The Bog

by Talbot, Michael

  TEN

  The next day Melanie was somewhat better, but still complained of nausea, and confined her appetite to toast and clear broth. No longer able to just sit around and wait for whatever was going to happen next, David resolved to make the only move open to him. His only hope lay in finding Grenville’s Achilles’ heel, so it was imperative he find out everything there was to know about sorcery and demonology. If there was one human being on the face of the earth who had sifted through the mountain of literature on the subject and might offer him some insight on the matter, it was Burton-Russell.

  He called Grenville and with as untremulous a voice as possible asked for permission to make a routine trip to Oxford. After being assured that Melanie and the children would be staying behind, Grenville assented. Next, after giving Mrs. Comfrey strict orders to keep the children inside and to keep the windows closed, he went outside to the Volvo. In spite of the fact that he had been told that Julia did not come out during the daytime, he was taking no chances. After he got into the car he searched it from top to bottom for uninvited passengers. When he found none, he rolled all of the windows up and drove off, and it wasn’t until he was miles beyond the valley that he rolled them down again.

  He arrived at Oxford shortly after noon and made his way to All Souls College, where Burton-Russell had his office. David had not telephoned to say that he was coming. He had not wanted to take the chance of Grenville knowing his destination in advance. In spite of this, he had no serious worry that Burton-Russell would not be in. David knew enough about the old antiquities scholar to know that he would spend the better part of the morning and afternoon in his office in quiet study.

  David gazed up fondly at the distinguished old facade of All Souls College before he went inside and made his way to Burton-Russell’s office. He knocked on the door, and a croaky voice bade him to enter. Burton-Russell sat at his desk, surrounded by his usual avalanche of books, periodicals, photographic plates, and old manuscripts. In feature Dr. Aubrey Burton-Russell was a small man, with a narrow fringe of short white hair and pink-veined eyes. He had a reputation among his colleagues for being a bit dotty, and although he had a tendency to ramble and sometimes make points that only he himself understood, David knew that somewhere behind his foggy eyes there worked a formidable intellect.

  He looked up at David with pleasant surprise. “Mr. Macauley, how nice to see you. Come in, come in. How thoughtful of you to drop in.”

  After they had exchanged amenities David surreptitiously scanned the room for insects. On seeing no suspicious intruders he sat down.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” inquired the old don.

  David swallowed nervously and was about to answer when he noticed that Burton-Russell’s window was open a crack. “Do you mind if I shut that?” he said without explanation.

  Burton-Russell looked at him quizzically, but nodded.

  David crossed the room and shut the window. He paused briefly to look outside, and across the quad he saw the Roman dome of the Radcliffe Camera and its eighteenth-century Tower of the Winds. He found himself growing quite homesick for the safe spires and quiet greens of the ancient university.

  He turned and faced Burton-Russell uneasily. He knew he had to phrase his questions carefully, for given that he did not know the extent and range of Grenville’s powers, he could not take the chance of telling the old professor anything that might anger his captor.

  “Well, I do hope you don’t think me quite strange, but I was wondering if you might tell me everything that you know about sorcery.”

  Burton-Russell blinked once or twice, but quickly took the question in stride. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why you are interested in this subject?”

  David shifted his weight nervously. “It has something to do with a theory I’m working on, but for the moment, since my thoughts on the matter aren’t as structured as I would like them to be, I wonder if I could beg your indulgence and refrain from telling you until I’m more certain of my hypothesis?”

  Old Burton-Russell regarded him quietly, and for a moment the fogginess of his gaze seemed to lift as he assessed what David had just said.

  “Very well,” he said. “But you know you’ve aroused my curiosity enormously. No doubt this has something to do with the things you’ve been digging up out at that bog, and, of course, I’d like to know every detail. But for the moment I’ll respect your wishes. What would you like to know?”

  “Whatever you know,” David returned. “Most specifically I’d like to know about demonology, about the tradition of a sorcerer being able to tap great power by forming an allegiance with a demon.”

  “Hmmm,” Burton-Russell said as his eyes glazed over with a look that David knew meant he was going back through his voluminous mental archives. “That’s a very sketchy subject. The most complete information we have on it dates from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. During that time a number of historical figures acquired reputations of being magicians who had accomplished the conjuring up of demons, among them Albertus Magnus, Paracelsus, and Simon Magus.”

  “Do we know anything about their methods?” David asked.

  Burton-Russell stroked his chin. “Well, we don’t know much about the particular methods that these men employed, but in the British Museum and most particularly in the Bibliotheque de l’Arsenal in Paris, there are a number of manuscripts dating from this time that purport to tell one how it is done.”

  “Have you seen any of these manuscripts?”

  “Yes, I’ve read quite a few of them. I even have photographic facsimiles of several of them.” Burton-Russell stood, and despite the apparent chaos of the many books and papers in his office, he went directly to an incredibly cluttered wall of books and pulled two volumes out. He handed them to David, who accepted them greedily.

  “They’re called grimoires,” he said, “which I believe is from the French word for grammar books.” He pointed at one of the volumes in David’s hands. “That one is called the Grimoire of Honorius because tradition alleges that it was written by a thirteenth-century pontiff, one Pope Honorius the Third.”

