The Ancient Curse (6 page)

‘What do you have left to do here?’

‘I’ve photographed everything, both on film and digitally, and I’ve recorded the position of every find inside the coffin. I just have to remove the remains.’

‘Does Balestra know?’

‘I called him at the office and on his mobile phone, but he’s not answering. Have you seen him?’

‘I haven’t been at the museum today. But it seems strange you can’t reach him. I think he’d like to see the finds in their original positions.’

‘I’m sure he would, but both the Finanza and the carabinieri are telling me they can’t ensure continuing surveillance. That’s why I’ve had the alabaster sarcophagus loaded on to the truck and now I have to remove everything else. I can’t leave things here unguarded. Not that there’s anything precious, but you never know . . .’

‘Then I’ll help you,’ said Francesca.

She set to work with Fabrizio, picking out every little fragment, every last bit of that tragedy, and packaging it all up into plastic boxes. They put little yellow tags on each with the wording: ‘Rovaio tomb. Sarcophagus A. Human and animal remains.’ This formulation was as vague and confused as the situation that had presented itself once the coffin was opened.

Eventually nothing remained in the big chamber except for the bare sarcophagus, whose lid had been replaced. The boxes were numbered and loaded one by one on to a foam-rubber bed in the pickup. Each box had been wrapped in sacking and placed in a plastic bag to prevent dehydration. It was seven thirty by the time everything was ready.

‘What about the door?’ asked Francesca. ‘I know people who could sell that for a fortune to some fence in Switzerland.’

‘It’s awfully heavy,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘They’d need a thirty-ton crane. A truck that size could never make it down this path and the carabinieri said they’d send a vehicle over during the night. I think we can relax. When Balestra gets back, we’ll ask him what should be done.’

Francesca nodded. ‘You know, you don’t seem like a bumbling academic in the least! You’d make a fine inspector!’

‘Thanks. I imagine that’s a compliment.’

Francesca smiled. ‘Listen, you’ve done a great job.’

‘It wasn’t difficult. There wasn’t any stratigraphical work, just the two sarcophagi.’

‘Did you have a chance to check the surrounding area at all?’

‘I did yesterday. Mostly up at the top. I found a few bucchero pottery fragments, nothing much. They’re in the clear plastic bag.’

Francesca ran a final check to make sure that the alabaster sarcophagus and the boxes with the bones were safely positioned in the pickup, then asked the workers to close up the tomb. They shut the heavy stone doors and secured them, plunging the chamber back into darkness and leaving Charun the sole, silent custodian of the empty tomb.

The foreman started up the truck and drove off cautiously in first gear, followed by the carabiniere Land Rover. Francesca and Fabrizio were alone, standing in front of the closed door of the ancient mausoleum. Evening was falling and the last light was disappearing in the Rovaio woods.

‘Feel any better?’ asked Francesca softly.

‘Sure, I’m OK.’

‘I know you are, but you looked awful when I first came up. That’s absolutely normal, of course. It’s not every day that you see something so horrible. I must admit I was pretty shaken up myself

‘Now I know how the scratch marks on the ground got there.’

‘How?’

‘The animal, when they were trying to force it into the tomb alive.’

‘How did they manage that, do you think?’

‘They must have tied him up, his neck, his legs . . . I can’t even imagine the scene. Those claws gouged into the sandstone . . . Can you think of what they must have done to human flesh?’

‘Christ.’

‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not worth dwelling on it. It did happen two and a half thousand years ago, after all. Not much we can do now. Maybe he was a bastard who deserved to die. But we’ll never know.’

Francesca did not acknowledge his weak attempt at humour. Instead she changed the topic. ‘What about the woman?’

‘His wife, I’d say.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Or his sister.’

‘Less probable. That empty sarcophagus seems more like a declaration of undying love.’

Fabrizio looked at the photo he’d taken earlier on his digital camera and admired the sublime features of the alabaster maiden, then said, ‘Let me see if I can guess what you’re thinking. The Phersu was the husband of this lovely lady, who continued to believe in his innocence even after the ordeal. She would have been forbidden to have herself buried in this cursed place but she wanted her image to soothe the spirit of her husband, unjustly accused for all of eternity.’

