It was only a few minutes after Baldassare had left that Carmen received a second visitor. Her saviour from last night peered through the glass panel in her door, and then knocked. She beckoned him in, glad of a friendly face. He came to her bedside to present her with two paper bags of fruit and a small bouquet of red roses. ‘How beautiful,’ she said, holding them to her nose to breathe in their scent. ‘You’re so kind.’
‘I couldn’t have you leave Calabria thinking us all barbarians.’
‘I’d never think that. But thank you anyway.’ She looked around for somewhere to set everything, before clearing space on her bedside table to lay the roses flat, along with the two bags, which contained respectively four plump oranges and a bunch of grapes that hadn’t yet decided whether to grow up green or purple. ‘I’m so glad you came. I never thanked you properly last night. You saved my life. Maybe literally.’
‘I made a phone call, that’s all. How could I do less?’ He noticed Baldassare’s card. ‘So it was him,’ he murmured. ‘Mr Mafia himself.’
‘Don’t let him hear you call him that. Mr anti-Mafia, if you please.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Oh, this and that. Another statement, for one thing, only with a proper translator.’
‘Hey!’ protested Cesco.
‘Forgive me,’ she smiled. ‘I should have said an official translator.’
‘That’s more like it.’ He settled himself into Baldassare’s chair and gazed at her with an unsettling directness. It had been so dark last night, and she so groggy, that she hadn’t really taken notice of his looks. Now that she did, she found herself liking what she saw, in particular the startling blue eyes that Giulia had told her of, accentuated as they were by his Mediterranean complexion and long black hair. Indeed, so blue were his eyes that she found she couldn’t quite look directly into them. ‘I can’t believe how much better you look,’ he said. ‘Last night, you were grey like an English winter. And how I hate an English winter!’
‘I’m sorry to have put you through it, then.’
‘Oh,’ he grinned. ‘But that’s the thing about England, though, isn’t it? The sun always comes out again, and then it’s the only place in the world you want to be.’ He gazed at her a moment longer, until it became almost intrusive, then suddenly reached for one of the bags of fruit he’d brought. He rummaged through it for an orange, dug his thumb so deep into its navel that juices squirted over his trousers. ‘You must tell me the moment you feel tired,’ he said, brushing the juice away. ‘I know what visitors are like. They never take the hint.’
‘Not at all. I like company.’
‘And in case I forget to ask later. Is there anything you need? Anything at all? You were poor Giulia’s friend, after all. That makes you my responsibility.’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘You English. Always so polite. Nothing to cause trouble.’
‘I’m American,’ she told him. ‘Causing trouble is what we do best.’
He laughed and peeled off a chunk of skin and pith that he tossed at the bin, only to miss by a wide margin. ‘How about money? I hate to be so blunt, but if those monsters stole your purse or—’
‘They didn’t.’
‘A translator, then?’
‘My doctor speaks excellent English. And he seems really kind.’
‘But this is unacceptable! You have to let me do something. My mother drummed into me this terrible sense of duty, you see. I shall never forgive her for it.’
‘You rescued me last night. Isn’t that enough?’
‘On the contrary, it’s the entire problem. Such a mistake to help people, don’t you think? They come to matter to you. It’s so unfair. It should be the other way around. But it never is. We’ll say goodbye and you’ll never give me another thought, while I’ll be thinking fondly of you for years.’ He tore off the last chunk of peel then ripped the orange in two and offered her half. ‘Besides, I was hoping that you and I might be able to…’ But then he looked at her again, lying there with her head bandaged, and he stopped himself.
‘You and I might be able to what?’ she asked.
His eyes slid sideways. He crossed one leg over the other and twisted his foot in circles. He was so easy to read, she vowed she’d get him to the poker table. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
‘Brought up what?’
‘Seriously. It can wait.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. Tell me. Please.’
‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘But promise to stop me if it gets too much. I mean it. You must promise.’ He waited until she nodded, then delved into his bag for a local newspaper already folded to an inside page. ‘As I said, I feel a responsibility to you, as Giulia’s friend. But I feel another responsibility too, as an archaeologist.’ He set the paper on her lap then directed her attention to a colour photograph showing various artefacts on a white background: a gold coin, a signet ring, a pair of brooches and a decorative silver dolphin with its tail torn off, as though it had been wrested from a larger piece. He touched the coin first. ‘A Honorius solidus,’ he said. ‘Minted from 402 to 406 to commemorate victory in the Battle of Verona. That gives us the right date, yes? Now look at the dolphin. Does it not remind you of the gifts Constantine gave to the Basilica of St John? And these two fibulae. I’m no expert on Visigothic jewellery, but they most certainly loved their eagles; and when did the Romans ever use throwing axes?’
‘They didn’t,’ murmured Carmen, but distractedly.
He glanced shrewdly at her. ‘What is it?’
She didn’t answer, just stared uncertainly at the remaining artefact, an oval semi-precious sealstone ring, dark blue with green and grey flecks, about the size of her thumbnail. It had a device inscribed in it, and faint traces of letters around its edge, but all too badly abraded to make out. Except that it was familiar somehow. ‘These were all Vittorio’s?’ she asked.
Cesco nodded. ‘From his money belt.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘When we were driving back from the station, he kept touching his stomach whenever we crossed a bridge. I thought maybe he had an ulcer. But I’ll bet he was just checking his belt. You know, like when you see a sign warning of pickpockets, and you instinctively pat your pocket.’
