Roman Ice

by Dave Bartell

  “I did. I followed it about a thousand feet, to where it ended at a cave-in. It seemed solid up to that point. There was a lot of debris in the caved-in section, bricks, roof tiles, rocks—”

  “How can we get in there?”

  “I don’t think we can without some serious excavation supports. Besides, it hits a building foundation up there,” Charles said, pointing. “I’ve always thought the old tunnel could be Roman, but we couldn’t get past the foundation.

  “About ten years ago I got curious again and walked off the distance above. I went just to the other side of Newgate Street, which, according to my research at the British Museum…”

  “Was on the other side of the original Roman wall around Londinium,” said Darwin, completing the sentence.

  “Exactly. I don’t know where the tunnel went on this side, but I’m guessing we buried it with all the digging for this complex,” said Charles.

  “Shit,” said Darwin and sat back on the cement floor.

  “I found a couple things on my first exploration. Here, I brought these with me,” said Charles.

  He handed Darwin a clay lamp and two pieces of colored tile. Darwin took the lamp and examined it. He fished a jeweler’s loupe out of his pocket and looked closer at the tile fragments.

  “These appear Roman, but they could have been dumped down a hole by anyone,” said Darwin. “Great stuff, though,” he added, not wanting to demean Charles’s find.

  “I also found this,” said Charles, holding a coin between his thumb and forefinger.

  Darwin took it, held it under the light, and gasped when he recognized it.

  “What is it? You look like you’ve seen one of those before,” said Charles.

  Darwin struggled with holding the light, the jeweler’s loupe, and the coin, but even so he could tell it was identical to the coins found in the package that James had sent to Emelio.

  “I have,” said Darwin, handing back the coin. “I think, Charles, it means the Romans tunneled about London in ways we haven’t known.”

  7

  Darwin had been nurturing an idea about how the Romans may have used tunnels to defeat a native uprising in 61 AD. The Icenian tribes had captured the city while the Roman governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus was campaigning outside Londinium. The Romans had fled Londoninium, but within the year, Suetonius led his outnumbered forces to retake the city.

  Darwin suspected that Suetonius’s forces must have had a means of getting behind the Icenian battle lines and exploiting the surprise. This tunnel provided a crucial piece of evidence, but he needed much more to support a theory.

  The Romans built the London Wall to repel invaders like the Icenians and Picts and separate the core of Londinium from outlying areas. It was a clear boundary marker for the first-century Londinium city center and, if they could find other evidence of Roman tunneling, then Darwin’s theory might get enough legs to become a PhD dissertation.

  Darwin and Charles met multiple times that summer, but their search uncovered nothing new. Charles shared many more stories about the history beneath London, but, other than the coin and the tunnel that appeared to pass under the wall, they could find no other evidence.

  The diamond the amateur archeologist James Mason found perplexed him the most. The scroll said someone found it in a ‘land of fire and ice’. Darwin googled ‘fire and ice’ and got hits on science fantasy fiction and places like Iceland and the volcano on the Big Island of Hawaii. Multiple ideas surfaced, each ranging from the improbable to ridiculous and he realized how Emelio had become consumed by the project.

  There was tangible evidence, but for what? It tempted him to visit Clermont-Ferrand, but all the references in the scroll were underground locations. With no surface markers he would be just as successful digging random holes with a shovel.

  By early August, the trail had gone cold, and he spent more time with friends in the closing days of summer. The Lacroix quest was almost two hundred years old. By the end of the month, the clues from Emelio were packed in boxes headed for California.

  8

  Present Day

  Berkeley, California

  On the way to his Tuesday lecture, Darwin stopped at the Has Bean, a popular coffee bar on Telegraph Avenue.

  “Hey, Doctor Lacroix,” called out the barista over the hissing espresso machine.

  “Hey, Malika. Why aren’t you in class?” said Darwin, teasing his favorite teaching assistant.

  “Doing field research—ethnography of the local coffee scene. The usual for you?”

  “Yep.”

