“Are you going to bring me something when you come back?”
“Only if your mother and Grumps say you’ve been a good boy.”
Manfred was only momentarily disquieted by the prospect of being ratted out by the dog. “I will, Vati, I will!”
Rossi was tall, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, military-style khakis and worn rubber knee boots. His face was the color and texture of old leather, wrinkled from years in the sun. A queue of white hair protruded from under the rear of the hat like the tail of some small, furry animal.
“Gotta go, now. Love you!” Lang entered “end.”
Rossi said something to the guard before turning to Lang, brilliant white teeth flashing in a smile. “Dr. Roth! I’m so glad you could come!”
His English was accented more by Oxford than his Italian nationality. Placing a hand under Lang’s elbow, he gently led him past a group of Egyptians gingerly sifting through a mound of loose earth.
“You are Joel Couch, American newspaperman, last time I see you,” Rossi gently chided. “Now you are Henry Roth, doctor of archaeology at a prestigious American university.” He studied Lang’s still-bruised face. “And you have met with an accident.”
“You should see the other fellow.”
“Had your e-mail not included the reference to Herculaneum and the fact you saved my life there, I would have discarded it as…”
“Spam.”
“As spam. Still, it is a mystery to me how Mr. Couch becomes Dr. Roth.”
Lang laid an arm on Rossi’s shoulder. “Believe me, Antonio, you are better off to let it remain a mystery.”
The archaeologist stopped in midstride, facing Lang. “You are also a mystery. But as you Americans say, I owe you one. What may I do to be of help?”
Lang looked around, selecting the shade of one of the few trees left. Lang could only guess how hot this place would be in the summer months. It was uncomfortably warm now.
“It’s a long story,” Lang began, experience warning against telling anyone more than they needed to know. “To make it a lot shorter, some people may be trying to locate Alexander the Great’s tomb, more specifically, his remains. Relics, as it were.”
Rossi gave a short laugh, more bark than merriment. “They and the rest of the archaeological world! The tomb itself has been lost since the fourth century AD.” This time he chuckled. “Even your Shakespeare has Hamlet refer to tracing the ‘noble dust of Alexander.’ ”
“Some say it has been confused with that of Saint Mark.”
Rossi pointed to several empty crates and motioned for Lang to sit on one while he took another. “That is a long story, more of what you would call… supposition? Yes, more supposition than fact.” He took off his hat and fanned himself with it. “We are not even certain where Saint Mark was originally buried. Reliable accounts put his tomb near what became known as Saint Mark’s Gate.”
Lang imitated the archaeologist, thankful for the small cooling effect. “Would that be the same as the Pepper Gate? I understand Alexander was entombed near there.”
Rossi nodded. “Yes, hence the confusion. To add to it, the Roman historian Libanius gives a contemporaneous account of Alexander’s body being on display just before paganism was outlawed in AD 391. There are no later firsthand accounts. Saint Mark’s body surfaces at the end of the fourth century, or about the same time.”
Lang forgot the heat for the moment. “Are you saying…?”
Rossi shook his head. “I’m an archaeologist, a scientist. I report what I find.”
“Archaeologists also theorize, fill in the gaps.”
“True,” the Italian conceded.
“OK, what do you think happened to Alexander’s remains and those of Saint Mark?”
Rossi studied the distance before replying as though inspiration might be there. “In the early centuries of Christianity, it would have been tempting,” he began, “for some official of the Alexandria church to seize the opportunity to both preserve the remains of the city’s founder, Alexander, from the more fanatical Christians and at the same time give Christians a relic to encourage the faithful. Adapting things pagan for Christian use was not unknown in the early days after paganism was made illegal. For example, a bronze idol of the Roman god Saturn was melted down to make a cross. Take a look at the ancient monuments in Rome that are adorned with crosses. Pagan temples, like the Pantheon, became Christian churches. We have the words of the Venetian merchants who supposedly stole the body of Saint Mark that it was mummified like Alexander’s, yet early Christian tradition insists Saint Mark’s body was partially cremated in the first century AD. This is only speculation on my part.”
Lang stood, facing the area where excavation by hand was progressing in ten-foot squares demarcated by strings on short pegs. “If your ‘speculation’ ”-he made quotation marks with his fingers-“is correct, then it is Alexander who was in Saint Mark’s tomb in Venice.”
Rossi also stood, glancing over to where the digging was going on. “Not necessarily. One of the things we learn in studying ancient clues to a question is that we must not overlook that there are often a number of possible answers to the same question.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Saint Mark’s body was buried at a place where many were interred. It was the… what would you say? The fashionable place for burials, Christians on top of those believing in the Greek gods, the Egyptian gods, the Roman gods. Though mummification was rare by then, it was still practiced. Even if the remains the Venetians took were not Saint Mark’s, there is no evidence they were Alexander’s, either.”
Lang used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. “Why do I feel I’m going in circles?”
Rossi smiled, again exhibiting perfect teeth. “Now you experience the feelings of a true archaeologist: either too many possible answers to a question or not enough.”
“But I understood the area-the palace area, it was called-was not a burial ground.”
“That was true when Alexander’s mausoleum was built here, if this is in fact the neighborhood. In the intervening years, though…” He stretched out a hand to infinity. “Who knows?”
Cemetery of Terra Santa
Alexandria, Egypt
Fifteen minutes later
Lang was watching the monotonous procedure. Diggers removed soil with small trowels, filling buckets that were carried to where he had seen sifting going on. Whenever metal struck something more solid than earth, Rossi watched while what appeared to be dental tools and toothbrushes were used to painstakingly remove clay and loose dirt. In the few minutes Lang had been an observer, two or three pieces of what looked like rock had been removed, cleaned and inspected.
Rossi stood next to Lang, using a red bandanna to wipe a combination of sweat and grime from his face. “It is not as exciting as the History Channel, I fear.”
“At least there aren’t any commercials.”
“No, my friend, the commercials come before the show begins, when I go to various foundations to beg money to support the project.”
Lang was about to reply when a young woman, her denims caked with dirt, her hair covered by a scarf, approached excitedly. She spoke in quick bursts of Italian punctuated with the erratic hand movements that are as much part of the language as the words themselves.
Whatever she was saying, it must have been important, as Rossi didn’t take the time to translate. He gave Lang a “follow me” gesture and took quick steps in the direction she was pointing.
Trotting to keep up, Lang came to a stop, almost colliding with Rossi’s back. Before them was a circular hole, one lined in white marble. A pair of ladders was fixed to the top and disappeared into darkness.
“The Alabaster Tomb,” Rossi explained. “We are searching for the possible passages discovered by electromagnetic imaging.”
“I read about it on the flight over,” Lang said. “Understand you think there may be more than the single chamber known so far.”
Rossi gave him a look that said the archaeologist was thankful not to have to take time to explain. “As you
