The Rome Prophecy

116

Tom finally recognises where he is.

He’s west of the river.

Off to his left is Isola Tiberina, and the place where he found the body of the dead man. And while the murder is still a mystery to the police, it no longer is to him.

Guilio has told him everything.

They cross the Tiber at the Ponte Palatino and turn sharp right on to the Lungotevere dei Pierleoni.

The distinctive campanile of the Chiesa Santa Maria in Cosmedin, the home of the Mouth of Truth, comes into view and Tom realises for the first time how close the various crime scenes are. Being driven around by Valentina, they appeared to be much further apart.

It’s clear from his agitation that Guilio doesn’t like being out in the open, and he makes little allowance for his companion’s injured shoulder and leg. ‘Come on, we have to hurry. We can’t hang around out here like tourists.’

Tom’s body is cramped up because of his injuries. He struggles for breath as Guilio sets a blistering pace down Via dei Cerchi and along the edge of the open banked fields of Circus Maximus, where chariots once raced and crowds of almost a quarter of a million people watched.

It takes them more than half an hour to make it to the Piazza di Porta Capena. Guilio spots a pharmacy. ‘Wait here, I’ll get some things to help with the pain and make you more comfortable.’

Tom’s now sweating hard and feeling weak.

He rests against the brick wall of a shutdown clothing shop, another victim of Europe’s savage economic downturn.

A police siren breaks the heavy hum of passing traffic.

He slides into the darkness of a doorway as Carabinieri patrol cars screech around the corner and head south.

Guilio comes out of the shop with a handful of white bags, his eyes fixed on the direction where the cop cars are headed. ‘I’ve got fasciature – bandages – to make a sling, and something a little special for you.’ He looks mischievous. ‘Let’s get out of sight so I can strap you up.’

They head around a corner and down a shadowy alleyway.

The first drops of a shower fall as Tom strips to his waist so Giulio can make a sling and arrange the arm in a position that takes some pressure off his right shoulder.

‘Feels as awkward as hell,’ he complains. ‘I dread to think how I’m going to cope when I need the toilet.’

Guilio’s worrying about more important things, like how useful the guy is going to be.

Maybe taking the walking wounded into battle isn’t a good idea after all.

He pulls a small white box out of his jacket pocket and shakes it. ‘We struck lucky. Some old lady was collecting her prescription of oxycodone and I picked it out of her basket. It’s going to help you a lot more than a few Advil.’ He unscrews the bottle and passes it over. ‘No point measuring it. Take a swig now, and if you’re still hurting badly, take another.’

Tom slugs some back and feels even guiltier. The pensioner was probably given the opioid because she was in a lot of pain, and now she’s going to be without relief because of him.

‘Okay, let’s move again.’ Guilio takes the bottle back and pockets it. ‘We’ve not got much further to go.’

He’s lying.

After another fifteen minutes of hard walking, Tom feels less pain but is dizzy and drained.

He gets a brief rest while Guilio ducks into a hardware-cum-convenience store and returns with two carrier bags bulging with new purchases and a rucksack. He opens the sack and empties the bags into it. ‘There’s a sandwich shop three doors down.’ He ties the rucksack up and swings it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s get some food and see if we can build your strength up.’

Ten minutes later they’re sitting on stools, wolfing down ciabattas with prosciutto, mozzarella and tomatoes, along with several litres of cool water and enough espressos to fuel them to the moon and back.

Guilio settles the bill.

Back outside, the showers of the last hour have turned into heavy rain. The black skies do their worst and the two men are soaked to the skin as they approach San Sebastian Gate and the start of the Via Appia Antica.

‘Do you know where you are?’ asks Guilio.

Tom does.

He looks up at the huge block of marble that forms the base of the gate, and its magnificent crenellated towers. ‘This is the start of the Appian Way.’

‘That’s right. Italy’s Route 66. The most famous road in our country.’ He points to the archway. ‘This is the bit of ancient highway that gave birth to the famous saying “All roads lead to Rome”. It was started three hundred years before Christ and ran for more than three hundred miles, finishing at Brindisi on the Adriatic. From there, ships left for Egypt, Greece and North Africa. This road we’re walking on carried Rome’s armies to some of their greatest victories.’

‘Let’s hope it does the same for us.’

Guilio laughs. ‘It wasn’t all good. It was also the place where more than two thousand members of Spartacus’s beaten slave army were crucified.’

They trudge on in silence.

Set back on their left is the Chiesa del Domine Quo Vadis, the Church of Santa Maria in Palmis.

Tom doesn’t need any history lesson on this landmark. It’s home to a slab of marble said to bear the imprints of Christ’s feet. The spot where St Peter had a vision as he was escaping from Nero’s soldiers. Christ is reported to have been walking past him back into Rome, when Peter turned and shouted: ‘ Domine, quo vadis? ’ – ‘Where are you going, Lord?’ Christ answered: ‘ Eo Romam iterum crucifigi’ – ‘I am going to Rome again to be crucified.’ Peter took this as his cue to turn around and head back into the city and accept his own death and martyrdom.

Guilio shouts, ‘Through here.’

By the time Tom looks up, his guide has disappeared again.

The only place he can have gone is through an implausibly narrow gap in a large ancient wall.

Tom breathes in and painfully crushes his damaged shoulder through the gap.

Guilio is waiting for him. He’s crouched down, pointing at something on the horizon. ‘You see in the distance the Catacombe di San Callisto?’

Tom can’t. ‘No, not really.’ He puts his hand tenderly on the reawakened pain in his shoulder.

‘Trust me, it is there, the famous Catacomb of Callixtus.’ He points beyond a line of cypress trees. ‘And over there are the Catacombs of Saint Sebastian.’ He stands up. ‘We are now between the two.’ He floats his hand in a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc. ‘Beneath our feet are a hundred acres of hidden catacombs, tunnels and galleries, some up to twelve miles long. There are more than half a million tombs and tens of millions of secrets buried right underneath us.’

‘And Valentina is being held down there?’

Guilio looks at him distrustfully. ‘Valentina and Anna.’

Tom knows this is the moment.

He can’t put it off any longer.

The time has come to tell Guilio that Anna is dead.