Valerio Manfredi: The Ancient Curse

Reggiani noticed the floor of the chamber was made of tufa, a crumbly rock typical of the area, and seemed to be marked by deep abrasions in every direction. ‘Interesting,’ he commented, getting back to his feet. He turned to the guard and said, ‘We’ll be going now. You keep your eyes open, and if you need us you know where to find us.’

‘You can be sure of that, sir,’ replied the officer, lifting his hand to the visor of his cap.

Reggiani then went back to the squad car and asked to be dropped off at his office in the city. He detested asking the Finanza for information, but he had no alternative now.

Once at his desk, he picked up the phone and dialled the special operations number to see if he could speak to the men who had been on duty the night before. They were unable to give him a decent description of the two bandits who had got away or of the bicycle used to escape down the path through the Rovaio woods: a man’s bike, black and old, with a triangle frame and rusty handlebars. Hundreds just like it in Volterra and the surrounding countryside.

He started to search the files to see if he could turn up someone who met the description provided by the agents, while he waited for the medical examiner’s report. That’s what it was like working in these small provincial cities: sheer boredom for months or even years, then suddenly someone gets their head torn off with practically no hint of a scuffle anywhere near the murder site. He knew the colonel would be calling before evening to check how the investigation was proceeding and he could already hear his own answer: it appears we’re groping around in the dark, sir. What else?

He nevertheless ordered the men in his unit to ascertain whether any ferocious animals had escaped from a circus or Gypsy camp or even from the villa of some eccentric local dabbling in the illegal breeding of panthers, lions or leopards. He’d heard that it was becoming fashionable to raise wild beasts in your backyard. In the meantime, he waited for the results of the post-mortem exam on Ronchetti.

FABRIZIO ARRIVED at the museum shortly before nine and sat at the desk in his cubicle to begin his work for the day. As he was getting started, there was a knock at the door and a pretty girl walked in. Dark hair, nice figure and nicely dressed as well, not the usual vestal virgin he was used to seeing wandering the halls of museums and NAS offices.

‘Hi. You’re Castellani, aren’t you? My name is Francesca Dionisi. I’m an inspector here. The director would like to speak to you.’

Fabrizio got up and walked out with her.

‘Do you live around here?’ he asked as they went down the hall.

‘Yes, I do. In the Oliveto neighbourhood, left of the first bend in the road that takes you to Colle Val d’Elsa.’

‘Right,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘I’m staying in a place not far from there. At the Semprini farm in Val d’Era.’

They had almost reached the director’s office.

‘Listen,’ he said, before they entered, ‘did you hear anything strange last night?’

‘No. Why? What should I have heard?’

Fabrizio was about to answer when Mario arrived at the top of the stairs.

‘Have you heard the latest? They’ve found Ronchetti, the tomb robber, in the fields near Rovaio with his throat slashed open! His head was practically ripped off his body.’

‘Who told you that?’ asked a porter.

‘My cousin, the one who drives an ambulance. He saw the body himself. It was a mess. They’re saying it was a wild animal, a lion or a leopard or something that escaped from a circus. Remember that panther that got out last year at Orbassano? Well, it’s happened again!’

‘When did it happen?’ asked Fabrizio, suddenly pale.

‘I don’t know. Two, three o’clock, depends on who you listen to. Last night, anyway.’

Fabrizio could distinctly hear in his mind that unmistakable cry of a wild animal that had split the night as he sat working in the silence of the museum. A long shiver went down his spine.

Francesca startled him. ‘What was that sound you were talking about?’

‘Well, a scream, I think… a…’

She looked at him in surprise and curiosity. He was pale and upset, obviously shaken by some strong emotion.

‘Go on in. The director is waiting for you,’ she said to relieve his embarrassment. ‘Come and see me later if you like.’

She opened the door to Balestra’s office and Fabrizio went in.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ the director asked him politely. ‘I usually have a cigarette with my coffee.’

‘Not at all,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘I think I need one myself, if I may. And I’d love some coffee.’

Balestra poured a cup from the pot and passed him a cigarette. ‘I didn’t think you smoked.’

‘I don’t. But sometimes I do… That is, when I’m tense.’

‘I understand. When you’re working on something important, that can happen.’

‘You said you wanted to see me. Is anything wrong?’

‘Yes, actually,’ replied Balestra. ‘We’ve got trouble.’

‘I hope it’s nothing to do with my authorization.’

‘Oh no, not at all. There’s no problem with that. It’s something completely different. I was hoping you could give me a hand.’

‘With pleasure, if I can.’

‘Well,’ began Balestra, ‘last night a couple of Finanza agents surprised some robbers breaking into a tomb and they called me right away. It was two thirty a.m. I asked them to put someone on guard and told them we’d be by this morning.’

Fabrizio wondered whether the director had heard about Ronchetti. He imagined not, but he didn’t think it was his place to tell him. Mario’s account was quite confused, after all, and might have been exaggerated.

Balestra sipped his coffee and took a long drag on his cigarette before he continued: ‘I’m wondering whether you would consider inspecting the tomb and possibly excavating it. I can give you a couple of workers, even three or four if you need them. It’s bad timing for me. I’m up to my neck in work and I have a couple of deadlines approaching. Dr Dionisi is already working on an emergency that came up in the trench they’re digging for the new power lines. One of my inspectors had an accident while on a job and is at home on sick leave, and another is on holiday – well earned, poor devil, he worked all summer on the Villanovan settlement near Gaggera. I know I can trust you to do a good job; you’ve already written and published studies on a number of similar digs. I’ve tried to help you out here, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing me this favour.’

Fabrizio was shocked by the proposal. It was unheard of for a regional director of the National Antiquities Service to forgo personal excavation of a possibly intact Etruscan tomb, presumably from the early period. He must be involved in something very big and very important indeed to let such an opportunity slip by.

Careful to keep his surprise out of his voice, Fabrizio replied in a solicitous tone, ‘I understand completely and I’m honoured by your trust in me. Just let me know when you’d like me to begin.’

‘Believe me, I’m sorry to interrupt the work you’re doing here. I know how important it is for you, but I don’t know where else to turn. I could ask another one of the regional directors to send someone in, but I’d rather not do that, because they’d certainly expect a favour in return. And, to be truthful, I can’t say that my colleagues… Well, enough said.’

‘No, really,’ insisted Fabrizio. ‘I’d be happy to work on this project. How soon would you like me to start?’

‘Right away, Castellani. You can see for yourself that it’s an emergency. Talk with Dr Dionisi and have her give you the men you need.’