by Tom Pollack
Cain had heard a number of conspiracy theories about the previous year’s disaster—including several that attributed arson to Nero himself and his capricious whims. It had even been whispered that the emperor had sung and played his lyre from a private stage as he watched Rome burn. And rumor also had it that he burned the city only to clear construction space for his new palace, the fabulous Golden House.
“What do you believe happened, commander?” Cain asked Gallus.
“I know for a certainty that Rhiannon started the fire,” he replied. “She was seen torching the shops at the Circus Maximus on the first night.”
Fronto nodded his head. “Tell him how you had your house slaves tortured,” he urged.
Gallus waved him off. “They confirmed the whole story. That witch was just waiting for a series of dry, windy days to take her revenge on Rome. She is a murderer!” he hissed.
“Calm yourself, Gallus,” said Fronto. “The arsonist will be found. After her capture, she will surely be crucified.”
“I’ll hammer in the nails myself!” exclaimed Gallus. “I lost more than just my house in that cursed fire,” he added. The strong soldier suddenly looked vulnerable, perhaps haunted by the memory of family members who had perished in the fire.
Cain shivered in the lukewarm water, his mind racing as he considered the resemblance between Rina and the description of the arsonist. Had he married the very woman whose wanton act of revenge had caused widespread ruin—not to mention the deaths of his beloved son Quintus, his daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren? The details in these soldiers’ narrative were disturbing, at the very least. He decided to probe further.
“Gentlemen, I spend most of my time now in Herculaneum. But my circle of contacts in Rome is still wide. Besides the hair and eye color, does this Rhiannon have any other distinguishing features or characteristics? I ask you only in case I ever see her and would have the chance to report her to the authorities.”
“Yes, she does,” declared Gallus. “She is unusually tall for a woman, and she speaks Latin with the trace of a foreign accent.” The general paused for a moment, then added, “Oh, she also has a small beauty mark on her right cheek.”
Cain’s stomach sank. He had always regarded Rina’s distinctive blemish as an adornment. It had taken only a moment’s revelation to transform it into an odious malignancy.
Thanking the generals for their fellowship, he hastily left the tepidarium. Eschewing even short plunges in the hot and cold pools, he dispatched his servant to find his fellow team owners and inform them that a sudden message from his villa in Herculaneum required his prompt departure.
***
Aboard the river launch en route back to Ostia, a seething Cain stared down at the placid waters of the Tiber, angry not only at Rina but also at his own gullibility. He was not sure what he would do when he arrived back home in Herculaneum.
CHAPTER 71
Herculaneum, AD 65
FOR THREE DAYS, CAIN kept his own counsel. When Rina asked him how his business had gone in Rome, he replied in generalities, omitting all mention of his visit to the Neronian Baths and his conversation with Legion Commanders Fronto and Gallus. But the sight of the beauty mark constantly unnerved him. He would have to bring her deception to an end, he decided.
“Let’s take a long horseback ride,” urged Cain one day after lunch. “We can explore the beach at Oplontis. You may find some appealing seashells there for your collection.”
Rina happily agreed. “And the sea air will do you good after your trip to Rome,” she said. “It will brush out the cobwebs,” she added jokingly.
Cain ordered two of his favorite parade stallions to be readied. At the front gate of the villa before the couple left the grounds, two of his guards approached on horseback to accompany the riding party, as was customary. Although the towns along the Bay of Naples were the playgrounds of affluent aristocrats, they also attracted kidnappers and thieves. Protection against bandits was a routine, and prudent, precaution. The guards were surprised, therefore, when Cain dismissed them, only asking to be handed a gladius, a short sword sheathed in a leather scabbard.
They rode for two hours, covering the twelve miles south to Stabiae, and then doubling back toward Oplontis, which lay seven miles from Herculaneum. Rina did most of the talking, telling Cain excitedly about the new foal, a beautiful white Arabian. Near Oplontis, at Cain’s suggestion, they branched off the main road and took a trail through thick underbrush down to a sandy beach. Gentle waves lapped the shoreline, which stretched for miles in each direction. Typical for this time of year, there was not a vessel in sight. Cain could see that, by land and by sea, they were entirely alone.
