personalities.’
Tom explains a little more. ‘Cerberus had one head to watch over the past, one to guard the present and the third to look into the future.’
‘Quite a pooch.’
‘And a hungry one. All of the jaws hungered solely for live human meat. Cerberus was the perfect monster to ensure that no living soul entered the afterlife. It was also said to have a mane and tail made out of serpents, much like Medusa’s hair.’
‘Not exactly Fluffy.’
‘Fluffy?’
‘The three-headed dog in Harry Potter. One of the advantages of having a young niece who needs taking to the movies.’
Tom puts the paper down. ‘Mythology is everywhere these days. McDonald’s will be selling Zeus burgers soon.’
‘Are you willing to bet their Greek franchises don’t already do them?’
‘No. Joking aside, the mythology might also be some kind of clue.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, when Anna first started talking about Mother, I thought she meant the Holy Mother.’
Valentina nods. ‘Me too. So?’
‘Well, yesterday she also used the term Mater.’
‘That means Mother.’
‘Yes, I know that. But she said something odd, like: “Mater, who is all, is within us”, and that made me realise we weren’t in the realms of Roman Catholicism any more.’
‘We weren’t?’
‘No.’ He picks up Anna’s diary again. ‘And this confirms it. In here she talks about other women. She says: ‘ Before me I see my sisters. The others of the spirit world. Those who have for ever been and will for ever be. They are the keepers of the secret. The prophetesses.’
Tom looks pleased with himself.
Valentina still doesn’t get it. ‘ Sisters? Some feminist movement? Nuns?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, not nuns. I didn’t want to speculate until I’d thought it through.’
‘What, Tom?’ She presses him. ‘Come on, you need to give me something.’
He waggles the papers in his hand. ‘Cybele.’
The name means nothing to Valentina.
‘ Cybele! ’ he repeats with extra stress. ’I should have got it much earlier. I had coffee a few days ago with Alfie, and we found the name Cybele linked to the Field of Mars and to several temples in Rome.’
‘Tom, I really don’t follow. Cybele who?’
He blows out a sigh. Explaining this could be difficult. ‘She’s as old as time itself. Known to the Greeks as Meter, to the Phrygrians as Matar Kubileya and to the Romans as Magna Mater – the Great Mother.’
‘We’re talking about Mother Nature?’
‘Not quite. Not as simply and benignly and abstractly as we refer to Mother Nature these days. It’s more complex than that. People began worshipping Cybele centuries before Christ. She was the ultimate matriarchal icon, and some even say she was responsible for the birth of feminism.’
‘And all this is bad how?’ Valentina jokes.
‘Bad for men. She had a lover called Attis. He was unfaithful to her, and in revenge she drove him insane and made him castrate himself. Male followers in the sect of Attis were eunuchs, just as they were in the sect of Cybele.’
Valentina starts to see connections to her case. ‘We’re back to those… what were they called… galleys?’
‘Galli.’ He makes a scissor action with his fingers. ‘Only after they’d experienced the snip were they allowed to become priests. These were the only males permitted to be close to any of the sect’s priestesses.’
She climbs off the bed and moves to the desk. ‘Let me look at that section.’
He passes it to her.
She scans it a little, then reads aloud: ‘… the mortals take my burned remains to their dank resting place in the Colum barium. Here among the shelved peasantry is my place in the potted history of poorest Rome. My niche in society.’
She looks up from the photocopy. ‘Columbarium? As in Columbia?’
‘No. A columbarium is a public resting place for the ashes of the dead; it’s where poor people stored their loved ones when they couldn’t afford tombs. Urns were kept on numbered shelves, so relatives could come and find them and pay their respects.’
‘During Parentalia?’
‘Exactly.’
She carries on reading. ‘ No ornately engraved plaque marks my spot. No statue or portrait. Nor any message of love. Just a number. My sisters and I wonder if beyond the grave they can hear us laughing. The number is X.’
She hands the paper back to Tom. ‘Why would the number ten be amusing for Cassandra and her sisters?’
Now it’s Tom’s turn to look lost. ‘The number ten means nothing significant to me. You’ll find myths and legends that talk not only about Cybele, but also about various sibyls.’ He spells it out for her. ‘These are often the same prophetess, but I can’t recall the number playing any symbolic part.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t get too excited about all this. It’s probably just some crazy nonsense that went off in Anna’s head when she was imagining being dead Cassandra and living beyond the grave.’
She puts her arms around his neck. She’s had enough of the case for now. Enough of ancient Greeks and Roman myths. Enough of her suspension and her uncertain future. In fact, enough of everything except Tom. ‘Thanks for staying. For being with me throughout this madness. All this madness.’
He puts his hand on hers. ‘Think nothing of it; there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Besides, Paris was far too cold for an LA boy. I had to go somewhere.’
She gives him a friendly slap on the side of his head.
‘Hey!’
Mischief flickers in her eyes. ‘Hey what?’
She dances away from him like a boxer, hands up in pretend fists. ‘What are you going to do about it, eh?’ She feigns a slap with her left and then clips him with an open-handed right. ‘Woo-hoo! Come on, Mr Beeg Man, let’s see you fight for your place in the Roman sun.’
‘Right.’ Tom springs up with a smile as broad as Canada. ‘You are now so going to get it.’
Valentina jumps up on to the bed and bounces some more. ‘I hope so. I really hope so.’
78
Anna Fratelli can’t move her arms or legs.
As well as the chemical straitjacket of sedatives they’ve imposed upon her, she’s also pinned down with bed restraints.
Valducci is taking no chances. He’s reduced her to a state where she couldn’t even harm a proverbial fly if it settled on the tip of her nose, let alone injure herself again.
The Velcro fastenings on her wrists and ankles mean that her every waking moment is spent staring at the ceiling of the new high-security room they’ve moved her to.
Her only distraction is spotting the occasional movement of an overhead camera that records her 24/7.
Louisa Verdetti watches the camera feed with sadness.
She understands the need for the chemical restraints but thinks Valducci has overstepped the mark with the bonds.