  “And how do they say to conjure up a demon?”

  “Oh, the usual twiddle-twaddle. You draw a magic circle on the floor. You say a lot of funny words.”

  “Do the methods work?”

  Burton-Russell looked suddenly startled. “Why, my dear boy, you’re taking all of this rather seriously, aren’t you?”

  David blushed. “I’m sorry for asking such a silly question. I just thought... well, there are so many legends about the matter, one wonders if there can’t be some small amount of truth to them.”

  Burton-Russell looked as if he were going to make some further quip when, on seeing the gravity of David’s expression, seemed to decide against it. “Well who can say? Perhaps there is at that.”

  David opened up one of the books, glancing briefly at the cryptic symbols it contained. “I don’t suppose you’ve tried any of these incantations?”

  Burton-Russell smiled. “I confess that in my madder moments I’ve been tempted, but it is not as easy as it looks.” He pointed at the second book David was holding. “That one is called The Sacred Magic of Abra-Melin the Mage, and alleges to have been written by a fifteenth-century adventurer who refers to himself only as Abraham the Jew. The ritual it describes for conjuring up a demon takes a full six months to execute and during that time requires that the participant abstain completely from all human company and, among other things, consecrates an entire building to be used solely for the purpose of the magical operation.”

  David’s face fell.

  “So you see, contrary to popular belief, the darker art is not something that one can dabble in on a random Saturday afternoon, but requires a prodigious amount of time, preparation, and dedication.”

  David considered the matter for a moment. “You said that the most complete information we have about sorcery and demonology dates from the Middle Ages
and the Renaissance. How far back does the tradition of magicians conjuring up demons go?”

  Burton-Russell’s eyes grew misty. “Oh, very far, to the very birth of civilization itself. In the sand-buried cuneiform tablets of Sumeria and Babylonia are mentioned the first dark summonings of evil power, the first worries of ferocious spirits of the night, of demons that wandered the marshlands in search of hapless victims.”

  “The marshlands?” David said, perking up. “Why the marshlands?”

  “Well, as you know, civilization in the Mesopotamian basin centered around the Tigris and the Euphrates, and although these areas are surrounded on all sides by great deserts, during the time that we are speaking of the land immediately bordering these two great rivers was a network of vast marshlands and tropical lagoons. I suppose the cultures of the Mesopotamian basin chose these areas as the point of origin for such creatures because the swamplands were often so treacherous and inaccessible, and it has always seemed to be a part of human nature to populate the unknown with devils.” Burton-Russell stood up, his eyes scanning the bookshelves for another book, but continued speaking as he did so. “In the ancient tongues of the Near East the word worm referred to any creature that inhabited a wet or muddy area, and hence they often referred to these creatures as ‘Great Worms.’” He found the volume he was looking for and plucked it from the shelf, and David noticed that it was a copy of Sir E. A. Wallis Budge’s Babylonian Life and History. He thumbed through it quickly. “Ah, here’s a passage that mentions them, for example.” He read: “‘After Anu had created the Heavens, the Heavens created the Earth, the Earth created the Rivers, the Rivers created the Marshes, and the Marshes created the Worm... Came the Worm and wept before Shamash, before Ea came her tears, and she said: “What wilt thou give me for my food? What wilt thou give me for my drink?...” And Ea said: “I will give thee dry bones and scented wood.” And the Worm said: “What are these dried bones to me? Let me drink of thy children’s blood, and eat of thy children’s flesh, or I will set thy teeth to tingle, and thy gums to ache.” ’” Burton-Russell looked up from the book. “In the Bible the authors of the Old Testament corrupted the term and took to calling the Worm the Great Serpent, or Leviathan.”

  The words hit David like a bolt of lightning. He recalled Grenville saying that the bog came closest to what he might call Julia’s natural habitat, and he realized now just how ancient a creature she actually was.

  “And in the presence of these creatures one felt one’s teeth tingle and one’s jaw ache?”

  Burton-Russell blinked several times as he looked back down at the book. “I suppose that could be one interpretation.”

  “And is there any mention in the old Babylonian texts of magicians bringing such creatures under control and harnessing their power?”

  “There are vague allusions to it, but the first real mention of this sort of thing comes a little later in history. According to legend, it is said that in addition to being a wise and just leader, Solomon was also a powerful magician, and was learned in the ways of sorcery. According to Talmudic legend his mastery over demons was so great, in particular over a demon known as Ashmedai, that it was these dark creatures, at Solomon’s command, who actually built the Temple of Solomon.”

  “Is it recorded how Solomon was able to effect such control?”

  “Only that it was through an incantation, a pact of sorts, that Solomon had inscribed on a gem.”

  “Is there anything to suggest that these were the same creatures that were first written about in Babylonian texts?”

  Again Burton-Russell looked startled. “My dear boy, you speak as if you think these things are real, as if demons are really only some hitherto-undiscovered life form that has been mentioned here and there in different legends.”

  “Oh, no,” David stammered quickly, “I don’t mean to suggest that. What I meant to ask is, are there any similarities of tradition, any motifs in the legends that seem cross-cultural?”

