general plaudits. The good Pope Gregory XV had, around 1620, laid down that the remains of saints were to be removed from the catacombs so that these precious relics could be distributed to churches throughout all Christendom, and he had instructed Cardinal Crescenzi to see to the implementation of this holy programme.
I turned towards the two bizarre manikins who were fussing around these human remains, emitting obscene grunts.
'I know it seems curious to you that a mission of such high spirituality should be entrusted to two such beings,' continued Atto. 'But you must bear in mind that descending into the catacombs and artificial grottoes, of which Rome has so many, is not to everyone's taste. One must enter dangerous places, cross watercourses, face the risk of rock-falls and collapsing galleries. And it takes a strong stomach to go rummaging among the corpses…'
'But they are just old bones.'
'That is all too easily said, yet how did you react a few moments ago? Our two friends had just completed their round, as they explained to me while you lay half dead on the ground. In this cavity, they keep their collection. The catacombs are a long way off and there is no danger of encountering one of their competitors around here. So they were not expecting to meet with a living soul; and when we surprised them, they panicked and started to run in all directions. In the confusion, you came too near to their pile of bones and disturbed it, and it collapsed on top of you. And then you fainted.'
I looked down and saw that the two strange little men had by now separated their bones from the vomit and had given them a quick cleaning. The little mountain under which I had been buried must have been far higher than myself; and now it all lay spread out on the ground. In reality, the human remains (a skull, a few long bones, and three vertebrae) were few when compared with all the remaining matter: earth, potsherds, stones, wood splinters, moss and roots, rags, all manner of rubbish. What, fuelled by fear, I had experienced as a deluge of death was but the contents of a sack filled by a peasant who had scraped too much from the soil of his little field.
'To exercise a dirty trade like this,' the abbot continued, 'you need a couple of characters like those whom you see before you. These tomb robbers are called corpisantari, after the sacred relics of saints for which they are always searching. If fortune does not smile upon them, they sell some rubbish to the next simpleton they meet. Have you not seen them, in front of your inn, selling Saint John's shoulder-blade or the jaw of Saint Catherine, feathers from angels' wings, splinters from the one True Cross borne by Our Lord? Well, the suppliers are our two friends, or their companions in the trade. When they are in luck, they find the tomb of some presumed martyr. Of course, those who reap the honours of translating the relics of Saint Etcetera to some church in Spain are the cardinals, or that old windbag Father Fabretti, whom Innocent X appointed, if I am not mistaken, custos reliquiarum ac coemeteriorum, the Custodian of Relics and Cemeteries.'
'Where are we, Signor Abbot?' I asked, confused by our hostile and shadowy surroundings.
'I have mentally retraced the way we have covered and asked these two one or two questions. They call it the Archives, because this is where they heap up their ordure. I would say that we are more or less inside the ruins of the old stadium of Domitian, where during the Roman Empire they held sea battles, with ships. To make matters easier for you, I can tell you that we are under the Piazza Navona, at the end nearest the Tiber. If we had covered the distance from the inn to the same point on the surface, at a good walking pace, it would have taken no more than three minutes.'
'So these ruins are from Roman times.'
'But of course these are Roman ruins. Do you see those arches? They must be the old structures of the stadium where they held games and naval battles, above which were built the palazzi which now surround the Piazza Navona, following the old oblong design.'
'As in the Circo Massimo?'
'Exactly: except that there, everything has remained visible; whereas here it was all buried under the weight of centuries. But you will see, sooner or later, they will excavate here too. There are things that cannot remain buried.'
While he told me of matters that were utterly new to me, I was astonished to see for the first time shining in Abbot Melani's eyes the spark of fascination with art and antiquity, despite the fact that he was at that moment deeply involved in what would appear to be very different affairs. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but this inclination was to have not unimportant consequences in this and later adventures.
'Well, well, we should so like to be able to mention, one day, the names of our two nocturnal acquaintances.'
'I am Ugonio,' said the less runted of the twain.
Atto Melani looked questioningly at the other one.
'Gfrrrlubh,' came the sound issuing from under his hood.
'And he is Ciacconio,' said Ugonio, hastening to translate Ciac-conio's gurglings.
'Can he not speak?' insisted Abbot Melani.
'Gfrrrlubh,' replied Ciacconio.
'I understand,' said Atto, reining in his impatience. 'We humbly beg your pardon for having disturbed your perambulations. But, now that I come to think of it, may I avail myself of this opportunity to inquire whether you have, by any chance, seen someone pass this way, a little while before our arrival?'
'Gfrrrlubh!' broke in Ciacconio.
'He has invisioned a presence,' announced Ugonio.
'Tell him that we want to know everything,' said I, butting in.
'Gfrrrlubh,' repeated Ciacconio.
We looked questioningly at Ugonio.
'Ciacconio entrified the galleria whence your worships emergen- cied, and was espied there by one who held a lamp-light; whereupon Ciacconio regressed upon his feetsteps. But the lamp-lifter must have entrified a trap- portal, for he disapparitioned like smoke, and Ciacconio sought sanctity here, most alarmified.'
'Could he not have told us himself?' asked Abbot Melani, somewhat taken aback.
'But he has now descripted and confessated it,' replied Ugonio.
'Gfrrrlubh,' confirmed Ciacconio, vaguely piqued.
Atto Melani and I looked at one another in some perplexity.
'Gfrrrlubh,' continued Ciacconio, becoming animated, and seeming by his grunts proudly to claim that even he, a poor creature of darkness, could render himself more than useful.
As his companion was most opportunely to interpret for us, Ciacconio had, after the meeting with the stranger, carried out a second minute investigation of the gallery, because his curiosity was stronger than his fear.
'He is a great miner of other people's busyness,' explained Ugonio, in the tones of one reiterating an old and worn reproof, 'which leads him only into troubleness and misfortunity.'
'Gfrrrlubh,' broke in Ciacconio, fumbling through his coat in search of something.
Ugonio seemed to hesitate.
'What did he say?' I asked.
'Naught, or only that…'
Triumphantly, Ciacconio produced a screwed-up piece of paper. Ugonio grabbed his forearm and with lightning speed tore it from his hand.
'Hand it over to me or I shall blow your head off,' said Abbot Melani calmly, reaching into his right-hand pocket in which he had placed the device with which he had already threatened the two corpisantari.
Ugonio slowly reached out and surrendered to my companion the paper which he had scrunched up into a ball. Then without warning he set to kicking and belabouring Ciacconio, calling him, 'You sour saggy old scumskinned, batskinned, sow-skinned, scrunchbacked, sodomitic skinaflinter, you puking mewlbrat, you muddy- snouted, slavering, sarcophagous shitebeetle, you bumsquibcracking sicomoron, you slimy old scabmutcheon- shysteroo, you shittard, sguittard, crackard, filthard, lily-livered, lycanthropic, eunichon-bastradion-bumfodder- billicullion- ballockatso, you gorbellied doddipol, calflolly jobbernol, you grapple- snouted netherwarp, you clarty- frumpled, hummthrumming, tuzzle- wenching, placket-racket, dregbilly lepidopter, you gnat-snapping, weedgrubbing, blither-blather, bilge-bottled, ockham-cockam peder- aster,' and other epithets which I had never heard before, yet which sounded somewhat grave and offensive to my ears.
Abbot Melani did not deign so much as to glance at these painful theatrics and spread out the sheet of paper