Dismounting, they sauntered barefoot along the surf line, looking for unusual shells as they held the reins of their horses.
“I have some other news to share with you,” Rina told him. “Nothing about horses, though,” she added mysteriously.
When Cain didn’t look up, she could tell he was preoccupied. Ever since his return from Rome, he had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, almost guarded in his speech.
At length, he took his eyes off the sand. Drawing in the reins slightly, he looked at her and said, “Something troubles me, Rina.”
“Yes, what is it, my husband?”
“What was the real reason you declined to join me in Rome? After all, we have plenty of servants who could have tended to the foal.”
A shadow crossed Rina’s eyes. “The city holds bad memories for me.”
“Yes, I know that. Yet I find it strange that you didn’t even ask me to inquire about your sister. You might have cherished some hope of tracking her down, or at least of knowing her fate for certain.”
“I did not want to be a burden to you, my love. Besides, the Roman way of life has taught us all to endure the loss of loved ones with resilience, whether the cause is warfare or disease or accident. Was it not so for you with the loss of Quintus?”
The two stopped walking and stood stock-still. Cain stared at Rina, marveling inwardly at her ability to lie with such conviction.
“Ah, yes, about Quintus,” he replied. “On the day of his burial, I could not help but notice that you remained dry-eyed, Rina. You shed not one tear, although your husband, and probably your sister, died only a few days before.”
Rina searched for words to answer him. Finally, after a long pause, Cain spat out, “There were no lost loved ones, were there, Princess Rhiannon?”
Rina’s expression could not conceal her shock. He knew her true name! In panic, she let go of her horse’s reins and dropped to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Tears will not rescue you now, the way they did on board the Nostos,” he said grimly, staring down at her.
Cain collected the reins of her horse. With his left hand, he intertwined them with those of his own mount. With his right hand, he slowly drew the sword from his belt and raised it high over his head. Rina looked up and locked eyes with her husband.
“I know all that you have done!” Cain shouted. “It is now time for the truth!”
Rina could manage no response other than a terrified gasp at the sight of the blade poised to strike her down. Cain dropped the circled reins to the ground. Grasping the hilt with both hands, he let loose an anguished scream as he plunged his sword downward.
CHAPTER 72
Ercolano: Present Day
DR. ARCHIBALD WALKER AND Juan Carlos stood behind the tarp next to the narrow crack in the wall. Their heads together, the two painstakingly reviewed the digital recording of Amanda’s voice.
“The static at that particular point is maddening,” Juan Carlos told Walker. “I’m sure the noise covers her identification of the missing pictogram.”
The young Spaniard showed Walker the chart he had made, listing the matches between the five key words in the proverb and the images of the hourglass, the sword, the Chinese “truth” character, and the serpent.
“We have identified all the matches
except one,” Juan Carlos added. “And we know the proper sequence.” Looking at Walker’s thin, wiry frame, he asked, “Do you think you can fit through the crack, Doctor?”
Walker didn’t hesitate, replying, “Amanda isn’t the only agile member of our profession, my boy! If Goldilocks could do it, I can do it.”
Juan Carlos, forcing himself to ignore this patronizing remark, tried to refocus Walker. “Remember that there are twenty-one unidentified pictograms in all. The one we need is the image that can be plausibly associated with the word story. Take the chart with you, Doctor. You’ll also want this.” Juan Carlos handed him a thin flashlight with a powerful halogen beam.
Walker folded the notepad sheet and put it in his pocket.
“If you can open the door, please be careful, Dr. Walker. There may be poison gas inside.” He choked back emotion as he thought of Amanda.
“That’s already occurred to me, young man,” Walker rejoined wryly. “Remember that Silvio and I were clambering around ancient ruins when you were in diapers.”
