The Rome Prophecy

by Sam Christer

  ‘You know of Cybele?’

  ‘Only a little. I never imagined that any of her prophet sects still existed.’

  ‘That’s how they want it – the less people know about them, the more they get away with.’

  ‘Does the number ten, or the Roman numeral X, mean anything specific to you?’

  Guilio drops his head. ‘It refers to a secret text they call the Tenth Book.’

  ‘What’s in this tenth book?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It is heavily protected. Few people have ever seen it, and I suspect no men. The sect is very female-focused, so I probably only know a part of what goes on.’ He tries to make a joke of it. ‘Boys are of no particular value. They don’t even want us for our sperm, just for their rituals. It is the girls that the Mater values. They are the ones thought to have the power of prophecy and the ability to learn and protect the secrets of the cult.’

  ‘Mater?’ Tom remembers Anna’s fearful references.

  ‘That’s the name given to the female leader of the sect. I’ve never seen her without her mask and robes, but from what Anna says, she’s a wrinkly old witch in her late sixties or seventies. She and her trusted circle of crones run everything.’ He picks up a stone and throws it into the darkness, where the rat can be heard squeaking and fighting with something. ‘They believe they’re direct descendants, blessed followers of the goddess Cybele.’

  ‘I still can’t take all of this in. How and why did the kids end up down here?’

  Guilio throws another stone. ‘Every time the sect looks like it may become extinct, new children, often babies, are brought underground into the womb and raised there. The children become adults and the cycle of complicity and abuse is perpetuated.’

  ‘The womb?’ Tom spits out the word in disbelief.

  ‘That’s what Mater calls the underground complex where she nurtures the children.’ He uses his finger to draw in the dirt in front of him. ‘Once you go below ground, there is basically a long tunnel with a series of passageways running off it. You drop level by level until it opens up into a large temple. Then there’s another tunnel that runs out from the other side into more passageways and rooms. But there’s only the one main entrance tunnel.’

  Tom fights back a building anger. You can dress child abuse up in all the quasi-religious finery you like, but it’s still child abuse and it still makes his blood boil. In his time as a priest, he heard the confessions of several paedophiles and found most of them to be disturbingly smart people who used their intelligence to manipulate youngsters for their own gratification. Sex wasn’t the only thing it was about, either.

  Power.

  Power was the common factor.

  Power and absolute control over another human being’s life. It made the offenders feel like gods.

  Or in this case, goddesses.

  Guilio rubs out his drawing in the dirt. ‘Mater was always tough on Anna. She’d get beaten more than the rest. Beaten and abused on a regular basis.’

  ‘Sexually abused?’

  The finger drawing has gone, but Guilio carries on rubbing hard with the palm of his hand, as though he’s trying to wipe away the memories. ‘People think sexual abuse is always old men and young girls, but it’s not.’ He looks up, and even in the half-light the distress in his eyes is clear to see. ‘Anna had to sleep with these old hags. She was made to do things with them that would make you sick, and if she didn’t please them properly then they’d beat her and starve her. And for the boys there was just aloneness. No contact of any kind. No closeness was allowed. Not with each other, not with the girls or even the adults. You were taught just to stand and watch, always be on hand to serve. I was fortunate enough to be slaved to Anna, and when the pain became too much for her, we decided to escape.’

  Tom’s heart goes out to him. It’s a miracle the guy’s not as mentally screwed up as Anna was.

  Guilio wipes grit out of the palm of his hand and throws a stone in the general direction of the rat. ‘Anna and I escaped from the womb some years ago, maybe four or five now, I can’t remember. I tried to protect her as best I could, but she always lived in fear of Mater and the others finding her and dragging her back.’

  ‘That’s why you were in her apartment the night Valentina and I came round?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m the only one she trusts. The only one who knows what she went through. If the others get their hands on her, they’ll kill her.’

  Tom knows he should tell Guilio that Anna is dead.

  He should tell him right now.

