They had almost reached the director’s office.
‘Listen,’ he said, before they entered, ‘did you hear anything strange last night?’
‘No. Why? What should I have heard?’
Fabrizio was about to answer when Mario arrived at the top of the stairs.
‘Have you heard the latest? They’ve found Ronchetti, the tomb robber, in the fields near Rovaio with his throat slashed open! His head was practically ripped off his body.’
‘Who told you that?’ asked a porter.
‘My cousin, the one who drives an ambulance. He saw the body himself. It was a mess. They’re saying it was a wild animal, a lion or a leopard or something that escaped from a circus. Remember that panther that got out last year at Orbassano? Well, it’s happened again!’
‘When did it happen?’ asked Fabrizio, suddenly pale.
‘I don’t know. Two, three o’clock, depends on who you listen to. Last night, anyway.’
Fabrizio could distinctly hear in his mind that unmistakable cry of a wild animal that had split the night as he sat working in the silence of the museum. A long shiver went down his spine.
Francesca startled him. ‘What was that sound you were talking about?’
‘Well, a scream, I think… a…’
She looked at him in surprise and curiosity. He was pale and upset, obviously shaken by some strong emotion.
‘Go on in. The director is waiting for you,’ she said to relieve his embarrassment. ‘Come and see me later if you like.’
She opened the door to Balestra’s office and Fabrizio went in.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ the director asked him politely. ‘I usually have a cigarette with my coffee.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘I think I need one myself, if I may. And I’d love some coffee.’
Balestra poured a cup from the pot and passed him a cigarette. ‘I didn’t think you smoked.’
‘I don’t. But sometimes I do… That is, when I’m tense.’
‘I understand. When you’re working on something important, that can happen.’
‘You said you wanted to see me. Is anything wrong?’
‘Yes, actually,’ replied Balestra. ‘We’ve got trouble.’
‘I hope it’s nothing to do with my authorization.’
‘Oh no, not at all. There’s no problem with that. It’s something completely different. I was hoping you could give me a hand.’
‘With pleasure, if I can.’
‘Well,’ began Balestra, ‘last night a couple of Finanza agents surprised some robbers breaking into a tomb and they called me right away. It was two thirty a.m. I asked them to put someone on guard and told them we’d be by this morning.’
Fabrizio wondered whether the director had heard about Ronchetti. He imagined not, but he didn’t think it was his place to tell him. Mario’s account was quite confused, after all, and might have been exaggerated.
Balestra sipped his coffee and took a long drag on his cigarette before he continued: ‘I’m wondering whether you would consider inspecting the tomb and possibly excavating it. I can give you a couple of workers, even three or four if you need them. It’s bad timing for me. I’m up to my neck in work and I have a couple of deadlines approaching. Dr Dionisi is already working on an emergency that came up in the trench they’re digging for the new power lines. One of my inspectors had an accident while on a job and is at home on sick leave, and another is on holiday – well earned, poor devil, he worked all summer on the Villanovan settlement near Gaggera. I know I can trust you to do a good job; you’ve already written and published studies on a number of similar digs. I’ve tried to help you out here, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing me this favour.’
Fabrizio was shocked by the proposal. It was unheard of for a regional director of the National Antiquities Service to forgo personal excavation of a possibly intact Etruscan tomb, presumably from the early period. He must be involved in something very big and very important indeed to let such an opportunity slip by.
Careful to keep his surprise out of his voice, Fabrizio replied in a solicitous tone, ‘I understand completely and I’m honoured by your trust in me. Just let me know when you’d like me to begin.’
‘Believe me, I’m sorry to interrupt the work you’re doing here. I know how important it is for you, but I don’t know where else to turn. I could ask another one of the regional directors to send someone in, but I’d rather not do that, because they’d certainly expect a favour in return. And, to be truthful, I can’t say that my colleagues… Well, enough said.’
‘No, really,’ insisted Fabrizio. ‘I’d be happy to work on this project. How soon would you like me to start?’
‘Right away, Castellani. You can see for yourself that it’s an emergency. Talk with Dr Dionisi and have her give you the men you need.’
Fabrizio finished his coffee and took his leave.
Francesca Dionisi was waiting for him in the hall, as if she had guessed the reason for his meeting with the director.
‘Well?’ she asked. ‘What did the boss want? If I’m not being indiscreet…’
‘Nothing less than for me to excavate the tomb that was broken into last night.’
‘Ah. The Rovaio tomb.’
‘That’s the one. Listen, I hope I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes here. I came to Volterra for something completely different.’
‘I know. You’re here for the boy in room twenty.’
Fabrizio suddenly thought of the woman’s voice he’d heard the night before on the telephone: could it have been Francesca? But as much as he racked his brain, he could not connect the timbre of that voice with Francesca’s natural lilt.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s nothing. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, then, no, you’re not stepping on my toes in the least. Actually, you’re doing me a favour, and I know the director will be grateful for your assistance as well. He’s a man who doesn’t forget people who’ve helped him and I know he will appreciate your willingness to give us a hand.’
Francesca invited him into her office, where a green apple was sitting on a plate on her desk. A snack maybe, or even her lunch.
‘Listen, if I can I’ll come by the Rovaio site to see what’s coming out,’ she went on, ‘but don’t count on it, because I’ve got my hands full as it is. Ill sign the work order for the labourers. How many? One, two, three?’
‘Two will be enough.’
‘All right. Two.’
‘Francesca?’
‘What?’
‘There’s something I don’t understand. The director leaves headquarters in Florence for weeks to come and bury himself in this provincial office. What may be an intact tomb comes to light, probably a major discovery, and he doesn’t even take a look at it. He signs over the dig to someone who doesn’t even work for him, an academic to boot… This whole thing just doesn’t make sense and I was asking myself whether you…’
‘Whether I know something? Yes, I do, but make believe you don’t know that. It’s something big, much bigger than anything you can imagine.’
Fabrizio thought that if she’d wanted to silence his curiosity she would have simply answered that she knew nothing about it, so he continued to push his point. ‘Bigger than an intact tomb from, let’s say, the fifth or fourth century BC?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good grief.’
‘Good grief is right. Now, go ahead, collect your workers and excavate that tomb at Rovaio. Then tell me what you’ve found.’
‘How about tonight, over pizza?’
Francesca gave a half-smile. ‘Sounds like you’re asking me out.’
‘Well, you know, I’m new here. And I hate eating alone.’
‘I’ll think about it. In the meantime, be sure you do a good job. Balestra’s as fussy as they come.’
