Valerio Manfredi: The Ancient Curse

‘No time to waste, friends,’ the lieutenant called out, without even crossing the threshold. ‘Are you ready, Fabrizio?’

Fabrizio had a moment of uncertainty. He looked at Angelo and then at Francesca, who gave him a quick nod of reassurance.

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I’m ready.’

He took his leather jacket from a hook, gave Francesca a kiss and touched the boy’s cheek, then got into Reggiani’s car, slamming the door hard. It was only a few seconds before the roar of the powerful engine faded into the distance.

Francesca stood at the doorway with Angelo, who was squeezing her hand. She closed the door then and knelt to talk with him.

‘You looked scared before. Fabrizio was telling a story of something that happened a long, long time ago. You needn’t be frightened.’

Angelo did not answer.

‘Are you hungry?’

The boy shook his head.

‘Do you want to go back to bed? Are you still tired?’

Another shake.

‘OK. Then just sit down here for a little while and wait. There’s something I have to do.’

She went to the computer, opened the files with the inscription and the comparison chart and began working on the last two lines of the text. Fabrizio had already put the words in sequence and had hypothesized a grammatical structure. All that remained was to give meaning to the words. There had been no time to analyse the shadows of the opisthographic Latin text on the back of the slab. They could only work on the basis of the part that had already been translated, so Francesca hoped she wouldn’t run into any words that had not already appeared.

Angelo sat in front of her with his hands on his knees, without moving, for the entire time she was working on the inscription. It was late afternoon when Francesca had managed to decipher enough terms to understand the general meaning of the last part of the text. She picked up where Fabrizio had ended:

The beast will continue to kill

[as long as] there is blood [to drink] in Velathri

[Only] if the beast is separated from the man

will vengeance be served [be placated]

[Only] if the son is [returned] to the father.

Francesca turned to the child with her eyes full of tears, while somewhere in the distance, at that same moment, rose the howl of the chimera. Angelo jumped a little and turned in the direction of that long beastly lament, then looked back at Francesca.

‘We have to go,’ she said. ‘There’s not a minute to lose.’

She scribbled a message on a sheet of paper, left a bunch of keys on top, took the child by the hand and left the house, closing the door behind her.

‘DO YOU REMEMBER the yellow mud?’ asked Lieutenant Reggiani as soon as they turned on to the regional road.

‘Of course. I noticed it right away.’

‘You were right. I searched Ambra Reiter’s place at Le Macine using a metal detector, with the guys from the archaeological protection agency, and we found a shitload of stuff down there: bucchero pottery, candelabra, shields and helmets, incredible jewellery, even a war chariot.’

‘Yeah, I suspected as much.’

‘We also have pretty solid proof that the slab of Volterra was stored in that underground room for a number of days, perhaps even several weeks. There are traces of oxide on the damp mud and I’ve had them analysed. They were left by a bronze slab of an approximately rectangular shape.’

‘I’m not surprised. How did she get in and out?’

‘From behind the bar counter. That’s how she appeared that day from out of nowhere.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘She wasn’t there when we searched the place, and I’m glad she wasn t. My plan was that if we found nothing, we would leave on tiptoe as we’d come in. But since all that treasure was found, I left Massaro there with three of the guys in hiding. When she waltzed in they arrested her; she’d been caught red-handed, all the objects were still in place and there was no way she could deny anything.’

‘Have you already interrogated her?’

‘No, I had her taken to headquarters. I’d like you to see the underground chamber and then, if you like, you can sit in on the interrogation. Undercover, that is. I know how tired you are, but I think it’s essential that you be there… then I’ll let you sleep.’

‘Sleep,’ groaned Fabrizio. ‘I don’t even know what the word means any more.’

They turned off on to the country lane that led to Le Macine and Reggiani parked in the courtyard. Sergeant Massaro was there waiting for them at the door. He put a hand to his visor and offered Fabrizio an embarrassed hello, mindful of the hours he’d spent guarding an empty house.

‘News?’ asked Reggiani.

‘Bonetti has nearly completed his inventory, sir.’

‘Good. Let’s let Dr Castellani have a look.’

Fabrizio went underground and exchanged a few friendly words with Bonetti, who was busy scribbling in a notebook.

‘Do you know where this stuff comes from?’ asked Fabrizio.

‘I’d say it’s all local, except for a few objects imported from other cities, perhaps in ancient times. Like that candelabrum, which looks as if it comes from Tarquinia,’ replied Bonetti, eager to share his technical competence with someone who knew what he was talking about.

‘Yeah, I’d say so,’ said Fabrizio without enthusiasm. Then he turned to Reggiani. ‘Do you want me to call Balestra?’

The lieutenant hesitated a moment. ‘Maybe not. Not yet. I’d like to finish interrogating Ambra Reiter first. Do you feel up to joining me?’

Fabrizio nodded and the two men returned upstairs and made their way to carabiniere headquarters, which was swarming with packs of journalists and television crews. As soon as he got out of the car, Reggiani was surrounded by a forest of microphones and TV cameras. The international press was already starting to show up as well.

The same questions were shouted at him from every direction.

Was it true that a monster was roaming the fields around Volterra? How many people had died? Ten? Twenty? Why hadn’t they called in the army?

Reggiani raised his arms in a gesture of surrender and said, loudly enough to be heard by all, ‘Please, ladies and gentlemen, there’s nothing I can tell you now. In just a few hours, certainly before evening, I’ll be calling a press conference and you’ll have all the answers you want. Right now, could you please let us through? We have urgent business to attend to.’

He managed somehow to elbow his way through the crowd, followed by Fabrizio, and to enter the HQ building.

Ambra Reiter was sitting at a desk. She had her legs crossed and was smoking. She seemed perfectly calm and her only movement was an occasional shake of the cigarette over the ashtray. Reggiani had Fabrizio shown to an adjacent cubicle with an interphone, so he could hear what was going on in the interrogation room.

‘Are you going to give her the third degree?’ he asked Reggiani.

The officer shook his head with a half-smile, as he took off his cap and black leather gloves. ‘That’s only on TV. You’ve been watching too many old Clint Eastwood movies. All we’re doing here is asking questions. That may go on for hours. Even days. Only we switch off, while the person being interrogated can’t.’

‘Doesn’t she have the right to call a lawyer?’

‘She certainly does. But she doesn’t have a lawyer and the court-appointed counsel won’t be here until tomorrow. He’s just had a tooth extracted and he’ll be in the clinic until tonight, if there are no complications. Let me repeat this: we’re not doing her any harm. It’s only a few questions. Sit down and you’ll hear for yourself that no one is being tortured.’