  “Well, there is one, I suppose,” Burton-Russell replied.

  “What is that?”

  “In the Psalms it is mentioned that the Canaanites, like the Babylonians before them, were forced to sacrifice the blood of their sons and daughters to these ‘devils’ in order to appease them.”

  David considered the information carefully. “I have one other question,” he said.

  The elder don looked at him expectantly.

  From his pocket he withdrew a slip of paper on which he had written the unknown language with which Grenville had addressed Julia. He handed the paper to the older man. “Do you have any idea what language this is?”

  Burton-Russell scrutinized the snippet carefully. “Ip bur ib du ni,” he read quietly. “Isn’t that interesting? It definitely has a very ancient ring to it, but I just can’t place it. It’s reminiscent of Ugaritic, and even smacks a little of a very ancient form of Hebrew, but it’s neither one, really.” He stroked his chin contemplatively as he continued to gaze at the paper. “You know, I’ve seen this tongue before, I just can’t place where.”

  He looked at his watch. “Oh, dear me. I’m late for my lecture.”

  David felt a pang. “Are you sure you can’t place where you’ve seen it?”

  “Well, if you’d be willing to wait for me, I’ll only be gone an hour. And I’m sure if I think about it for just a little bit, I’ll be able to recall where I’ve seen it.”

  Reluctantly, David agreed to wait.

  After Burton-Russell left, he occupied himself by poring over the books on demonology that the elder don had given him, but to his chagrin they were awash in such mystic jargon that he could glean very little useful information from them.

  As it turned out, Burton-Russell was gone longer than an hour. Indeed, he was gone longer than two, and when the third hour started to creep by, David realized to his dismay that if he did not leave soon, it would be dark before he got back home. He was just about to leave when Burton-Russell burst excitedly into the room carrying a large stack of periodicals.

  “I think I’ve narrowed it down,” he said. “I’m certain we’ll find the answer to what language it is in one of these magazines.”

  “What makes you so sure?” David asked.

  “Because I remembered that wherever it was that I saw it, it was in an article that I read sometime last spring, and so these are the only possibilities. Here, help me look,” he said, handing half of the stack to David.

  David sighed as he began the search.

  It was some time later that Burton-Russell became suddenly excited. “I’ve got it!” he said. “It’s from Ebla!” He looked at David. “Do you know about Ebla?”

  David frowned. He knew only that it was an excavation site in the Middle East. “A little,” he said. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, Ebla was once a mighty empire, as mighty certainly as Babylonia or Sumeria, but for some reason, after it was sacked in the third millennium b.c. it was totally lost and forgotten. It wasn’t until 1964 that a team of Italian archaeologists excavating in northwestern Syria came upon its ruins as well as one of its temple archives with over twenty thousand clay tablets still intact.”

  Burton-Russell lifted up the paper and perused it with interest. “What is so amazing is that it could be so utterly forgotten, but in the temple archives they found the records of a vast commercial and cultural empire written in a hitherto-unknown Semitic dialect.” Burton-Russell pointed at the scrap of paper on his desk. “Those sentences, my dear boy, are written in that dialect. They are phonetic renditions of phrases in ancient Eblaite.” David was electrified. “Can you tell me what they say?”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot. You see, Eblaite seems to have both Semitic and Assyrian roots. It appears to be a protolanguage to both. The problem is that both Jewish and Arab scholars have tried to claim Ebla as evidence that the land is properly part of their heritage, and as a consequence the Syrian government has become so angry that it has put a halt to further work on the decipherin
g of the tablets.”

  “How old did you say the Eblaite civilization was?”

  “It’s been lost and buried for over forty-five hundred years.”

  David stood gazing off into space as he recalled Grenville saying that the language he was speaking with Julia would be totally unknown to David. The question that now dominated David’s mind was. How was it that Grenville happened to be speaking ancient Eblaite? Was it possible that he was actually far older than he claimed to be? Was he really not from Avebury, but somehow a survivor of the long-lost civilization? As David considered the matter he realized that the evidence indicated that this was the case—Grenville’s unusually dark complexion, his hesitancy in telling David his birthplace, his fluency in ancient Near Eastern languages, all suggested that he was really over twice as old as he confessed to being. But why had he lied? Why was he so afraid of David learning about his true origins?

  “Are you all right?” Burton-Russell asked.

  “Yes, quite all right.” David looked at the older man. “Has any of the Eblaite language been translated?” Burton-Russell nodded. “Yes, a few words.” He handed David the periodical he was holding. “You’ll find most of them in this article.”

  “May I borrow this?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  David looked out the window and saw that it was getting dark. Melanie would be in a panic if he did not get back soon.

  “You know, it’s strange,” Burton-Russell said with a trace of amusement.

  “What’s strange?”

  “The civilization of Ebla and its entire written language have been lost and buried for over forty-five hundred years, and yet somehow one of its words managed to survive and find its way into our own language. We’ve used it for centuries, embraced it as if it were one of our own words, without ever realizing that it was really an artifact, the solitary survivor of a long-dead civilization.”

  “You’re kidding,” David said. “What word is that?”