Rolling his eyes, Juan Carlos simply replied, “Sure. Buona fortuna, Archie.”
Walker’s spine stiffened as he briefly glared at Juan Carlos. “My name is Archibald,” came his rebuke as he wriggled through the thin crack into the narrow, twisting corridor that led to the entrance doors. Switching on his flashlight, he noticed that the ground was broken by dozens of fissures. After the corridor curved to the right, Walker’s light picked up the remains of the robot, smashed by a heavy piece of debris. A bit of steam rose from a vent in the ground. Feeling slightly claustrophobic, he reached for his hip flask, but found to his consternation that his last bit of liquid courage was gone. He continued gingerly along the remaining twenty-five feet of the narrow corridor and was relieved to find himself in a more spacious opening before the doors of the chamber.
He approached the right-hand bronze door. “How strange,” he thought. The portals were similar to the ones Luc Renard had installed at Villa Colosseum in Point Dume.
Scanning the pictograms, Walker narrowed down the suitable matches for the word story to three choices. After two failed attempts to open the door, he concluded the papyrus roll must be the missing pictogram. As he began to press the symbols on the door in what he knew was the correct sequence, his pulse quickened and his eyes widened with anticipation.
Before pressing on the raised scroll, he stepped back from the doors and savored the moment. Not only would he, Archibald Walker, receive most of the credit for this site’s historic discovery, he would also be hailed as a hero, teach Silvio a lesson, and impress Luc Renard—all with one touch of a button!
CHAPTER 73
On the Beach Near Herculaneum, AD 65
FALLING TO HIS KNEES, Cain trembled as he released the hilt of his weapon. Then he collapsed on the ground in racking sobs. “Oh, Quintus, forgive me, my son!” he wept.
“No, Marcus. It is I who need your forgiveness,” Rina pleaded, sobbing. “The deaths of Quintus and his family resulted from my setting fire to Rome. You cannot know the depth of my guilt and regret for the harm I have caused.”
Cain stared at her once more. With his calm returning for the first time in days, he stood up, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. Then he took his beautiful wife in his arms.
Rina, still weeping, tried to wriggle free from his embracing gesture of forgiveness. Yet he would not release her. Taking her head in his hands, he forced her to look at him, rather than the blade of his sword that now held the horses’ reins fast in the sand.
She returned his gaze with pleading eyes. “I always feared you would find out one day,” she told him, “but I was afraid to ever tell you the truth. I thought I would lose you. How could you not have killed me for what I did? It is the Roman way.”
Cain placed his fingers gently on her lips. “I have come to know the evil that anger brings. To take revenge on you would serve no purpose—I am not your judge.”
“But I have deceived you since the day we met!”
Reflecting on his own countless deceptions, Cain declared, “We must let go of the past, Rina.” Embracing her tightly, he whispered, “I love you.”
“Oh, Marcus, I never thought in a thousand years I would fall in love with a Roman man after they slaughtered my people,” Rina confessed to him. “But I do love you as well, with all my heart.”
Leaving the horses, the two strolled together in silence, each mulling the extraordinary series of events leading up to this fateful encounter. As the sun angled lower, they turned and faced the shimmering sea. Finally, they began a slow walk back to the horses. As the sun set, Rina tugged gently at Cain’s hand and he turned to face her once more.
“My life has been saddled with tremendous guilt over the fiery deaths of so many innocent people,” Rina said in a low voice. “I only meant for my brutal master to die. Sometimes I cannot breathe, the burden is so great. And at night, lying next to you, I see the terrified faces and hear the cries of Rome’s citizens in my nightmares.”
Cain held his wife close, pressing his chest against hers. He knew her memories would not fade easily, if ever.
Rina continued, “Lately, though, I’ve been having another set of dreams. A soothing voice talks to me. It encourages me to continue my revenge and set fire to all things Roman. Then, it torments me over and over with an incomprehensible saying.”
