They arrived at Campo Vaccino, a field of rubble shrouded in fog and riddled with holes that made for easy traps in the darkness. Twice already Greta had slipped on the wet stones, and both times Karl had managed to catch her before she fell into one of the holes that were probably full of adders and other vermin.
“The Mons Palatinus.” Next to her, Johann was pointing at the outline of a tall hill rising into the sky beyond the field. Slung across his shoulder was the leather satchel he had carried with him since their leap with the baldachin. “The Romans also called this hill Palazzo Maggiore, the great palace. Our European palaces originate from here. Many Roman emperors built pompous villas upon this hill. It is the oldest part of Rome and the place where the city was founded.”
“You were here yesterday,” said Karl as they continued to walk toward the hill. “I don’t suppose you saw anything resembling a cave?”
“I didn’t have enough time. Hagen overpowered me very quickly and took me to the castle inside a chest.” Johann nodded grimly. “Another sign that we’ve come to the right place. The giant was probably visiting his new master.”
Greta turned to Karl. “And what about you? Did you notice anything on Palatine Hill? You drew it, after all.”
“There are countless palaces here worth drawing. But the buildings are dilapidated and overgrown—a cave could be anywhere. Like I said, I only heard about it from some vegetable farmers. They sounded like they wanted to warn me about the cursed place, the porta infernale, the gateway to hell.”
Johann stopped. He massaged his temples, like he often did when trying to focus. “Let us think. If the cave really was such a sacred place, then the emperors would have used it to glorify themselves.” He looked up and gazed at one of the ruins on the hill. “Who is the best-known Roman emperor?”
“Julius Caesar,” said Karl.
“Who, as you well know, wasn’t an emperor. Only his name served all subsequent emperors as title,” said Johann. “And he had no villa on Palatine Hill. Caesar lived down below as pontifex maximus. So, who else?”
“Constantine?” suggested Karl. “He was the first emperor to convert to Christianity.”
“And cut off the head of old Rome by founding Constantinople?” The doctor gave a snort of derision. “Bah!”
“Augustus?” offered Greta.
“Hmm . . . The first Roman emperor and Caesar’s great-nephew.” Johann nodded. “Following his death he was declared a god.” He gestured toward a large, derelict group of buildings. “That’s where his palace used to stand. I once read that Augustus wanted to adopt the name of Romulus.”
“Romulus!” exclaimed Greta. “The cave of Romulus and Remus.”
“Like Romulus, Augustus wanted to be considered a founding father of Rome.” Johann grinned broadly. “So wouldn’t it only make sense for Augustus to erect his magnificent domicile in precisely the same place where the first Romulus was suckled by a wolf?”
“Even if you’re right—the former palace grounds are still huge.” Karl held up his torch, which was already halfway burned down. “And we won’t have light for more than an hour or two.”
“Then let’s hurry up.” Greta was striding toward the hill.
Here, on the southeastern side of the hill, steep steps led up its face. Every other step was broken, like a missing tooth, and bushes and weeds grew tall along the edges. Greta felt like she was in the middle of a wilderness. After the noise of the fireworks, this place seemed as still as a graveyard. Somewhere nearby, a raven cawed. Johann stopped.
“What is it?” asked Greta.
“Probably nothing. It could be coincidence, but lately I keep thinking I hear ravens or crows. They are Tonio’s messengers.”
“And the birds of winter,” said Greta. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. And besides, if Tonio is the one you think he is, he hardly needs birds to find us.”
“His powers are limited in human form. That’s what Agrippa told us, remember?”
Johann carried on with a glum expression. Greta glanced at him. Her father seemed much older than he was, emaciated and haunted. He looked like someone who wouldn’t rest until he finally faced his old opponent. With his dirty, rash-covered face, his hair matted into a wild tangle, and his torn clothes, he resembled an avenging spirit risen from a musty grave. Greta doubted that Johann was primarily concerned about his grandson.
It has only ever been about you. You and Tonio.
The stairs were steep and treacherous. Once upon a time they might have been wide, elegant steps, but now they were overgrown and so covered in roots that at times it was difficult to find the path. Again a raven called; something fluttered. Greta looked up and saw a black dot move in front of the moon. Something cracked nearby.
“Did you hear that?” asked Karl. “That sounded like—”
Something knocked Greta off her feet.
For a brief moment she thought a monstrous raven was throwing itself at her. But what she’d perceived as wings turned out to be the flaps of a coat, and the pointed beak hacking at her was actually the tip of a sword. A figure that had hidden in the thicket suddenly towered above her. Greta’s reflexes from her juggling days still worked. She instinctively rolled to the side, landing in one of the thorny bushes beside the steps. But at least her attacker had missed her. And now she saw who it was.
Hagen was standing in the middle of the steps like Mars, the Roman god of war, his longsword raised above his head. The two-handed weapon was as long as the stairs were wide. Hagen made to take another swing at Greta in the bush, but Karl was faster. Even though he didn’t stand a chance against the giant, he rammed his elbow into Hagen’s side with all his might.
It was as if he’d hit a tree.
“Run, Greta!” shouted Karl.
Hagen grunted. He grabbed Karl and hurled him away like a pesky insect. Karl screamed as he tumbled down the stairs.
