Livia was clearly puzzled. “What are you talking about, Flavia?”

  Flavia ignored the question.

  Livia shrugged her shoulders, and then added, “What about Titus? Rufus is his Patron.”

  “His Patron? So he is a freedman, a former slave!”

  Livia’s face showed her exasperation. “Do not be a snob, Flavia. The Emperor Octavian’s great grandfather was a freed slave too, and we are supposed to be related to him. Titus is very wealthy, and he owns land in Rome. Besides, who would you rather have, Titus or Gaius?”

  At the name Gaius, Flavia gave a little shudder of distaste. Ignoring Livia’s annoyed look, Flavia said, “Perhaps this Titus will not be attracted to me.”

  Livia dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “All the men in Pompeii are attracted to you, Flavia. When you meet Titus, do not mention that you make offerings to Isis.”

  “Why not?”

  Livia snorted rudely. “He is involved in a weird new religion.”

  Flavia looked at her sister in surprise. “Are his gods rivals to Isis or the other Egyptian gods?”

  Livia paused before speaking. “I do not know much about it, but they say there is only one true God and other gods do not exist.”

  “How ridiculous.” Flavia stomped her foot again. “What is this new religion called?”

  “Christianity.”

  Flavia scratched her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Rufus Valens Trebii Libertus Titus, or Titus as his friends called him, stood in the shade of the entrance to the Warehouse of Venus, watching the aristocratic lady give money to the beggar. His enemy, Gaius, was watching her from a distance. Thankfully, Gaius had not noticed him.

  Flavia’s youngest sister, Drusilla, met Flavia and Livia at the entrance to their house, a lavish villa to the west of the town that boasted expansive sea views, being built on a steep slope that faced the sea. It was one of the few houses in Pompeii to feature a long porch of around three hundred feet.

  “Mother is in a foul mood,” Drusilla whispered in warning.

  The sound of shouting emanated from the sumptuous reception room. “I am not paying that amount. This is extortion!”

  Three men hurried out of the house, their faces red. The sisters’ mother, the Lady Augusta, was hard on their heels. Her face too was red. She turned to face the shrine to the Lares, the statues of the household gods. “Can you believe that? The plastering work they did on the cellar cracked in the latest earth tremor, and now they want to charge an even larger sum than last time to repair it. It’s no wonder that the Temple of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva is still leaning to the left! It’s no wonder that the Vesuvian Gate is nearly falling over! No one in Pompeii can afford those prices!” Her voice rose with each word.

  The Lares, here small, tunic-wearing bronze figures in dancing poses, of course remained silent, so Augusta turned to her daughters. “Flavia, where is my new wine jug?”

  Flavia’s voice trembled. “The potter’s store is closed today.”

  Augusta waved her hands in the air. “What did you say, Flavia? Closed? Does his store have earthquake damage too?” Her words rose to a high pitch.

  Flavia shook her head. “No, Mother, there was no sign saying any such thing.”

  Augusta’s expression blackened, and she stormed out of the room.

  At that very moment, the house entrance was rocked by a tremor. The three girls clutched at each other, wondering if it would worsen, but to their relief, it did not. Flavia stared at the mosaic of the dog which adorned the entrance and watched as several diamond-shaped tiles were dislodged.

  Flavia was used to earthquakes, but this was the first time she had seen one cause damage to the entrance hall. As the shuddering lessened, Flavia let out a sigh of relief and relaxed her grip on her sisters. “The tremors are getting more frequent, I’m sure. They’re lasting much longer than in past years, too.”

  Drusilla gasped and pointed to the corner of the room, in which stood a large fountain adorned by mosaics in a geometric design, along with representations of birds and arabesques. The water, which usually flowed nicely out of the mouth of a statue of a goddess, had stopped, and for a time dribbled brown water before bubbling back to its usual state of crystal clear water. “Did you see that? The water stopped just then.”

  “It is quite strange, Drusilla. I think perhaps I should go and make an offering to Isis,” Flavia said. “Has anyone seen Laelia? Oh, there you are.”

  Laelia, Flavia’s servant and close friend, appeared from the kitchens where she had been giving instructions on behalf of Augusta.

  Flavia signaled to her. “Laelia, let us go to the Temple of Isis.”

  Laelia nodded agreement, and the two set off for town.

  Flavia’s thoughts soon drifted back to marriage. Was it possible she could escape marriage to Gaius?

  “Flavia, did you hear what I said?” Laelia’s tone was insistent.

  Laelia's voice snapped Flavia back to reality. “Sorry? No, what did you say?”

