private collectors or museum curators today. Some of the best Greek bronze statues ever found came from this very villa, discovered only yards away from us when well-diggers broke through in the eighteenth century. Some Romans equated Anubis with Cerberus, guardian of the river Styx in the underworld, but to many he was a figure of derision, the barking one, a dog. This statue would have been an antiquity, a curio, probably seen as an amusing work of art and nothing more.’
‘I don’t know,’ Maria said quietly. ‘He seems to be staring at us, half in and half out of history, exactly like a guardian.’ She peered at Hiebermeyer. ‘Do you ever get superstitious, Maurice? I mean, King Tut’s tomb, the curse of the mummy, all that?’
‘No.’ Hiebermeyer spoke curtly. ‘I’m just a dirt archaeologist.’
‘Come on, Maurice. You must at least be thrilled by this. Remember when we were undergraduates, and you talked all the time about Egypt? And I mean all the time. Admit it.’
Hiebermeyer looked at the jackal head, and allowed himself a rare smile. ‘I am thrilled. Of course I am. It’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see the rest of the inscription.’ He pressed the palm of his hand against the polished steatite, then looked down the tunnel. ‘But I really think this is the end of the road. This statue must have been revealed in the seismic aftershock last night, and we must be the first to see it. But others have been this far in the tunnel before us, before it was sealed up to get it ready for our arrival. The local site security people will have been in here as soon as that first earthquake opened it up. If they found anything it’s probably on the black market already. I doubt whether we’ll find anything else.’
‘I can’t believe you’re so cynical.’ Maria seemed genuinely affronted. ‘They’d never have allowed it. Have you forgotten where we are? The Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum. Site of the only known library of papyrus scrolls to survive from antiquity, yet everyone knows that more of it must remain here to be found, sealed up behind these walls. You don’t just let anyone walk in here and pilfer it.’
‘Also one of the greatest disappointments in archaeology,’ Hiebermeyer said. ‘Almost all the excavated scrolls are by Philodemus, a third-rate philosopher of no lasting significance. No great works of literature, hardly anything in Latin.’ He replaced his glasses. ‘Ever wonder why the villa was never fully excavated?’
‘Lots of reasons. Structural issues. Undermining the modern buildings above. Resources needed for maintaining the existing excavation, the main part of Herculaneum already revealed. Bureaucracy. Lack of funds. Corruption. You name it.’
‘Try again.’
‘Well, there are huge problems working out the best way of conserving and reading the carbonized papyri. You remember our visit to the Officina dei Papyri in Naples? They’re still working on the stuff found in the eighteenth century. And they need to determine the best way of excavating new material, of recovering any more scrolls that may exist. This place demands the best. It’s a sacred site.’
‘Precisely.’ Hiebermeyer clicked his fingers. ‘The last thing you said. A sacred site. And like other sacred sites, like the caves of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Israel, people yearn to find out what lies inside, yet they also fear it. And believe me, there’s one very powerful body in Italy that would rather not have any more written records from the first century AD.’
At that moment the dust in the air seemed to blur and there was a palpable tremor, followed by a sound like falling masonry somewhere ahead. Maria braced her hands on the floor of the tunnel and looked at Hiebermeyer in alarm. He quickly whipped out a palm-sized device with a prong and jammed it on to the wall of the tunnel, watching the readout intently as the tremor subsided. ‘An aftershock, a bit bigger than the one last night but probably nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘We were told to expect these. Remember, the walls around us are solidified pyroclastic mud, unlike the ash and pumice fallout on Pompeii. Most of it’s harder than concrete. We should be safe.’
‘I can hear the others, coming up the tunnel behind us,’ Maria said quietly.
‘Ah yes. The mysterious lady from the superintendency. You know she’s an old friend of Jack’s? I mean, close friend. It was after you’d left, when he was finishing his doctorate and I was already in Egypt. For some reason they don’t talk. I can see the torch light now. Best behaviour.’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ Maria said quietly, then looked up at the snout. ‘Anyway, Anubis should stall them.’
‘Anubis will probably halt the whole project,’ Hiebermeyer said. ‘It’ll be hailed as a great discovery, vindication of their decision to explore the tunnel. It’ll be enough for them to withdraw our permit and seal this up. The only reason we’re here is that someone leaked the discovery of the tunnel to the press after the earthquake, and the archaeological authorities had no choice but to put up a show.’
‘You’re being cynical again.’
‘Trust me. I’ve been in this game a long time. There are much bigger forces at play here. There are those who are fearful of the ancient past, who would do all they can to close it off. They fear anything that might shake the established order, the institutions they serve. Old ideas, ancient truths sometimes obscured by those very institutions which sprang up to protect them.’
‘Ideas that might be found in a long-lost library,’ Maria murmured.
‘We’re talking the first century AD here,’ Maurice whispered. ‘The first decades anno domini in the year of our Lord. Think about it.’
‘I have.’
‘It’s your call whether or not we continue down the tunnel to see what else we can find before they shut us down. I’ve got an excavation in Egypt waiting for me. You need a rest.’
‘Try me.’
‘I take it we’re in agreement.’
‘Let’s take the chance now while we’ve got it,’ Maria said. ‘You’ve found your treasure, now I need mine.’
Hiebermeyer stowed the oscillator in his front overall pocket, sneezed noisily then peered at Maria. ‘I can see what Jack saw in you. He always said you might make something of yourself, if you got out of the Institute of Medieval Studies at Oxford and took a job with him.’
Maria gave him a withering look, then crawled forward until she was just beyond the statue. The dust was settling, and ahead of them they could just make out a white patch where another fragment of the tunnel wall had been dislodged by the tremor. As the beams of their headlamps concentrated on the fracture, they could see something dark at the centre. Hiebermeyer pulled himself forward and turned to Maria, his face ablaze with excitement. ‘Okay, we’ve passed Anubis, and we’re still in one piece.’
‘Superstitious, Maurice?’
‘Let’s go for it.’
3
Claudius gulped at the wine, holding the cup with trembling hands, then shut his eyes and grasped the pillar until the worst of the fit was over. Tonight he would go to the Phlegraean Fields, stand before the Sibyl’s cave for the last time. But there was work to do before then. He lurched sideways on to the marble bench, lunging wildly at his toga to stop it from slipping off, then tripped and fell heavily on his elbows. His face twisted in pain and frustration, willing on tears that no longer came, retching on empty. In truth he was going through the motions. He barely felt anything any more.
He raised himself and peered rheumily at the moonlight that was now shimmering across the great expanse of the bay, past the statues of Greek and Egyptian gods that lined the portico of the villa. The nearest to him, the dog-headed one, seemed to frame the mountain, its ears and snout glowing in the moonlight. From his vantage point on the belvedere of the villa he could see the rooftops of the town he knew intimately but had never visited, Herculaneum. He could hear the clinking and low sounds of evening activity, the rising and falling of conversation, peals of laughter and soft music, the lapping of waves on the seashore.
He had all he had needed. Wine from the slopes of Vesuvius, rich red wine that flowed like syrup, always his favourite. And girls, brought for him from the back alleys below, girls who still gave him fleeting pleasure, years