  It’s the decent thing to do.

  But he can’t.

  ‘Can you explain how Anna came to be covered in blood when she was found near the Church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin?’

  Guilio rubs at the ground again. ‘Some of the sisters and the Galli caught her returning from the shops. She wanted to buy me a present and made me go in the supermercato while she went for a card and some kind of surprise. By the time I came out, they were bundling her into one of the four-by-fours.’

  ‘And you knew where they’d take her?’

  ‘I thought they’d either head back to the womb or to the Bocca. They know Anna has a strange fear of it. In some of her states she gets frightened and imagines she’s being killed there. I gambled and went to Cosmedin.’ He rubs furiously in the dirt again. ‘If I’d been quicker getting there, or not so stupid to have let her shop on her own, then she’d still be safe.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I can.’ He picks dirt from the angry grazes on his palm. ‘When I got there, I saw that they’d draped workmen’s covers over the portico of the church so no one could see from the street. It was clear something awful was going to happen. By the time I got inside, they had Anna in a robe. They were holding her down and trying to force her hand into that big marble mouth.’

  ‘So you scared them off?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He sucks dirt from his bleeding skin. ‘There was quite a fight. I can’t remember everything, but I know I grabbed this sword that they were threatening to use on Anna. I swung it to frighten them and it hit one of the women.’ He looks up at Tom. ‘It cut her hand off.’ He sucks again at the palm of his own hand. ‘I hadn’t meant to harm her, just frighten her. But it seemed like it was God’s will that it should have happened. There and then, that’s exactly what I thought. This is God’s will. So I picked the hand up and I shook it at them and said, “This is the work of Christ, my saviour and my Lord,” and it scared them. They backed off and ran for their lives. Or at least the women did. Two of the Galli rushed at me; a third dropped his weapon, an ancient sword that is used by the Korybantes to beat on ceremonial shields. Anna grabbed it and tried to defend me, but I told her to go. She stayed at first, but then I screamed at her and she ran off.’

  Tom starts to fit bits of the jigsaw together. He understands now why Anna was at the Bocca and how she came to be wandering the streets, but there are gaps, very big gaps in Guilio’s story. ‘So you swung the sword and cut this woman’s hand off, and that’s how Anna got blood on the gown we found her in?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Tom doesn’t believe him. ‘So where’s the victim? Where did she get treated?’

  Guilio shrugs. ‘The sisters would try to heal her themselves. They would have used Mater’s medicines, natural herbs, pagan practices.’

  ‘They don’t sound like adequate treatments for a severed hand.’

  ‘No, probably not. If she’d died, they would have buried her in the womb. They bury all the corpses around the outer walls; it’s supposed to evoke supernatural forces to protect the sect.’

  ‘A spiritual force field.’

  ‘If you like.’

  Tom looks around the lamp. ‘Some of what you’re telling me doesn’t add up.’

  Guilio does his best to appear offended. ’I don’t understand.’

  ‘Then I’ll make it clear. You’re lying to me. The blood on Anna’s gown didn’t come
from whoever had her hand cut off. Forensic tests prove that it came from someone else.’ Tom leans into the light, ‘The question is, who? Who else got injured in that church, and what else are you not telling me?’

  109

  Valentina Morassi is pleased with herself.

  She thinks she’s staying remarkably calm, given that she’s been abducted by gun-wielding maniacs who have a coat over her head.

  Pressed down in the back of a vehicle, she has no knowledge of what route they took across the city, no idea now whether she’s north or south, but she does know one thing as they bundle her out of the back of the four-by-four.

  She’s in the countryside.

  There are no petrol fumes, and even though it’s winter, she can smell cattle, mud and grass.

  Wherever this little patch of farmyard is, it isn’t that far away from the centre of Rome and the underground passageway they took out of Santa Cecilia.

  She also notes the uneven surface beneath her feet. Gravel. Not the smooth, washed kind that you find on rich people’s drives. This is chunky gravel, like the rough stuff a farmer would want laid to run a tractor over.