Francesca gave him a slight smile. ‘You think that’s impossible?’

‘No, not at all. I wouldn’t know how else to explain the presence of a female cenotaph in a place like this.’

Francesca knew that Fabrizio would have liked to prolong the conversation, but she excused herself. ‘I’m sorry I can’t join you for dinner tonight. I have to go and see my parents in Siena. My mother’s not well.’

‘That’s OK. We’ll see each other tomorrow or the next day. I don’t feel like eating anyway. I’ll just drink a glass of milk and go to bed.’

‘Well, bye then.’

‘Goodbye, Francesca.’

The girl got into her car, started it up and pulled away. Fabrizio waited for the dust to clear on the trail before leaving as well. He could see the spread of the Suzuki’s headlights about a kilometre up ahead and could still hear the sound of the engine. He decided to put on some Mozart, hoping to calm his frayed nerves. Just as he was about to turn on to the main road he thought he could hear the howl again, but no, it was a siren. He breathed a sigh of relief.

But not for long. It was the carabinieri and they were looking for him.

‘Sergeant Massaro,’ said the officer, getting out of the Land Rover and extending his hand. ‘Thank God we found you, Dr Castellani.’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘Another one’s been found, ten minutes ago.’

‘Another what?’

‘Another body, ripped apart by that animal. Most of his face is missing. It won’t be easy to identify him. Guy named Farneti found the corpse as he was coming home from his cheese factory. We’re combing the area, lieutenant’s orders.’

Fabrizio lifted his eyes to the sky and saw a helicopter’s searchlights scanning the area between the Rovaio woods and the eroded Gaggera hillside.

‘Listen, have you seen Inspector Dionisi?’

‘Yes, driving in the direction of Colle Val d’Elsa.’

‘Thank goodness.’

‘You didn’t see or hear anything out in the fields?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Well, that’s good. But I think the lieutenant will want to talk to you tomorrow morning anyway. Where will you be?’

‘At the museum. After nine o’clock, I’ll surely be at the museum.’

Massaro gave a little salute, got back into the Land Rover and drove off at top speed. Fabrizio headed straight home. He was utterly exhausted, but very agitated at the same time. The idea of another mangled body had totally unnerved him. He couldn’t help but connect what he’d seen in the coffin with the violence that had just occurred in some lonely corner of the Volterra countryside.

He took out his phone and dialled Francesca’s mobile number.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m near Colle, almost at the motorway. Why?’

‘Thank God you’re all right.’

‘Why?’

‘They found another one, quarter of an hour ago.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Another corpse, maimed like the first one. Massaro told me he’s missing his face, or his head – I don’t remember.’

There was no answer from Francesca.

‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes, I can,’ replied the girl. ‘I’m appalled.’

The call was cut off; she had likely moved out of range. But Fabrizio felt a little better. Francesca was at least thirty kilometres from the scene of the killing. His first thought was to call the carabinieri and ask whether the body had been identified. He was ready to swear that it would be another of the three robbers who had opened the Rovaio tomb, but he realized how stupid that sounded. He was ashamed at how foolish the idea seemed, and how incongruous it would look for an archaeologist to be raving about Etruscan curses.

Finally he arrived home. He dissolved some instant decaf in a cup of milk and sat down to work at his computer. He put on some music, started up a graphics program and began uploading the photos he’d taken of the statue of the boy in room twenty of the museum. He integrated the X-rays with the three-dimensional images generated by the program and began to rotate the figure in space, trying to make sense of the strange shape he’d noticed inside the bronze.

It was after midnight when he became convinced that the shadow he’d seen in the X-rays represented the outline of a knife. The blade of a knife that had penetrated deep into the boy’s body!

He shook his head repeatedly, as if trying to banish an idea that had started to eat away at him, then got up, walked around the room and went to the refrigerator to fetch a glass of water, trying to set his thoughts straight. He’d arrived only three days ago but it felt like he’d been sucked into another world. He was losing control over his emotions and he realized that his usual manner of rationally approaching a find or a research topic was being shot to hell with this crazy whirlwind of events. His anxiety was growing and his sense of reality felt distorted.

