Page 10 of The Shooting Season

“What exactly do you expect me to do? I said, exasperated. I did not like that Euan thought me so easy to manipulate. But, gathering my thoughts I reminded myself I was no longer a boy. This tryst was a slip-up, one hour of pleasure. Never again would I put my heart on display as I had done with Euan in my youth. He could never be my be-all-and-end-all. There was life after Euan Ardmillan, and I had made a good, albeit solitary life for myself. I did not need to beg for his attention or do anything I did not want to do. If I was lured here under false pretenses I would turn it to my advantage.

“I found notebooks and scrolls among my father’s papers.” Euan enthused. “It says in the scrolls he had translated by a Greek scholar, The Staff of Asklepios wishes to be held by one who knows the subject's heart. There is a ritual… an incantation…to bring the magical powers into the object while it penetrates the subject.”

I’d longed to own the Staff since Euan had first shown it to me when we snuck into his father’s study all those years ago. After years of research, I had not found out how to use it properly. Clearly, this was because Lord Ardmillan obtained the sacred scrolls of instruction with the Staff.

“This all sounds rather heathen and ungodly, don’t you think?” I said, feigning displeasure. I could not let Euan know how much the thought of such a sex ritual intrigued and excited me.

“Please Ben. Consider it. I can make it worth your while.” Euan pleaded. It was clear to me then that his inability to become aroused had made him desperate…and in business I had learned that desperate men are pliable.

“How can you make it worth my while?” I queried. I was a man of trade after all and I had come to Dunecht Hall to do business.

“If you do this for me—if you use the Staff to restore my virility, it’s yours… the Staff, I mean.” Euan smirked at the accidental innuendo.

“If this ancient ritual works and I can regain my stand I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

“So, are you saying that you would not auction the Staff?”

“I would not. It will be my gift to you… it is Christmas for Englishmen, after all!”

My thoughts tunneled. Euan was one of the few men who knew I was secretly fixated with ancient depictions of the phallus—the symbol of male virility, strength, and power. No matter what new civilization adventurers discovered, archeologists always found depictions of the phallus in wall art, stone carvings, wood, and metalwork. I was intrigued that in some cultures the phallus was worshipped and representations of it were accompanied by stories of magical powers and the health benefits of consuming life-creating seed.

My personal collection of phallic statues was housed in a secret room in my London townhouse. I could not very-well have them on display, not only because of their obscene nature and rarity but because I am sure my housekeeper Mrs. Twigg would have an attack of the vapors should she ever find the secreted door that led to my collection room. I owned exhibits from ancient Scandinavia, Egypt, Assyria, India, and the Orient. My collection would be incomplete without this Greek Staff and, with its rarity and supposed powers, there was nothing that could match it for the use I wanted to put it to. It seemed that when it came to using the Staff, Euan and I were on the same page.

My mind was set and I had nary a thought about the unchristian nature of what I was about to do. I would do whatever I needed to do to possess the Staff and recant later. Gods, I’d live in the confessional box and say a thousand prayers if it would admonish me of the sin I was about to commit to own the Staff of Asklepios.

“If you will formally sign ownership of the Staff over to me and let me study the scrolls of instruction, I will carry out the ritual for you,” I confirmed. Euan’s countenance brightened.

“Excellent, excellent.” He said clapping with glee like a child. “Tomorrow night. Yes? The other guests depart at midday, after the auction. You will stay on as my guest for another day and I will arrange everything.”

The Marauder

After Euan left my chamber I lay in my bed, far too awake and alert at this late hour. My whole body was humming with satisfaction from attaining completion at the hands of my lover. And on waking from sleep I knew the wave of shame would come next. I needed to atone for my slip-up, attend confession, and repent for my sin.

I listened to the fierce gale buffet the old stone house and violently rattle the shutters on my window. My thoughts focused on the ritual that Euan spoke of—using the Staff of Asklepios to attempt to heal him of his lost virility. I worried that we might conjure unholy forces that neither of us could deal with. What if we summoned a Greek God from tales of old? What if we doomed our immortal souls by partaking in such a ritual? Had my need for the Staff led to me making a dreadful decision?

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of a loud bang in the hall outside my room. The sound was followed by a pained whisper of “Damn it”. I remained silent and still in my bed but my hearing became distinctly attuned to the sounds in the hall, and whoever was wandering around the house after midnight. It could not be Euan returning to my bed—as the Lord of Dunecht Hall he had no need to creep around in the wee small hours.

“OUCH!” another curse came from outside my door this time. If this was Euan coming back for some more entertainment he was sorely mistaken. I rose from my warm bed, groped for my nightgown, stepped into my slippers, and moved silently to the door. I waited for a beat before dragging my door open. I saw a silhouetted figure take off down the hall. I was correct after all, it was not Euan. Who the hell was it behaving so suspiciously? My hackles rose at the man’s behavior. What the devil was he doing skulking around Dunecht Hall? With such treasures present in the house, and each guest having the money to pay for them on their person, it was clear to me that this man was up to no good.

We had a thief among us!

Without thinking, I stepped soundly out of my room and on light slippered feet I followed the intruder. Earlier, the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection had been displayed in the attic rooms above us. Euan and the family solicitor Mr. Buchanan were the only key holders.

The scoundrel held a small lantern and kept the light shuttered so only a thin beam shone to light his footfalls. The figure crept to the stone steps that led to the attic. I deduced that he must be residing at the house, for how else would he gain access to the remote hall in such frightful weather. To say this scenario was disquieting would be an understatement. Who would dare steal from the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection?

I moved slowly and carefully up the stone steps and paused on the landing as the spidery sounds of metal against metal met my ears. The blaggard was picking the lock! There was an audible click and then I heard the squeak of hinges. The door was opened and closed as the thief stepped into the attic room. I stepped forward and listened at the oak door. What was this scoundrel here to steal? Could he too seek The Staff of Asklepios? I had not waited for so many years to have the Staff within my grasp to then lose it to a damnable cat burglar, oh no!

I placed my hand on the brass doorknob and slowly twisted. I eased the attic door open a crack and my eyes searched the frigid gloom for the creeper with the lantern light. I saw that the lantern had been set on the trestle table that was used earlier to display the Lord's treasures. I could not see hide-nor-hair of the man I’d followed and it appeared that the collection had been moved elsewhere. What the devil was he doing? I knew that thirty years ago servants slept here, so there were other smaller rooms connected to the main attic. The servants now slept on the lower floors where it was warmer, and so the attic was virtually derelict.

I stepped into the room to have my arm violently tugged to the left. I was slammed into the wall, the swiftness of the action stealing the breath from me. The man who had accosted me was cloaked in darkness. He spoke with a cultured British accent.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing skulking around after me in the dark?” He said in a rough whisper. I did not recall this voice belonging to any of the other guests.

“I could ask you the same thing…thief!” I accused. Although my heart thudded like a bass drum I was not afraid, and believe that it was the Port wine I’d consumed after dinner that gave me such reckless courage. Euan was my friend and I would not see him fall prey to this marauder, whoever he was.

The attic was frigidly cold and drafty, but I felt the distinct warmth of the man’s hot breath on my skin as he held me in place with the weight of his body. He smelled of spiced wine, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. He let out a laugh at my passionate outburst.

“Thief, ay! I have been called worse in my time. But I prefer that title with the proper adjective… Gentleman thief.”