Great conquests weren’t made by battle alone but just as often by shrewd alliances. Attila would have understood that and recognized him as a kindred spirit worthy of being his heir.
SAM AND REMI FLEW TO ROME AND FROM THERE TO VERONA. They picked up the rental car that Selma Wondrash had reserved for them and drove westward out of the city around thirty kilometers to the resort city of Peschiera del Garda on the south shore of Lake Garda. When they arrived, Remi put down the guidebook she had been reading and said, “Let’s get out near the marina and walk.”
Rolling hills surrounded the southern end of the lake. The marina was large, with graceful sailboats rocking gently so that their masts moved like metronomes. Sam and Remi could hear the soft sound of rings and pulleys swinging against the aluminum masts in the light summer breeze. The little town on the big lake indeed had a vacation feel to it. From here, it seemed to be all boats and hotels.
“What did you learn in the guidebooks?” Sam asked.
“The lake is the biggest in Italy, thirty-four miles long. The upper end is surrounded by mountains, but down here there are lots of beaches. The water enters in the north and flows out in the Mincio River here in Peschiera del Garda, and a bit farther on it flows into the Po River.”
“So we’re getting close,” said Sam. “The account Albrecht e-mailed us says Pope Leo I went with his delegation to meet Attila south of Lake Garda where the Mincio River meets the Po.”
They walked along the pebble beach past several docks and a cafe. The buildings they could see were mostly two to four stories high, and old. They were painted white, pink, and yellow. There was a sixteenth-century brick wall around the old boundaries of the city, with walkways on top. They found a parking lot outside the walls that had a garden with
“How are we going to find the spot?” Remi asked.
“The usual ways, I guess. We start with the things that were already here in 452.”
“The town was founded in the first century, so it was already three hundred years old when Attila arrived.”
“It was just a little village along the shore. Without much warning, out of the north comes Attila the Hun, of all people, at the head of a huge army of horsemen. He had just devastated much of northern Italy on his way here.”
“The people were probably too busy running to look at him closely,” said Remi. “I know I would have been.”
“Me too. That’s how Venice was founded. People running from Attila as he came down from the north hid on the islands. When he left, they didn’t.”
“Okay, smart guy,” she said. “The towns around here have changed. But the place where the river leaves the lake must be the same.”
“That’s logical.”
Remi said, “So Attila and about fifty or a hundred thousand warriors and their horses and wagons came this far south, loaded with the plunder of northern Italy. They camped south of here where the Mincio ran into the Po. Then the Roman delegation, consisting of Pope Leo, the Consul Avienus, and the Prefect Trigetius, arrived. What the two sides said to each other was never revealed. All the accounts are guesswork. What we know is that because Italy was in the middle of a famine, there was not much food for the Huns to steal. There was also an epidemic, and many of the Huns already had fallen sick. Marcian, the new emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, was encroaching on the Danube, which would threaten the Hun strongholds. For whatever combination of reasons, Attila and his men packed up and returned north, giving up his chance to rescue Honoria from her brother and gain control of the Roman Empire.”
“Let’s think a minute,” said Sam. “He’s heading home. But he hopes to come back in a year or two and conquer Rome. He’s loaded down with loot from northern Italy. So he leaves a treasure to resupply his troops on his next attempt. Where would he leave it?”
“At the place where he stopped to camp,” Remi said. “It’s as far south as he got. That’s the place where he could safely and secretly bury whatever he wanted to. And if he was going to use it to resupply his army, the road to Rome is the place to do it.”
“Right.”
“So we agree. It’s where the Mincio meets the Po?”
“I think so. The place where he turned back has got to be where the world was lost.”
“Let’s start with the west side of the Mincio. If you’re coming down Lake Garda, that’s the less mountainous side, so it’s the most sensible way to travel.”
“All right,” said Sam. “Let’s go check into our hotel. On the way, we can tell Selma to track down the equipment we’ll need.”
As they walked toward their car, Remi called Selma in California and put her on speaker.
“Hi, Remi.”
“Hi, Selma. We’re here in Peschiera del Garda and we think we know where to search. But we’ll need a handheld magnetometer and a good metal detector.”
“They’re waiting in your hotel. I ordered two of each.”
“Why, thank you, Selma,” said Remi.
“Once I saw the pictures of the big iron slabs, I knew you’d be needing detectors. Anything else you want, just let me know.”
“You got it,” said Remi. “Has Albrecht arrived yet?”
“Not yet. His plane arrives in about two hours. Pete and Wendy are going to pick him up. We’ve got his room ready and plenty of space and computer equipment set up.”
“Thanks, Selma,” said Sam. “We’ll start work this afternoon.”
Remi added, “We’ll call and let you know if anything turns up. Has Bako moved yet?”
“You’re safe for the moment. Tibor says that Bako and his men are still in Szeged. If they understood the message, they’re in no hurry to get to Italy.”
“That’s the best news of the day,” said Remi.
“Glad to oblige. I’ll talk to you if anything changes,” Selma said and then hung up.
Remi put the phone away and they drove to their hotel, a white building on the beach with a cordon of bright red beach umbrellas that made it look as though it belonged a few miles to the east on the Adriatic. After checking into the hotel and examining their equipment, Remi and Sam went to see the concierge, a fifty-year-old woman wearing a tailored gray suit with the hotel’s logo on the left lapel. “May I help you?” she said, her lightly tinted glasses glinting.
“I understand that this area is full of bicycle paths,” said Sam. “Is there one that runs the length of the Mincio River?”
“Oh, yes,” said the concierge. “It begins where the river flows out of the harbor and runs all the way through Mantua and beyond. I’ve done the ride myself many times. It’s about twenty-five miles.”
“When you say ‘and beyond,’ what do you mean? How far beyond?”
“There’s a natural stopping point at Mantua where the river becomes three lakes. But you could continue eight miles to the place where the Mincio continues to the Po.” She reached into the top drawer of her desk and handed Sam a map. “The bicycle route is marked and shows you just where to go.”
“Thank you,” said Sam. He gave a little bow.
The concierge laughed. “You make a good Italian. Once you get to know this place, you might not want to go home.”
“I’ll try to be a good guest,” he said. To Remi he said, “Let’s get some bicycles.”
They walked along an old canal, following the map, to a bicycle shop. At first, everything in the shop seemed to be the sort of gear used by professional racers. But when the proprietor saw Remi walk past a three-thousand-