Cesco nodded. ‘I don’t know if Giulia told you, but I was raised around here. You know how crazes sweep a place? Well, every so often, Cosenza would get swept by Alaric fever. When the river ran low, and the frenzy was on us, the whole city would turn out with spades and metal detectors. No one ever found anything, of course. Except Vittorio, it seems. But that never stopped us.’ He gestured at the window. ‘The sun is out, it’s the weekend. An article in the local paper has a photograph of several valuable artefacts that might easily once have belonged to Alaric and his men, suggesting that his tomb with all its fabled treasure is on the verge of being found. Believe me, this place is about go mad. And what if someone gets lucky? Think of it. All those priceless artefacts looted to be sold off on the black market or even melted down. All that precious knowledge lost forever. It would be the greatest tragedy of modern archaeology. I can’t let that happen. I… I just can’t.’
‘But… what can you do?’
His look of determination faded. He looked self-conscious suddenly. Aware of his own smallness and absurdity. ‘I don’t know yet. Except I thought, you being a historian of the era, and me an archaeologist… And both of us knowing Giulia. I thought maybe we could put our heads together…’ He looked at her again, lying there in bed, and shook his head. ‘Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right. We need to do this. One hundred per cent. But how?’
He shrugged. ‘I did have one thought. Though I’m not sure how much use it will be. Everyone else will be searching for the tomb, right? But people have been searching for the tomb for hundreds of years, and no one has found it yet. So I say let’s not do that. Let’s use our advantages instead. We know history, we know archaeology. Most of all, we knew Giulia. She and her father had obviously found something exciting. That’s why they called us in. Maybe it was Alaric’s tomb, maybe not. But that’s what we should look for: for whatever the Suraces thought they’d found. If it turns out to be nothing, fine, we can put the whole business behind us. But if it really is Alaric…’
She looked at him doubtfully. ‘Sure. But how?’
He sat forward, enthusiasm giving his skin an attractive flush. ‘Well, for one thing, you know that packing case Giulia had you bring down? Apparently it contained a ground-penetrating radar. No doubt that’s why she invited me along, because those machines are a nightmare to work with if you haven’t used them before, which I have. But the point is that that particular model isn’t designed to work in water, or even in badly waterlogged places. So why borrow it for the Busento?’
‘Maybe it was all the university had. Maybe Giulia didn’t know any better.’
‘Sapienza will have all sorts. And Giulia was smarter than that.’
Carmen nodded. ‘So you’re suggesting that whatever they found wasn’t directly beneath the river?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And I was supposed to take it back with me to Rome on Sunday night,’ said Carmen, getting into the spirit herself. ‘And Vittorio talked of taking me on all kinds of outings while I was here. They must have had a very specific area in mind to be able to promise that on top of everything else.’
‘You see!’ he beamed. ‘A small site far enough from the river to be dry. Already we’re making progress. Anything else?’
‘There is one thing,’ she said hesitantly. It had actually been bothering her for a while. ‘Giulia had exams coming up. She’d been studying really hard, but enjoying it too. You know how invigorating revision can be, when it’s going well? Anyway, I bumped into her at the library last Sunday. She made a joke about how she’d be virtually living there for the next six weeks. Only when she called me on Thursday night to invite me down, she was already here herself.’
‘Something happened, then,’ nodded Cesco. ‘Sometime between last Sunday and Thursday, something happened that was intriguing enough to bring her down here, despite her exams. Then she realised she needed the GPR, so she called you to have you bring it down.’
‘I think so, yes,’ agreed Carmen.
Cesco grinned. She grinned too, she couldn’t help herself. His excitement was infectious. But then he grew serious again, he checked his watch. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to go right now, to check out an apartment. I thought if I was to do this properly, I should establish a base here for the next few days. And the place I slept last night, you wouldn’t believe how squalid it was. So uncomfortable, and not even its own bathroom!’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘How about you? Will you be staying here?’
‘No, actually,’ she said. ‘They kick me out at six.’
‘Oh,’ he said. His ankle began turning its awkward circles again. She vowed to invest in a pack of cards. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘forgive me if this is out of order, but the apartment I’m off to see, it has two bedrooms.’
‘Are you suggesting that we share?’
‘Forgive me,’ he said hurriedly, looking ashamed. ‘A stupid idea.’
‘No, not at all. If I can’t trust the man who just saved my life, who can I trust? Do you have details?’
He took his laptop from his bag. ‘See for yourself. Only five-star reviews, Wi-Fi, even a balcony overlooking the Busento. You’ll probably think me a fool, but it seemed like an omen.’
She glanced through the pictures. It was everything he said, and nicely furnished, light and spacious too. ‘It looks perfect.’
‘Then…?’
‘Yes. Let’s do it.’
‘Fantastic. Then how about I go grab it before it goes? Then I can swing by later to pick you up. Six o’clock you said, yes?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Six o’clock.’
‘Great,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll see you then.’
She watched him walk to the door and out. Only when he was gone did she realise how cheerful she was suddenly feeling, how inappropriate it was to feel this spirit of adventure. Yet she couldn’t altogether shake it. Nor, after the bleak long months she’d just passed, did she much want to. She took another look at the newspaper he’d left her, specifically at the photograph of Vittorio’s five artefacts. Again it was the signet ring that caught her eye. She’d seen one just like it before, she was sure of it. But where? For the life of her, it wouldn’t come. She took out her laptop from her overnight bag to check the newspaper’s website. They had, as she’d hoped, a better version of the picture. She studied it a while without success. But it was important, she knew it in her gut; so she copied and posted it, together with a link to the story, to a late antiquity discussion group she belonged to, asking her fellow members for their help.