon said in a firm voice: “But it could
be older than that.”
Cam stood straight and eyed her, his lawyer’s training tuned-in to the change in her tone. “What makes you say that?”
“A researcher named Whittall carbon-dated some charcoal from inside the mill back in the nineties.” She paused. “The date came back around 550 AD. He thought the site was originally some kind of sacrificial alter.”
A jolt of energy surged up Amanda’s spine. She eyed Cam; he swallowed, his face pale and frozen.
“Are you sure of that date?” he breathed. The date was contemporaneous with Brendan the Navigator’s voyage to America. And the Druids often sacrificed animals and sometimes even humans to their gods.
Shannon nodded, holding his glance. She sensed the importance of the find. “Yes, certain.”
Researcher Jim Whittall had died in the late 1990s, but both Amanda and Cam knew of his work; he was as thorough and well-respected as any researcher of his era.
After a few seconds, Amanda filled the silence. “If it was charcoal, couldn’t it have been Native American?”
Shannon shook her head. “That’s the strange thing. The Pequot believe this land is haunted. I’ve spoken to a few of the tribal elders and they say there is no way their ancestors would come near this land, never mind stopp to make a fire.” Shannon took a deep breath. “You may sense my hesitancy,” she said. “Most of the people around here who study this site think it’s either Colonial or Native American. The rest of us keep our mouths closed.” She glanced back and forth between Cam and Amanda, holding their eyes. “But I can’t get that 550 AD date out of my head. If it wasn’t the Pequot, and obviously couldn’t have been the Colonists, who else could it be?”
The Isaac Question: Templars and the Secret of the Old Testament (Templars in America Series Book 5) Page 13
