My ears rang but at least I could hear again.
I was taken into the villa and down a dimly lit corridor that led into a flagged kitchen. The only light came from a broad-shaded lamp hanging very low over a long table. It obscured the three people who were sitting on its far side. They all stood, but one of them stepped to the side. It was a beautiful, raven-haired woman.
‘I am the Contessa di Bocci, Captain Tempest. Allow me to introduce my husband, Count Alfonso di Bocci.’
I nodded to the count — a ruddy-faced, stout man of middle height and middle years — and he to me. She indicated the third person.
‘And this is-’
The middle-aged man standing erect on the other side of the table thrust out his hand.
‘I’m-’
He still looked how I might look in twenty years’ time.
‘We’ve met, actually,’ I said to Eric Knowles.
FORTY
Watts was reeling and not just from the whisky he’d consumed. Years ago he’d read his father’s first book, based on his heroic journey across Europe to get back to England after escaping from a Nazi concentration camp. But he’d never heard his father talk about his wartime experiences and didn’t think he’d written about them. He felt an unexpected gush of pride about a man he in many ways despised.
But more astonishing than that was the mention of Chiusi. What kind of coincidence was it that Jimmy Tingley had been in this very same town to have dealings with the same family his father had been sent to protect?
Everything is connected, he murmured to himself, dialling Tingley’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail.
‘Jimmy, call me when you get this or when you can. Stay safe.’
He put his phone down on the table beside the whisky bottle, now two-thirds empty, and reached for the next exercise book.
After the introductions I was taken to a room in a cellar where I fell on the cot and slept until evening. When I woke, I drank from a pitcher of water and coughed and spat for ten minutes. Then I stripped off my clothes and washed as best I could in a bowl of freezing water.
I ached in every bone and I was covered in cuts and welts and bruises. A suit, a clean shirt and a pair of tennis shoes had been set on a chair whilst I slept. I put them on. They weren’t a bad fit, although I felt slightly ridiculous in the plimsolls. But then I felt I had gone through the looking glass. This wasn’t the usual way captured enemy were treated.
Someone must have been watching me, because no sooner was I dressed than the door opened and an Italian militiaman escorted me back to the kitchen. The three were sitting at the table as if they had never moved. As if, indeed, they only came alive when I came into the room.
‘My suit fits you well enough,’ Knowles said. ‘I thought it might be tight on you.’
They ushered me to a seat on the other side of the table and food and a glass of wine were placed before me.
‘Perhaps I should explain that the count arranged that any prisoners be brought to him first. He is on good terms with the Germans and the German commander is clear-sighted enough to see that the count will have to come to an accommodation with the Allies when the occupying force withdraws, as it will inevitably do. But then to stumble upon you, Captain Tempest, the very man sent to protect him. Well. .’
‘You knew I was coming?’ I said, inhaling greedily the strong smell of the food set before me.
‘But, of course,’ Knowles said. ‘I have been negotiating for the arrival of someone like you for some time.’
‘Let Captain Tempest eat,’ the contessa said, laying a hand on that of Knowles for a moment.
I thanked her and picked up my fork. I was ravenously hungry. I ate quickly, washing the meal down with the rough red wine that soon had my cheeks burning and my senses swimming. The contessa had a small smile on her face as she watched me stuff my face. Her husband looked pained.
Knowles did most of the talking. He answered many of the questions I wanted to ask him. The first thing he impressed upon me was that he wasn’t a collaborator.
‘I’m no Lord Haw-Haw,’ he said. ‘I was sent to Italy before the war as the BUF’s ambassador to Rome. Mussolini greeted me warmly and the state provided accommodation for me near the Spanish Steps. But I had a change of heart and became a wanderer.’
‘A wanderer?’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘What kind of wanderer?’
‘I was researching the surviving pulpits of Cimabello. You know his work?’
I shook my head. The count, obviously bored, looked at the ceiling, taking deep swallows of his drink.
‘No matter. Then I came down to Chiusi to research the wall paintings in the funeral barrows scattered around the town and was trapped here when war broke out. I have been a kind of prisoner of war, under very pleasant house arrest. First of the Italians, then of the Germans, but always in the safe keeping of the count and contessa.’
I pushed my empty plate away.
‘Thank you — and I apologize that I ate like a pig.’
The count grunted.
‘I expect the vigorous defence of the town came as an unpleasant surprise to you,’ Knowles said.
‘The Germans handled their defences well,’ I said evenly.
‘The reason the town was defended so strenuously is Hitler’s belief that there is a great tomb beneath the city. Hitler himself ordered the field commander to retain the town at whatever cost until it is located. As you possibly know, Herr Hitler is keen to acquire some of the world’s most sacred relics from every corner of his everlasting Reich.’
‘I’m aware he loots treasures from occupied countries for Germany.’
‘Sometimes it is a little more than that. If the object is said to have magical powers. .’
I’d read about Hitler’s determination to get a Christian relic, the spear of Longinus, for its supposed magical properties. The man really was as mad as a March hare but much more dangerous.
I mentioned the Longinus spear. Knowles nodded.
‘Ah yes, the Roman centurion who attended Jesus on the cross and the spear he is said to have thrust into Christ’s side. Such nonsense.’
‘And you’ve been helping the Germans loot relics?’
Knowles looked almost comically aghast.
‘I don’t pilfer.’
I took another glug of wine.
‘Is the tomb beneath Chiusi also nonsense?’
Knowles glanced at the count and the contessa.
‘Well, that remains to be seen.’
The count broke in.
‘It is the mausoleum of Porsena. You have heard of him?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Porsena was Etruria’s greatest king. He was buried in a golden chariot pulled by six golden horses, his weapons and his fabulous treasure piled all around him. The tomb was concealed in the centre of a labyrinth. Whoever finds his tomb will have found one of the wonders of the world. Tutankhamen’s tomb would pale by comparison.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought, as an Italian patriot, you would want such a find to be looted by the Nazis,’ I said to the count.
He glanced at Knowles, who looked down at the table, then looked back at me for a long moment.