  A few minutes later, Darwin collected his drink from the bar, a three-shot concoction that Malika had dubbed Montezuma’s Revenge. He crossed Telegraph and walked onto campus.

  The wet winter had passed, and the mood at the university had shifted with the lengthening days. The late-spring sun felt warm on his skin, and birds chirped a frenzied pitch in their annual mating rituals. Not unlike the students, he thought, sipping the coffee. A breeze wrapped the sweet scent of orange blossoms around the pungent coffee.

  He sat on a bench and looked across at the bell tower. He soaked in the beauty of the day before heading to his office in the Archeological Research Facility behind Boalt Hall. What are my office hours today? he wondered, pulling out his mobile. An alert showed an email from his grandfather Emelio.

  Subject: Amelia wants to meet

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and scrolled through the text.

  Hi Darwin, Hope you’re getting some decent weather out there in California. It is raining again here.

  Do you remember Amelie that lady in Clermont-Ferrand? She wants to meet. I am not sure what changed her mind, but she is in her 90s. This may be our best chance yet.

  Emelio

  It was 9:38 p.m. in Corsica. He tapped to call Emelio.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Emelio,” Darwin said.

  “Darwin? Where are you?”

  “Still in Berkeley.”

  “It’s the middle of the night?”

  He laughed. “No. It’s the other way around. It’s just after noon.”

  “Oh that’s right. How’s the weather there?”

  They talked a few minutes on weather and family gossip as Darwin paced back and forth by the bench where he’d set his backpack.

  “Did you get my email?” Emelio finally asked.

  “Yeah, from the lady in France. What does she want now?” asked Darwin.

  “She asked me to visit and look at her grand-père’s papers. Wants to get her affairs in order.”

  “When are you going to see her?”

  “I can’t,” said Emelio. “My doctor said I can’t travel so soon after surgery.”

  “What surgery?”

  “Oh right, I had a small bladder cancer. They got it out, but I can’t put any strain on it for six weeks.”

  “Are you…”

  “I’m fine. Was a local thing. Listen this is our best chance with Amelie. How soon can you get here?”

  A little over three weeks later, Darwin stared out the window of the Air France A380. He could not get free until the semester ended, and he submitted the final grades. It turned out that “getting affairs in order” only meant Amelie was organizing things, not dying. Emelio had also insisted that Darwin come see him in Corsica first. He said there was a lot more that Darwin needed to learn about the Lacroix quest before he met with Amelie.

  A full moon splashed its light across an ocean of clouds and reflected off the enormous wing. Halfway through the flight, he knew ice-covered Greenland lay somewhere below. While his family had lived around the world, he considered France home and Air France an extended welcome mat.

  The surrounding cabin settled into a midnight quiet, but he was not drowsy, despite the luxury of a business-class seat. Long-haul flights were among times he was grateful for the Lacroix family money. Centuries of successful shipping in the Mediterranean had concluded when his great-grandfather sold the company. Eme
lio still lived in the family mansion in Corsica.

  The Lacroix family were scholars and doctors whose passions did not include glitter. They lived in comfortable homes and traveled well. They valued education and experiences above objects. He turned back to the notebook open on his table when coffee arrived.

  “Voulez-vous du lait. Do you want milk?” asked the flight attendant.

  “Oui, merci,” said Darwin.

  He flipped the notebook to a hand-drawn map. Clermont-Ferrand was one of the oldest cities in France and an ancient European cross-road. It sat on a large plateau that included a system of volcanoes that had last erupted about 8,000 years ago.

  Rome capitalized on the spiritual locus created by the volcano to construct a temple for their god Mercury near the summit of Puy de Dôme, the largest in the chain. Over the centuries, Christianity had displaced the Roman gods and built its own towering monuments.

  He hoped the notes from Amelie’s great-grandfather would live up to his expectations. She claimed he worked as an assistant to George Scrope, a famous volcanologist in the mid-1800s, before Krakatoa erupted in 1883.

  He felt a welcome heaviness in his eyelids and reclined the seat. The engine vibration rocked him into a couple hours of fitful sleep.