  ‘Get her inside, quickly.’

  That’s Shooter’s voice. She’s heard it enough to recognise it. He’s no longer holding her; she can tell from the touch on her arms that duty has been delegated to the women.

  Valentina thinks about making a break for it.

  She can handle two women.

  No problem.

  But the coat isn’t just thrown over her head, it’s tied there. She can feel that the belt has been tightened around her neck.

  If she wants to fight, then she’s going to have to do it blind, and given that someone has a gun, that’s just too risky.

  ‘Lift your feet, we’re going up a step.’

  The warning comes from a woman to her left. A young voice. Almost considerate.

  The air around her changes.

  No longer fresh and country-like.

  More homely.

  She can smell food. Maybe she’s in a house.

  The floor beneath her feet is flat and even. She listens to their footsteps as they walk. She’s on wood, wood flooring.

  ‘Are you taking her straight through?’ The other woman is talking, the one on her right. ‘Or do you want to keep her here for a bit?’

  ‘Let me find out.’

  Feet clop off.

  Someone pulls out a chair; its legs scrape horribly on the floor.

  ‘Sit down.’ Shooter’s voice. Hands on her shoulders, guiding her, shifting position, pushing her down.

  Valentina sits.

  The chair is hard. Also wooden, from the feel of it on the back of her thighs. She slowly lifts a knee. It touches a table.

  She’s in a kitchen, sitting at a country-style table.

  She mentally retraces her steps. The door is behind her and over to her left. The house must be secluded, set back, or they’d be worried about passers-by seeing her with a coat over her head.

  Maybe there are no windows.

  ‘Okay.’ Shooter’s voice again. ‘We can take her down now.’

  Hands under her armpits. ‘Come on, stand!’ A woman’s voice, harsh, a hint of roughness and authority.

  Valentina gets up and backs away from the table.

  They turn her left, and then left again.

  She’s in another room. It smells of decorators. Fresh paint. Wet plaster.

  There’s the click of a latch.

  A cold draught.

  ‘You’re going down some stairs; be careful or you’ll fall.’ It’s the kind woman again.

  Valentina stretches out her foot like a ballet dancer starting a movement.

  It’s steeper than she anticipated.

  A hand steadies her from the front.

  At least one of them is ahead of her. The others must be following behind.

  Is this the point at which she should strike out? A heavy kick would drop whoever is in front of her down the stairs. A sharp turn and rush up the stairs would flatten whoever is directly behind her.

  But what if there are two or more people behind her?

  Valentina knows she’s only going to get one chance.

  And it’s not yet come.

  She concentrates on what’s happening. Her feet are touching stone. She reaches out a hand and the wall feels like stone too. She’s sure she’s descending some old steps into a cellar or basement.

  They even out.

  She hears the door above her close.

  She’s trapped.

  The atmosphere down here is different. There are many people in this room. They smell of smoke.

  Smell of men.

  ‘Take her through.’ Shooter again.

  Something buzzes. A short, sharp noise. Electronic.

  There’s a clunk of metal.

  A squeak, like the oil-thirsty hinges of a heavy gate.

  Unseen hands push her forward.

  Someone grabs a clump of clothing around her shoulder and takes a tight grip.

  ‘More stairs,’ warns Shooter.

  There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.

  ‘Lots more stairs.’

  110

  The paraffin lamp has almost burned out by the time Guilio finishes his story.

  Now Tom has the full and unmitigated account of Anna Fratelli’s fateful night in Cosmedin.

  The truth is even more difficult to stomach than the lies Guilio was trying to fob him off with.

  The eunuch looks through the yellow light into the face of the ex-priest. There’s one more thing he has to admit to – and he’s uncertain how he’ll take it. ‘The fire. The one at the policewoman’s apartment. I started it.’

