Valerio Manfredi - The Ancient Curse

‘What a nightmare,’ commented Reggiani. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing. I have no doubt you’re right about the photo. And you know, it makes me think twice about these gruesome murders. Now that I’ve heard this story, it almost seems that someone may be re-enacting this ancient ritual…’

‘Seems that way to me too,’ admitted Fabrizio.

‘Let’s say someone who learned about this discovery and got it into his head to act it out…’

‘I can see what you’re saying, but for what reason? I don’t get the motive.’

‘No, you’re right,’ agreed Reggiani. ‘And Ronchetti’s body was found before you opened the tomb.’

‘So we’re back where we started.’

Lieutenant Reggiani bit his lower lip. ‘As a matter of principle, I can only consider hypotheses that are rational, caused by a natural sequence of events.’

‘Do you think I was suggesting otherwise?’

‘No, of course not. But why did you show me that fang then? You know it belongs to an animal that died twenty-four centuries ago, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘I don’t know why I pulled it out. I did it without thinking.’

Reggiani held out his hand and Fabrizio put the fang in his palm.

‘You know,’ the officer continued, fingering the oversized tooth, ‘when you showed me this, I was reminded of something I saw on television a few days ago. It was in one of those nature programmes. They were showing the skull of a southern African hominid with two strange indentations at the top. No one had been able to interpret the marks until they found the skull of a predator from that age, whose top canines were a perfect match for the indentations.’ He held out the fang. ‘Can I keep this for twenty-four hours?’ he asked.

Fabrizio shrugged. ‘No, not really, but what the hell? If I can’t trust a carabiniere, who can I trust?’ Then he added, ‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘Show it to a friend.’

‘All right. But be sure you give it back to me tomorrow. My colleague will be coming from Bologna and she’ll be examining the skeleton. I don’t want her to find anything missing.’

‘You bet,’ the officer promised. He was about to put his cap back on, when Fabrizio remembered that threatening voice on the telephone and thought it would be best to let the police know.

‘Listen, there’s something I wanted to mention…’ he began.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

It was Francesca. ‘Good morning, Lieutenant,’ she said to Reggiani, before turning to Fabrizio. ‘The director is in his office. He wants to talk to you.’

‘I’m coming,’ said Fabrizio, getting up.

‘Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?’ asked Lieutenant Reggiani.

‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘Some other time.’

‘As you like. Goodbye, Dr Castellani.’

‘Goodbye, Lieutenant. And… don’t forget.’

‘Not to worry. You’ll have it back tomorrow.’ He placed his cap on his head and walked away down the hall.

‘What’s he talking about?’ asked Francesca.

‘Nothing. Just something I lent him. Do you have any idea what Balestra wants?’

‘That doesn’t take much guesswork. You’ve just excavated an intact late-fourth-century tomb, haven’t you?’

‘Right. Now that you mention it, it’s strange it took him so long to start looking for me.’

‘He’s been out.’

‘Where?’

‘He didn’t say. At the ministry maybe. Who knows?’

They had reached the director’s office. Francesca waved him towards the door with her hand and walked away. Fabrizio knocked.

‘Come in,’ replied Balestra’s voice from inside.

‘It must seem impossible,’ began the director before Fabrizio had even taken a seat, ‘but with a dig this important in progress, I haven’t been able to find a moment to touch base with you.’

I’d love to know why, thought Fabrizio. Out loud, he commiserated: ‘I can imagine. So many things clamouring for your attention at once.’

Balestra took half of a Tuscan cigar from a box and put it in his mouth. ‘No, don’t worry,’ he said instantly, seeing the look on Fabrizio’s face. ‘I don’t smoke them. So, from what I hear, the Rovaio tomb was completely inviolate. Is that true?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

Why so grim, then? What you’re saying is extraordinary.’

Well, the things that have happened since that tomb was discovered would dampen anyone’s enthusiasm.’

Balestra scowled. ‘I can’t say I blame you. I was told you’ve just been speaking to that carabiniere lieutenant.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘In any case, I’m looking forward to hearing exactly what you found. You can follow up with a written report at your convenience. I also want you to know that, as far as I am concerned, you can publish this on your own, if you like.’

Fabrizio expressed his appreciation for the opportunity, but politely declined. ‘I’m honoured, director, but I really don’t think it’s my place, and besides, I already have my own research to take forward. I’ve limited my work to documenting the find and ensuring that the contents of the tomb are secure.’

‘I insist that you publish at least a part of the findings, or at least sign the article with me, if you prefer. Let’s hear, then, exactly how things have unfolded.’

Fabrizio began to detail all the phases of locating, opening and inspecting the tomb. But when he started speaking of the bare sarcophagus at the north wall of the funeral chamber, he couldn’t stop his voice from cracking as his deep misgiving and bewilderment leaked out.

‘I realized that I was looking at something that had never been documented,’ he said. ‘That sarcophagus was the tomb of a Phersu…’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it. The tomb contains proof of the ritual, if my reconstruction is correct. Look for yourself…’ Fabrizio extracted a file from the folder he held and handed the director a big black-and-white print.

‘See,’ he began, as Balestra examined the image, ‘I’m led to believe that the man is certainly a Phersu by the fragments of fabric still attached to the skull and vertebrae of the neck. I’ve deduced that his head was covered by a hood, or a sack on which a mask was painted…’

Balestra’s flinch was barely perceptible, but Fabrizio was struck by it nonetheless; the director was famous for being tough and imperturbable.

‘Continue,’ he said, without raising his eyes from the photograph.

‘What’s more, the architrave at the entrance has a black moon at its centre, and the western wall a fresco of the demon Charun. The sarcophagus is roughly carved, completely unadorned and has no inscription. The other skeleton, the animal’s, is largely intact, while the man’s is mangled. I believe that the animal was entombed alive with the corpse of the Phersu. Actually, I’m wondering whether the man might not have been alive as well. Perhaps the ordeal was interrupted before his death in order to ensure that the punishment would fit the horror of his crime.’

Balestra was examining the photograph with a magnifying glass and it was clear that he was trying to stifle an emotional reaction. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his face had become ashen.

‘That seems to be a plausible deduction,’ he said curtly in a controlled tone of voice. ‘Go on, then.’

Fabrizio drew a long breath, then began speaking again. ‘My hypothesis seems confirmed by the fact that the tufa in front of the sarcophagus is scored with scratch marks so deep they could only have been left by the powerful claws of a baulking animal. The leather fragments that I found both inside among the bones and outside at the foot of the sarcophagus may be from the belts and straps that held the animal as it was forced to enter. I’ve calculated that it took a number of men to accomplish this.’