  9

  Ajaccio, Corsica

  Darwin awoke as the ferry arced into Ajaccio harbor in southern Corsica. A tornado of seagulls off the starboard side was following the returning fishing boats. After the short flight from Paris, he had boarded the ferry in Nice, preferring the six-hour journey by water as it eased him into the relaxed pace of life surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. The Old Citadel glided past on the port side as a horn blast warned vessels of the incoming ship. He disembarked and walked the kilometer to his grand-père’s house.

  Emelio Lacroix lived in the mansion built by his forebears. Darwin spent all his summers here while growing up. With two parents teaching, summers were a time of travel. His family had lived and travelled all over the world as a by-product of his parents’ research and teaching. It made for a diverse set of experiences for Darwin and his sister, but also created a sense of restlessness—always looking to the next project.

  “Darwin, cumu stai, how are you?” his grand-père said as they embraced.

  “You look great, Grand-Père,” he replied, stumbling over the words as he warmed up to speaking Corsu again.

  “How was your journey?” asked Emelio.

  “Not bad. I’m hungry. How about that little place on the quay?”

  “Sure, put those things in your room. I’ll grab my hat.”

  They talked about the families in the village and who had left the island. The breeze off the harbor carried a mixed fragrance of salt water, fish and diesel fumes. The slow pace of life suited the older residents, but most of the younger people craved the excitement and jobs in Paris.

  After lunch, they returned to the Maison de Lacroix on Rue des Oranges. It was built in the early 1800s when the shipping empire was at its height. Emelio put on a pot for coffee and led Darwin into the cellar as the water boiled. The deep basement contained a collection of junk that would send tingles through any flea-market regular. Tucked into shelves away from the more practical storage, like canned goods, were the treasures of long ago. The latest technology of its day now collected dust.

  The Box rested in a locked cabinet, although the key was always left in the lock, which Emelio now snapped open. Dust, old wood and a faint chemical odor of photographs swirled into an uncaring atmosphere. Emelio tugged a cloth off the top of the Box, a near-perfect cube about a half-meter per side. Its two-millennia-old patina had the look of raku pottery, as if a living flame were imprinted on its surface.

  “I thought it would be smooth,” said Darwin, stepping forward and placing a hand on the fire-scorched bronze.

  “That’s volcanic ash bonded into the metal. That thing literally survived hell,” said Emelio.

  “I’m trying to remember my undergrad class in geology.”

  “I looked it up,” said Emelio. “The Vesuvius eruption sent a tower of rock, grit, and gases upwards in a ten-kilometer-high column. When it stalled, the column collapsed and rushed down the sides of the mountain. That pyroclastic surge would have been about a thousand degrees and moving at the speed of a modern jet. Humans would have been vaporized. They wouldn’t even know what hit them.”

  He began to slide the Box from the shelf and stopped. “It’s heavier than I remember. You better do it,” he said.

  “Holy crap, this is like twenty kilos,” said Darwin, lifting it. He followed Emelio up the stairs to the dining room where Emelio pulled a table runner from the sideboard and rolled it across the table. Darwin set the Box on the fabric. Emelio put on a pair of cloth gloves and worked the top off.

  “I have the same feeling every time I open it,” he said, seeing Darwin’s slack expression. “I’ll get the coffees.”

  Darwin leaned in close and sniffed. There was a burnt smell, more like a memory than an actual odor. The papyri appeared naked and fragile. He ran his fingers along the open edge of the Box. Its contents defined ancient—the work of people who lived twenty centuries ago.

  He could see the reason for its weight. Its five-centimeter-thick ebony wood was sheathed with five millimeters of hammered bronze. A velvet-like fabric, faded and brittle with age, lined all sides of the interior. The scrolls were stacked in rows and a couple small sacks were tucked in one corner. A leather tube took up one side.

  “Shouldn’t this be in special storage?” asked Darwin when Emelio returned with the coffee. He had been this close to Roman relics before, but always in a climate-controlled, limited-touch environment. Darwin sipped some coffee and placed his cup on the sideboard table away from the scrolls.