  Tom tries not to show his shock and anger. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’

  Guilio fiddles nervously with his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her. Or you. I didn’t even know you were there until I saw you coming out and being treated by the ambulance people.’

  ‘You could have killed both of us.’

  ‘No. Not true,’ he protests strongly. ‘I’d seen her leave. I thought the place was empty. I just wanted to scare her away from Anna, frighten her off the case.’

  Tom’s not letting him off that lightly. ‘What about neighbours? They could have died.’

  Guilio plays with the lamp to hide his awkwardness. ‘It was a small fire. I’d rung the emergency services before I’d even started it.’ He looks up at Tom. ‘Believe me, if I’d wanted to kill either of you, I could have done. I’m sorry, really sorry.’

  ‘I believe you are,’ says Tom. ‘I can’t speak for Valentina, but I forgive you, and I’m sure God forgives you. Your desperation is understandable.’

  ‘Grazie.’ Guilio leans into the light. ‘I need you to help me get to Anna. I have to see her, make sure she is all right.’ He looks close to tears. ‘Anna means everything in the world to me.’

  Tom knows she does.

  Guilio’s love for her is probably all that’s kept him sane. Without that, and his role as her protector, he’d have gone mad long ago. ‘I have to be outside,’ says Tom. ‘I need to get a signal to call Valentina. And I have to speak to Louisa, Anna’s doctor. They’ll be able to tell you about Anna.’

  Guilio squints through the patchy light at his watch. ‘We’ve been down here more than an hour. It’ll be safe to go now, but not the way we came in.’

  Tom looks surprised. ‘There are other ways?’

  ‘Of course.’ Guilio points towards where the black rat ran off. ‘There’s a thin passage through there. It will bring us out about half a kilometre away.’ He picks up the lantern and inspects it as he starts to walk. ‘We’ve probably got just about enough paraffin to get us there.’

  Tom trudges along after him. ‘I still need to know why you were at Santa Cecilia, and why did you help me?’

  ‘I’ve been following you. Ever since I was released. I watched you with that priest having coffee near St Peter’s and I watched that
other policeman, the one who questioned me.’

  ‘Federico.’

  ‘Si, the lieutenant.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Simple. You didn’t want to hurt Anna, you wanted to protect her, and I was trying to think of a way to reach out to you.’

  Guilio swings the lamp low to shine it on a nest of black rats. ‘Unusual. You don’t normally get this many black ones underground. The excavations must have disturbed them.’

  The rodents don’t bother Tom; his church in LA was infested with them.

  They turn a corner and they’re both pleased to see daylight filtering through a sloping tunnel straight ahead.

  As they get closer, it’s clear that the light is being diced through an old gateway.

  All around there is rubble and broken rock.

  Guilio extinguishes the lamp and hides it away before opening the gate.

  The sky is dull, but it still makes them squint.

  They’ve emerged at the bottom of a hillside near a quiet road north of Santa Cecilia, but Tom has no real idea where he is as he phones Valentina’s number.

  Please God, let her be all right.

  It trips to her voicemail message. ‘This is Valentina Morassi, I can’t take your call at the moment …’

  He cuts it off.

  She’s probably busy calling him. Maybe she’s already left messages for him. He checks his own voicemail.

  Nothing.

  That seems strange.

  He’s sure she would have rung him. Especially in light of the fact that she sent him after Louisa and hasn’t heard from him since.

  The silence gives him a bad feeling.

  He dials again, lets the answerphone play through, and then leaves a message. ‘Valentina, it’s Tom …’ He checks his watch. ‘It’s almost one o’clock. Please call me when you get this.’ He clicks off and looks at Guilio sitting on the kerb lighting the stub of a cigarette that he’s found in the gutter.

  The guy looks as grey as the pavement, almost as though he’s a chameleon blending in with his new surroundings.

  Tom scrolls through his phone’s memory and finds Valentina’s office number. He knows she’s not there but figures it’s the only way he’s going to get Federico’s cell phone number.