  Laelia sighed. “I said, have you noticed that the seas seem rougher than usual?”

  “I hadn’t taken any notice.” Flavia stopped and the two women looked toward the Bay of Naples. “Now that you mention it, the seas do look angry.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Laelia’s voice held a note of fear.

  The girls continued on down past the cemetery until they arrived at the entrance to the Temple of Isis, which opened off the south side of the suitably named Temple of Isis Street. The entrance opened onto a courtyard surrounded by a four-sided porch lined with huge marble columns.

  As usual, Flavia stopped to admire the decoration on the portico’s red panels. Although she had attended the temple for years, it seemed that there was always something different to be seen, so vast were the decorations. There were tiny scenes of the Nile as well as miniature depictions of sea battles. There were Egyptian landscapes as well as portraits of priests in full ceremonial dress interspersed with architectural themes.

  Below these scenes was a richly colored orange frieze featuring dolphins and lions as well as the mythical sphinxes and dragons. The highest zone had still-life paintings and more paintings of landscapes.

  Flavia stood still, admiring a fresco of triremes. “You know, I could look at these paintings all day.”

  Laelia tugged on Flavia’s arm. “Come, Flavia, I can see one of the priestesses coming.” Laelia pointed to the priestess and waved.

  The priestess walked over. “Have you come to make an offering?”

  “Yes,” Flavia said, “but we also wanted to know if you knew anything about the tremors? Why they are getting worse, I mean,” she added.

  The priestess shook her head. “All the omens have been bad.” She nodded toward several sailors over by the temple arch. “I am sure you are aware we have many sailors as followers. They have all said that the seas have been much rougher than usual. The seas are not acting normally.”

  Flavia and Laelia exchanged glances.

  “What do the sailors mean by that??” Laelia asked.

  The priestess laughed. “I do not know! It must be sailor talk. Still, the sailors are indeed worried. We have been inundated with offerings. We have never been so busy.” Her expression grew grim. “The portents have never been so unfavorable. Something terrible is about to happen; you mark my words.”

  5

  HERCULANEUM

  THE PRESENT DAY

  Abigail caught the train to Naples from Termini Railway Station. In Naples, she transferred to a train on the Circumvesuviana Line, which went to Herculaneum. As Abigail sat on the train, casually gazing at the landscape, her thoughts were pierced by Italian chatter. Everybody else on the train seemed excited.

  She felt a swoop of dread. What if something had happened to Riley? Not that Special Agent Jack Riley ever worried about danger. Actually, that’s what had Abigail so worried. The man was far too cavalier.

  Abigail shook her head. In the past, she had nurtured the men in her life. Despite being a busy college professor of Biblical history and ancient languages, she always found herself acting as her boyfriends’ maid. Worse still, she would also act like their mother. Picking up their socks, asking them if they had eaten vegetables. These days, she refused to date a man unless he was actually a man. A man like Riley.

  The train pulled into Herculaneum. Abigail’s mind was racing as she dragged her suitcase onto the platform. She told herself she would feel better when she spotted Riley.

  “Abigail?”

  A pair of bright blue eyes landed on her. The eyes belonged to a man with broad shoulders and sandy hair. Riley.

  “Were you followed?”

  “Of course not,” Abigail said. She tried to swallow her indignation.

  “Then why is that man waving to you?” Riley frowned.

  Abigail glanced over her shoulder. Milo Knox, her teaching assistant, was waving frantically at her, a huge grin on his face.

  “Professor Spencer! Professor Spencer! Does your mother live in Herculaneum?” he called as he ran toward her.

  Abigail watched as Milo tripped over his undone shoelaces. He stood, dusted off his jeans, and waved again. When he reached them, he said. “Who is this man?” He shot Riley a suspicious look.

  “This is Milo Knox, my TA,” Abigail told Riley. “I told Milo I had to leave Rome because my mother was engaged.”

  Milo shot another look at Riley and chuckled. “Oh, that was your cover story! You wanted to get away to spend time with this man who must be your boyfriend.”

  “No,” Abigail said, just as Riley said, “Yes. I’m Tom Jones. Call me Tom. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Wherever Professor Spencer goes, I go too,” Milo said proudly. “But I won’t get in your way. I’ll book into a hotel here, and you can call me if you need any help.”

  Abigail cleared her throat. “Thanks, Milo.”

  Abigail and Riley watched as Milo took his suitcase and vanished into the crowd. Riley turned to Abigail. “I told you to come alone,” he said.

  “You told me to make sure I wasn’t followed,” Abigail replied. Admittedly, it was not a good defense. “I had no idea he was following me. What’s going on?”