  “Sure, but we’d never see it again. Don’t worry, I scanned all the scrolls years ago so we wouldn’t need to open the Box again. I haven’t opened it in twenty years, but I figured this was a special occasion—your official welcome to the Lacroix family quest,” said Emelio, backing away to let Darwin take it all in.

  Darwin put on a pair of gloves and picked up a scroll. He laid it on top of acid-free museum paper that Emelio had placed on the table. He rolled the scroll open and the ancient papyrus responded with a sound like a breaking potato chip. He stopped and looked at Emelio, who nodded at him to continue.

  When he had unrolled about twenty centimeters, he read the first few lines of Latin. The text was faded, but he could decipher it. His throat tightened and his vision blurred with tears. He moved back in case a drop fell.

  “The last man who handled this…” he said, swallowing hard to check his emotions. “We read about history and watch documentary movies, but this—” He paused. “—this is history.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s alive,” said Emelio, putting on gloves and removing a small, flat piece of papyrus from the Box. “Someone went to great lengths to save the scrolls. It’s our story now. Listen to this.”

  I fear we cannot flee the eruption. Take this box to Agrippa Cicero in Rome. There is gold to pay for your journey. He will give you more.

  Martinus Saturninus

  Emelio then removed one of the small sacks and emptied it into his hand. The contents clinked onto his palm, and he held out seven pristine gold coins to Darwin.

  “Who’s Martinus Saturninus?” asked Darwin.

  “It must be the guy who owned the Box. My father passed down the story that Pasquale found a body, its arms wrapped around the Box, as if protecting it,” said Emelio.

  “Pasquale got a lucky find. We lost Herculaneum and Pompeii for a thousand years under forty meters of rock and might never dig it all out,” said Darwin.

  Emelio removed the leather tube and pulled off its cap. He slid out a scroll and laid it on the paper and stepped back again. “The scroll that James Mason sent me.”

  “I wondered about that,” said Darwin.

  “We need to celebrate the occasion,” said Emelio and led Darwin in
to the kitchen, where he popped opened a champagne. Darwin smiled at reading the label, a 2008 Perrier Jouët, Belle Epoque, and Emelio filled the glasses that Napoléon had given to Pasquale. They toasted to success and talked about where the scrolls might lead them.

  “What was so important that I come here before I meet with Amelie?” asked Darwin when they had finished their champagne and gone back in the dining room.

  “This,” said Emelio, unfolding a map of 1960s Europe gripped in the Cold War of two Germanys, a monolithic USSR, Czechoslovakia, and Yugoslavia.

  “What are these?” Darwin asked, pointing to red marks in Italy, France, West Germany, and Great Britain.

  “They’re entrances to tunnels.”

  “Roman?” said Darwin.

  “Used by Romans. But made by volcanoes. These are lava tunnels, or, more accurately, lava tubes,” said Emelio.

  “Lava tubes?”

  “Yeah. Just how it sounds—tubes carved out by lava flows.”

  “No, I know what they are. I was in some last summer in California,” said Darwin.

  “Most are small, but these are huge. The scrolls in the Box and the scroll from Mason describe lava tubes as big as train tunnels. These people—Agrippa, Martinus, and some special Roman military forces—traveled underground for long distances.”

  “Agrippa and Martinus got rich mining these tubes.” Emelio paused as Darwin tipped his head and squinted.

  “It’s easier to grasp when you see real examples. Come look at some web pages,” said Emelio.

  They crossed the lower floor and entered Emelio’s study on the far side of the house. Screensaver pictures of Darwin and his sister Marie drifted across a large monitor. Emelio tapped a keyboard, opened his web browser, and clicked a bookmark, and a large tunnel appeared. A man wearing a small red pack and hard hat stood about twenty meters distant, facing away from the camera. The tunnel roof arced like an auto or train tunnel. Its walls were smooth, but cracked and mottled in patches of grays and browns. Small stones lay scattered on the floor, which looked like poured concrete, flat but not smooth.