Death of an Adept

The late morning sky wore a steely shade of blue as Davies drove them south along the wintry wildness of the Conwy Valley, wittering away about Welsh fishing, with the hoary crags of the Cambrian mountains barricading the sky to the west. Leaving his companions to their piscatorial discussion, McLeod gave his full attention to the file in his lap.

There wasn't much to it: besides the booking forms and a computer-generated rap sheet, just a sparse handwritten account of the disturbance which had led to Evans' arrest two years before. He had later been released, the charges dropped.

The facts surrounding the case, however, were sufficient to pique McLeod's interest, for the police photograph was a close match to Peregrine's sketches. To begin with, the incident had taken place at an ancient ring of standing stones known as Druids' Circle, located a few miles to the west of Conwy itself. A local group of latter-day Druids had obtained permission to hold an assembly there in honor of the summer solstice - not a New Age festival cum rock concert such as periodically marred similar gatherings at Stonehenge, but a solemn and dignified attempt to re-create aspects of ancient Druidic practice, in conjunction with a traditional bardic eisteddfod.

The celebration had been proceeding harmoniously until Griffith Evans intruded on the scene. His scathing denunciation of the group and their practices had provoked a confrontation that might have ended in a brawl had the police not stepped in - a new wrinkle on an old theme, for the disruption of non-mainstream religious gatherings usually sprang from the self-righteous objections of those outside such traditions. Evans' objections came from within.

"I gather that this Evans presented himself as some kind of arch-Druid in his own right," McLeod remarked, continuing to skim the report. "Claimed he was empowered to make judgements on the validity of what was being done. According to this, he didn't take exception to what your local folk were doing because they were pagans, but because they weren't pagan enough!"

"Aye, queer, isn't it?" Davies returned with a wry grimace. "But you get nutters at both ends of the spectrum. Still, the incident was unusual enough to stick in my mind - and Evans is a distinctive-looking old bird. Then, when your fax came through, and I saw the artist's sketch…"

"I really do appreciate your passing on the word," McLeod said. "Do you know if Evans had any followers?"

"None that we were able to trace," Davies replied, turning off onto a B-road. "Frankly, I'm inclined to believe he was acting entirely on his own. But that didn't stop him from trying to demonstrate his authority."

"By wringing the necks off a pair of pigeons as a blood sacrifice to the old gods?"

Davies gave a shrug. "Don't ask me to explain; I just report as I find. The fracas broke out when some of the members of the other group tried to stop him. At that point, it seemed a good idea to take Mr. Evans into custody, for the benefit of all concerned." Davies shook his head. "I've seen fundamentalist Christians and Jews, and fundamentalist Muslims and Hindus, but the one thing I don't think I ever expected to see was a fundamentalist Druid!"

"Fanatics come in all varieties, I suppose," McLeod said neutrally.

"Was this the only incident of its kind that Evans was involved in?" Harry asked from the back seat.

"This and that Stonehenge arrest that's listed on the rap sheet," Davies returned, "and to the best of our knowledge, he hasn't caused any trouble since. Since I wasn't sure this is the man you're after, I only ran him through our local records; but what he might have been getting up to outside our jurisdiction is something else again."

After another mile or two they slowed almost to a halt before an un-signposted break in the trees that flanked the west side of the road. Shifting into four-wheel drive, Davies swung the Land Rover ponderously off the tarmac onto what proved to be a snow-covered, tree-flanked track scarcely wider than the vehicle, showing no sign of recent passage save for deer and rabbit spoor.

A silence born of more than snow seemed to muffle the vehicle as they penetrated deeper into the wood. Harry released his seat harness and leaned forward to peer between the two front seats as the rutted trail plunged them along an overgrown obstacle course of thickets and boulders, with here and there a haphazard bridge of planks laid down across a shallow gully. The temperature seemed to drop, even though Davies had not touched the thermostat control on the vehicle's heater.

"Watch the deer!" Harry warned, bracing himself as Davies braked hard for a five-point stag that suddenly bolted across their path and bounded from sight among the trees. "Wow, what a beauty! But I see what you mean about this Evans character not wanting anything much to do with the rest of the world."

"Aye, how'd you like to be the postman in charge of delivering his mail?" Davies quipped.