The Lost Catacomb
The Lost Catacomb
By
Shifra
Hochberg
THE LOST
CATACOMB
By
Shifra
Hochberg
Copyright
©
Shifra
Hochberg 2014
Cover
Illustration Copyright
©
2014
by Novel Idea Design
Published
by Enigma Press
(An
Imprint of GMTA Publishing)
Names,
characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's
imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.
Contact:
GMTA
Publishing
7405
Beaver Run Dr.
Fayetteville,
NC 28314
Printed in
the U.S.A.
ISBN-13:
978-0615975696
ISBN-10:
0615975690
DEDICATION
To my husband and children, whose love and support
made this possible.
Contents
The Present
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
253 A.D.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Present
Chapter One
Chapter Two
1943 - 1944
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Present
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Endings
About the Author
“
So we beat on, boats
against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
”
~~ F. Scott Fitzgerald,
The Great Gatsby
“
Nicola,
cara
,
”
Elena
exclaimed, her dark eyes shining as she opened the front door and kissed her
granddaughter on both cheeks.
“
I
’
m so happy you could
come for the weekend.
Do you need
any help with your bags?
”
“
Grazie
,
Nonna
,
”
Nicola
answered with a smile as she stepped inside,
“
but I didn
’
t
bring much with me this time.
Not
even my laptop.
Complete R and R,
for a change.
I promise.
”
She put her overnight case and hooded jacket down on a small
antique bench in the foyer and gave Elena a warm, lingering hug.
“
Here,
”
she said, handing her
grandmother an insulated bag with a bottle of icy cold Prosecco in it.
“
So
we can celebrate.
”
Brushing aside a heavy lock of wavy auburn hair, she pushed
her sunglasses onto the top of her head and followed Elena into the warmth of
the sunlit kitchen.
Sighing
contentedly, she sat down at the familiar pine table overlooking a broad
flagstone patio and mosaic-tiled lap pool bordered by lush flowerbeds.
She closed her eyes and inhaled
deeply.
The mingled scent of basil,
lemon verbena, and sweet marjoram in the pots lining the deep bay windowsill
filled the air.
It was a heady
fragrance that Nicola always associated with her grandmother's kitchen
—
with coming home.
The old Connecticut farmhouse, with its white clapboard
siding and black-shuttered windows, had been in her grandfather Tom
’
s family for
generations.
Set against a leafy
backdrop of sturdy oak and maple trees, its wide veranda offered an expansive
view of a meadow dotted with wildflowers, through which a long meandering
driveway twisted its way from the main road.
Nicola had grown up there, in her
grandparents' home, after the tragic death of her parents in a car accident one
snowy winter afternoon more than twenty-seven years ago on their way to see an
old Victorian house that had just come on the market.
A truck had skidded off the road,
barreling into their car and killing them instantly.
It was an event that Nicola could scarcely recall, since she
had been a mere toddler at the time, but it had changed the course of her life
irrevocably, in ways she was only beginning to come to terms with and
understand.
Her recollections of
her parents had become increasingly hazy as the years went by, though she could
still recall the deep timbre of her father's voice reading her a bedtime story
and the scent of her mother's perfume, a subtle blend of rose and honeysuckle,
which still had the power to stir an unfulfilled longing in a secret part of
her heart.
Her maternal grandparents had taken her parents' place as
best they could, reinforcing what had been Nicola's first
—
though all too
brief
—
experience
of unconditional love.
And thus,
though Nicola now lived in a small brownstone near the Washington Square campus
of NYU, where she taught early Roman art history, her grandparent's farmhouse
remained her true home and emotional anchor, a place of quiet refuge where she
always felt sheltered and secure.
“
Some
coffee?
”
Elena asked
as she busied herself near the stovetop.
“
Which do
you prefer, cappuccino or espresso?
And I have freshly baked muffins.
Blueberry, your favorite.
”
As always, Nicola marveled at Elena's energy and enthusiasm,
her upright posture and slim figure belying her age, her face nearly as unlined
as it had been almost three decades ago, when she had taken the newly orphaned
Nicola into her home.
Nicola never
forgot how lucky she was that Elena had retained both her health and zest for
life, since, as far as she knew, she had no other living relatives apart from
her grandmother.
As Elena placed some brightly colored faience plates and
linen napkins on the table near Nicola, waiting for the Bialetti to heat up,
she asked,
“
So
tell me,
cara
, what
’
s
the special news you have to share with me?
A new boyfriend, finally?
”
she ventured with a
barely suppressed note of hope in her voice.
“
Or
another publication?
”
“
None
of the above, actually.
And I think
you should sit down for this one,
”
Nicola added with an enigmatic smile, her grey eyes bright with
excitement as she gestured to a cane-backed chair and waited patiently for
Elena to be seated.
“
I
’
ve been invited to Rome
—
by the Pontifical
Commission of Sacred Archaeology at the Vatican.
”
“
Dio
!
”
Elena exclaimed, setting
her mug down abruptly.
Her
cappuccino sloshed onto the glossy surface of the table, and she quickly
grabbed a napkin and mopped up the mess.