An eerie feeling came over Cain.
“What does this voice say to you?”
Rina replied, “The voice just keeps repeating, ‘Neither death nor time can turn a story’s truth to dust.’”
Cain was stunned. The devil was no longer targeting him, but now both Rina and his life’s work were in jeopardy. He made a mental note to change the sequence of the combination code on the doors to his observatory. Then, he tried to reassure his wife, saying simply, “I used to hear a voice just like that in my dreams. I was finally able to silence it by listening to the advice of someone I met not long ago.”
“Who was this person?” Rina asked him eagerly.
“He was a carpenter from Judaea…”
CHAPTER 74
Herculaneum, AD 65–78
“HAVE YOU EVER CUT the umbilical cord, sir?” the midwife asked Cain.
An intriguing question to ask of the first person ever to have one, he mused.
“Yes, I have, but never for a girl,” he proudly answered.
“Well, you must be prepared. Because there are two girls, sir!”
Cain was elated—he was the father of twin daughters!
He and Rina named them Callista and Alexandria. Over the next few years, the twins became the jewels in the crown of their marriage. As a parent, Rina turned out to be practical and strict, while Cain, to his own surprise, proved malleable. The couple found that the joys of raising the twins only deepened their own relationship. Cain could not recall such happiness since his days long ago with Tanith on the outskirts of Athens.
Cain and Rina agreed that the girls would be educated by Greek tutors, and once the children had reached the age of six, they entered into a rigorous routine of classes at the villa. Such a regime was unconventional, since education for girls in Rome at the time was haphazard, at best. Nevertheless, the parents were not to be deterred. Astronomy, mathematics, history, and languages were core subjects for the girls’ curriculum, and Cain himself often outlined the lesson plans for their tutorials. When the twins were going on seven, the family also began frequenting the open-air theater at Herculaneum.
It was here that they first met their neighbors, Drusus Octavius Balbus and his wife, Tullia. Drusus was one of Herculaneum’s most generous benefactors, having contributed the funds for a major new extension of the local public baths. Tullia was a talented painter. After lunch at the villa one day, she suggested that it would be an honor if Cain would permit her to paint a mural of his observatory, the domed building on the grounds to the south of the villa, for display in the dining room of her house. Well aware that estate pa
inting was an established genre of Roman art, he accorded Tullia permission.
Over the next few months, Tullia enjoyed the run of the villa for her mural project. Her husband sometimes accompanied her, especially when Rina had scheduled one of the monthly wine-tasting parties. Although Cain never allowed guests to enter the observatory, Drusus seemed inordinately curious about the building his wife was painting.
“Is there a special material on your ceiling in there?” he asked Cain at one wine tasting. “I can see something sparkling from my estate when the dome is open.”
“Only a field of stars painted on the inside of the dome, with an inset of glass crystals,” he responded, hoping that Drusus would drop the subject.
“That’s what made it look like diamonds, then!” Drusus remarked knowledgeably.
“I’ll show it to you one day,” Cain reassured him. “There’s just a bit of additional work to do,” he fibbed.
***
In AD 78, when the girls were nearing thirteen, Cain decided it was time to show them the observatory. He was still in excellent health, but thoughts of the repository’s future had begun to occupy his mind. He wanted to formulate secure plans for the transmission of his legacy. When the project was initiated over a century ago, he thought he would remain immortal, but clearly his time of natural death was now approaching. Also, Cain and Rina had agreed that it was time to move the girls’ religious education beyond the instruction in mythology they’d received from their tutors, and what better way to start than with a visit to the repository.
Therefore, on an afternoon in early fall, Rina and the twins stood at the observatory entrance as Cain entered the code into the combination lock. After the bronze doors clicked open, the group entered the dry interior. He activated the dome mechanism, admitting rays of sunlight into the museum. Then he stepped on a floor section, inscribed with a diagram of a fish, triggering the counterweights that closed the great bronze doors.
