The Rome Prophecy

122

The drop from the field to the first level of the underground tunnel is enough to remind Tom that his knee is still swollen and unstable.

To make matters worse, it’s so cramped down there that he has to crawl along on a stony surface.

‘Wait!’ he shouts, virtually into Guilio’s backside, just a couple of feet away from him.

‘Shush!’ comes back a whispered shout.

Tom waits patiently behind the huddled form. He hears the thin noise of stone scraping on stone, and guesses the scalene pendant is at work again.

Guilio squeezes to one side and hands back his flashlight. ‘Shine it over there; I can’t seem to move this last lock with only one hand.’

Tom takes the light and twists its head so the beam floods more strongly.

Guilio works away in the cramped space.

Several minutes pass.

‘Got it!’

He ties the scalene pendant back on to the strap of his rucksack and manoeuvres his body round.

Tom sees that he’s pulling up another disc, pretty much the same as the one they entered through.

It breaks and collapses inwards.

Guilio falls forward and almost tumbles head first down after it.

The broken cover makes loud but dull thumping sounds as pieces hit the earth two metres below.

A muffled sound, like distant rolling thunder, echoes through unseen tunnels.

‘That was close!’ Guilio looks into the hole. ‘We have to drop down through several more portals like this one before we reach the gallery that will lead us to where I believe your friend is being held.’

Tom nods. There’s nothing in his mind now but the job in hand. He’s ready to deal with anything and anyone that he comes across.

Guilio twists his body round so his feet dangle into the darkness.

He drops out of sight.

Tom follows.

This time he’s doubly careful to make sure his good leg takes most of the impact and that his damaged shoulder stays clear of the stone tunnel walls.

Within a dozen paces, the tunnel doglegs right and then opens into a larger area.

Tom’s relieved to be able to stand.

He pulls out his flashlight and sweeps the beam in front of him.

The walls have been cut out of sandstone. Four layers of deep shelves stretch from a dark earth floor to a high earth ceiling.

He knows where he is.

Long before he sees the first bones and the empty eye sockets of the stacked skulls, he knows he’s in an ancient cemetery.

A necropolis.

It could be Christian, or maybe even Etruscan.

He remembers Guilio saying they were journeying between – and beneath – the catacombs of Callixtus and Sebastian. Somewhere off in the hardened soil around him are the now well-trodden tombs and crypts of martyrs.

Brave people who died fighting for what they loved most.