“
What would
they like you to do for them?
”
“
Well,
”
Nicola replied as she
reached for a blueberry-studded muffin,
“
it seems that an elaborate underground crypt
adjacent to the Jewish catacombs of the Vigna Randanini has been discovered
following a series of earth tremors. There
’
s a legal battle going on now between the Church and
the family of the Marchesa on whose estate it was found, with both parties
claiming ownership of the new chamber.
And since it
contains some very rare artifacts, I
’
ve been invited
—
along with an
archaeologist from
‘
La
Sapienza
’—
to
determine its provenance.
”
“
I'm
impressed,
”
Elena
said,
“
though not
surprised, of course, given your wonderful academic reputation.
But why the need for two experts?
”
“
Oh,
that's because the Italian archaeologist is Jewish,
”
Nicola explained.
“
He
’
ll able to decipher all
of the ancient Hebrew writing in the crypt.
Most of the tomb inscriptions, you see,
are either in Greek or Hebrew, which is why both of us are needed to work on
the project, since our fields of expertise overlap.
”
“
But
I thought that ever since the Lateran Treaty back in the 1920s the Vatican had
relinquished control of all catacombs in Rome,
”
Elena remarked, her brows knitted together in
puzzlement.
“
I don
’
t
understand why this should even be an issue.
”
“
You
would think so, at first glance,
”
Nicola acknowledged, pausing to take another sip of her coffee.
“
But
apparently the Church maintains it had renounced rights only to those areas
known to exist at the time of the agreement with the Italian government.
They
’
re convinced that the new
hypogeum
might
house the bones of martyrs or contain an underground chapel dedicated to an
important religious figure.
Or,
”
she said, shrugging
her shoulders,
“
based
on evidence from the frescoes, there might be grounds to beatify some
previously unknown saint.
“
If
any of this is true, then the Church feels that the sacred nature of the site
makes it imperative that
it
take charge of all excavations and future
restorations.
But if the crypt
turns out to be Jewish in origin, then its contents will remain in the hands of
the Marchesa, since the crypt is on her property.
”
“
I
see,
”
Elena said
pensively, her dark eyes briefly taking on a distant, almost distracted
expression.
For a moment she
seemed lost in thought but then collected herself, quickly adding,
“
This sounds very
complex
—
and
challenging.
”
“
Yes,
it is, and there
’
s
a lot at stake here for both parties,
”
Nicola said, nodding her head in agreement, her auburn curls catching
the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the wide bay window.
“
And
of course it
’
s a
very prestigious invitation,
”
she added, blushing slightly.
“
Especially
for someone my age.
”
“
I
’
m so proud of you,
Nicola,
”
Elena
said, reaching out to pat her granddaughter
’
s cheek softly.
“
Now I
understand why you waited to tell me in person.
”
“
As
a matter of fact, I want to show you the letter of invitation.
I brought it with me,
”
and she left the
kitchen to retrieve it from her purse.
“
Here
it is,
”
she said,
as she returned triumphantly and waved it in the air with a dramatic flourish,
“—
calligraphy and
all
—
addressed
to Professoressa Nicola Page at the Department of Art History, New York
University.
”
She handed the heavy vellum envelope to Elena, who opened it
with trembling hands.
Unfolding the
letter inside, she glanced first at the heavily embossed Vatican crest on the
stationery, and as her eyes traveled to the bottom of the page, she gasped
audibly, a look of something nearly akin to terror flashing across her
face.
The piece of paper fell from
her grasp, fluttering to the polished oak-planked floor.
Her breath now coming in shallow gulps,
she clutched the edge of the table for support, while Nicola stooped to pick up
the letter and gave it back to her.
“
Is
something wrong,
Nonna
?
”
Nicola asked worriedly, as Elena pushed the letter away, recoiling
violently, as though her fingers had been scorched by its very touch.
“
Are
you all right?
”
“
Of
course, I am,
”
she
replied quickly.
“
I
’
m . . . delighted for
you.
It was just . . . such a . . .
shock to see the actual letter.
My
own granddaughter receiving an invitation like this from the Holy See,
”
she added
hastily.
“
Yes, this is a remarkable opportunity for you.
”
She walked slowly to the refrigerator, her slight frame now
bent almost in a posture of defeat, and poured herself a glass of ice
water.
“
I think I need to rest for a moment,
”
she said, taking a
deep breath and absently brushing aside a tendril of silvered hair that had
loosened itself from her usually elegant chignon.
Her dark eyes darted around the room
nervously as she sipped her water with shaking hands, focusing
—
or so it seemed
to Nicola
—
anywhere
but on the table where the letter now lay.
“
I'm
sorry,
cara
,
”
Elena
said, swiftly changing the subject as she struggled to regain her
composure.
“
When do you leave for Rome?
”
“
Well,
”
Nicola replied,
puzzled by her grandmother's clearly evasive behavior,
“
I
’
m
going to try to book a flight for next week, on Tuesday or Wednesday. The
return reservation will be left open, since I've no idea how long the
evaluations and data analysis will take.
It all depends on what we find.
