Valerio Manfredi: The Ancient Curse

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.