He went back to the computer screen to watch the image of the boy that continued to rotate in the virtual space generated by the machine as if he were floating in a timeless limbo.

What could this mean? What was that intrusion doing inside the statue and how could no one have noticed it before now? How had it been inserted, and why? Was there a reason why? Could it be a clue, or a message? If so, who was the message from, the artist or the person who had commissioned it? Unfortunately, as far as he was aware, nothing was known about where the statue came from, or in what context it had been found. His only option was to ask Balestra for permission to perform a metallographic probe, if he wanted to get to the bottom of the question and publish an article with sound documentation. Hopefully the director would be grateful to him for his work on the Rovaio tomb and would allow him to go ahead with the analysis. Just a few milligrams of material would be sufficient to let him know if he was right. He decided he’d ask for authorization explicitly the next day.

There was still one thing left to do. He connected the digital camera he’d used to take the shots of the bone fragments from the tomb, copied two or three of the photos into a file and attached it to an email to Sonia Vitali, along with an explanation.

Hi, Sonia

I’m in Volterra, where the regional NAS director has put me in charge of excavating a third- or fourth-century Etruscan tomb. I’ve just finished and – get ready for this – I have reason to believe it’s the grave of a Phersu! Along with the human bones I found the skeleton of an animal – a wolf, or a dog, I’m guessing – of enormous proportions. Offhand I’d say about a metre ten tall at the withers and more than two metres long from snout to tail. The fangs are six or seven centimetres long. I’m attaching some pictures so you can have a look and would ask you please not to mention this to anyone. If you’re interested in a closer examination, I don’t think Balestra would object to you studying the skeleton and publishing it. I’ll leave you my phone numbers. Let me know what you think.

Fabrizio

He felt calmer now and was about to get up and go to bed when the phone started ringing. In the deep silence of the night, the insistent trilling sounded ominous to him and alarming. An unpleasant sensation of solitude and insecurity surged through him. Logically, it could be Francesca or Massaro or maybe someone from Finanza headquarters, but Fabrizio had a gut feeling it was somebody else. He picked up the receiver and a voice he’d already heard said, ‘Don’t disturb the child’s peace. Get out, if you know what’s good for you.’

‘Listen,’ started Fabrizio, talking as quickly as he could. ‘You’re not scaring me. I . . .’

But there was no use continuing. His caller had already hung up.

Fine, he thought to himself. He’d ask Reggiani to put a tap on both telephones, the museum number and this one, and on his mobile phone as well. He let himself relish the thought of a face-to-face meeting with this crazy lady who thought it amusing to make such ridiculous threats. She must be calling him because she could see the lights on, or maybe she could even see him sitting in front of his computer screen. If only he had a dog!

To be on the safe side he closed the shutters, turned off the computer, went to the wall, took down the shotgun – an automatic five-round Bernardelli – and loaded it with five cartridges. Then he walked towards the staircase to go up to the bedroom.

The telephone rang again.

He stopped for a moment, with his foot on the step, to collect his thoughts, then turned around and picked up the receiver.

‘Listen, you bitch. If you think—’

‘Fabrizio! It’s Sonia! I’m so sorry, but I thought you’d still be awake!’

Fabrizio let out a long sigh. ‘Oh, it’s me who’s sorry, Sonia. I wasn’t sleeping, it’s simply that . . .’

‘I’ve just got back from a conference in Padua. I saw your email and I couldn’t resist . . . So who’s the bitch you thought you were talking to?’

‘Someone I don’t know. Someone who likes to break my balls by calling late at night and—’

‘Listen, I’ve seen the photos – they are incredible! Are you sure about the measurements you sent?’

‘Give or take a centimetre or two.’

‘I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. Do you really think they’ll let me publish it?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Will you talk with Balestra?’

‘Sure. But what do you think it is?’

Sonia fell silent for a few moments. ‘To be utterly frank, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen an animal that big in any of the scientific literature. It’s a monster.’