The Ancient Curse

EPILOGUE

SOME TIME LATER in Siena, Fabrizio and Francesca received an invitation from NAS director Balestra to attend the press conference formally announcing the discovery of the slab of Volterra, the most complex example of Etruscan epigraphy ever found.

At nearly the same time, they received an email from Lieutenant Reggiani which said, among other things:

Our investigation into the origins of little Angelo has produced positive results. Ambra Reiter kidnapped the child from a couple in Trieste who she was working for at the time. The abduction had been commissioned by Count Ghirardini, who wanted an heir at any cost and contacted a criminal organization who arranged illegal adoptions. The child, I’m told, has been reunited with his parents. He has adapted well to his new/old family and is happy, according to the reports I’ve received. I’m enclosing a photo.

Fabrizio observed the image that pictured a fit, handsome man of about forty-five and a striking, elegantly dressed woman about ten years younger. Angelo was standing between them and smiling broadly.

The email continued:

His real name is Eugenio and he’s promised to come to visit as soon as he can, with his parents. As you may have learned, I delivered the final fragment personally to the NAS director, along with a complete report on all of the objects found in the underground hide at Le Macine. I think I can say that everything’s gone as smooth as silk. The animal that held us, and all of Volterra, in its thrall is dead. In one way or another, or in both ways, it’s dead. We’ve spoken about this on the phone and I’m sure you’ll soon come around to my way of thinking. Give me a call when you can, Marcello.

A PS followed:

Sonia has requested a transfer to the NAS offices of Florence and she hopes to be assigned to the Volterra museum. If that should fall through, I’ll ask to be transferred to regional headquarters in Bologna.

Fabrizio looked at the photo again. ‘I would have kept Angelo, if they’d let us,’ he said.

‘That would have made me happy too,’ replied Francesca. ‘He’s a very special child. So sweet, sensitive, bright.’

‘Do you have any idea of what Balestra’s translation is like?’ asked Fabrizio, turning the director’s invitation over in his hands.

‘More or less . . .’

‘And?’

‘From what I know, it will be a partial, hypothetical version . . . and no announcement of the opisthographic text will be given, at least not yet. The inscription will be hung on the wall in the museum and show only the Etruscan side. The complete translation is in the hands of a notary, who will keep it locked up in a safety deposit box for some time.’

‘For how long?’

Francesca smiled. ‘Long enough for all of us to accept a natural explanation for the events we lived through. Don’t worry. Your friend Aldo Prada won’t say anything. He won’t want people thinking he’s a crackpot.’

‘Do you think it will be possible to keep it quiet?’

‘Why not? If those who could speak up decide not to, everything will return to normal. As if nothing ever happened. You’re the only person who stands to suffer. I don’t believe you’ll ever publish your findings about the statue of the lad of Volterra.’

‘Well, Sonia won’t ever publish her skeleton either . . . The official explanation is that it was destroyed in a fire caused by a short circuit. But at least I found you.’

‘You really were fond of that little boy, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

Francesca smiled again, this time with a teasing expression. ‘Then we’ll have to call ours Angelo,’ she said. ‘He’ll be the only real thing to come out of this whole story.’