  “We can’t talk here.” Riley glanced around. “Come on.”

  Riley’s hire car was white and nondescript. Riley drove them away from the train station, stopping by his hotel to book her a room, and then onto a café to buy coffee. He didn’t need a reminder to get her order right.

  Riley stirred sugar into his coffee. “I’ve been staying in Herculaneum since our dinner two weeks ago.”

  “I remember you mentioned Pompeii and a codex.”

  Riley nodded. “Right. Word came to RHTF that somebody in Naples had a codex that told the whereabouts of an ancient relic. Vortex agents were hot on the trail.”

  “What did this have to do with Pompeii?”

  “Vortex agents were seen at Pompeii, which is why I stayed at Herculaneum—you know, to be close.” He sipped his coffee. Abigail noticed the corners of his eyes had worry lines she had not seen before.

  “Go on,” she prompted him.

  “There was an antiquities dealer in Naples by the name of Giles Benedict. He was murdered last evening. The police found an ancient codex in his safe. It said only one thing: ‘The Spear of Destiny is hidden in,’ but that was it. The other pages were either missing or damaged beyond repair. We have no other information about where the Spear of Destiny is hidden.”

  “Wait, do you mean the Spear of Destiny?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Holy Lance? Also known as the Lance of Longinus? The spear that pierced the side of Jesus as he hung on the cross?” Abigail was tense. She didn’t enjoy mornings at all, let alone mornings that began with cryptic phone calls and ended with hearing that a murdered man had a codex mentioning the mythical Spear of Destiny. “What do you want me to do?”

  “The Director wants you to search Benedict’s office and apartment. We had word that Vortex agents think Giles Benedict had clues to the spear’s whereabouts.”

  “Clues other than the broken line in the codex?”

  “Yes. The medical examiner found a piece of paper in his throat on which he had written the word ‘bat’.”

  Abigail was perplexed. “A bat? But the spear is mythical,” she protested. “There are several that claim to be genuine, but…” Her voice trailed away.

  “The Director doesn’t want us to take any chances. This afternoon, we’ll go to Naples and search Giles Benedict’s office and apartment. Now, let’s catch a bus to see if anyone’s following us.”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a bus that takes tourists to the top of Vesuvius.”

  Abigail gasped. “No way! I mean, I’m deathly afraid of volcanoes. It’s bad enough being in Herculaneum, but as for climbing Vesuvius, I just can’t!” She trembled.

  Riley hurried to reassure her. “That’s okay, it was just an idea. But surely you don’t think Vesuvius is about to erupt?”

  “The people of Herculaneum and Pompeii didn’t know Vesuvius was about to erupt, and look what happened to them!” She took a deep breath. “There are several different types of volcanic eruptions, and volcanologists have named these different eruptions after famous volcanoes where these eruptions were observed.”

  “I don’t care for Star Trek,” Riley said dismissively.

  Abigail frowned. “Volcanologists, Riley. As in geologists who study volcanoes.”

  “I knew that.” Riley coughed, his ears turning pink.

  “A Plinian eruption is named after the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 A.D., the eruption that destroyed this whole area. This eruption was described in two letters written by Pliny the Younger to his friend, a historian by the name Tacitus.”

  “Abigail, you and I do not share a love of long dead Roman men.”

  “Pliny the Elder,” Abigail continued, ignoring Riley, “who happened to be the uncle of Pliny the Younger, died during the eruption. He was mounting a rescue mission to the shore near Herculaneum, but he died on the beach, possibly from natural causes.”

  “You know, I never heard of Herculaneum growing up. It was always Pompeii that people talked about.”

  “Herculaneum, while not as famous as Pompeii, was also destroyed by the same Mount Vesuvius eruption, but the volcano did different things to each town.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “The wind. Herculaneum was buried by sixty feet of something called tuff, tufaceous material. This layer of stuff preserved Herculaneum, making it hard to excavate, sure, but it also meant that it was impossible to loot.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, everything from food to beds was preserved in Herculaneum.”

  “Let’s go to the bus now.”

  Abigail bit back a smile. Riley really wasn’t interested in long dead ancient Romans.

  “I hope Milo is okay,” Abigail said as they walked to the bus.

  Riley furrowed his brows. “Do you like him?”

  “What? No? I’ve only known him for two weeks, Riley. It’s not like I have a wedding dress picked out and future children named.”

  “I mean as a teaching assistant.”

  “Oh.” Abigail shivered. Suddenly, she wanted to cover her face. “Too early to tell.”

  “Alexander.”

  “What?”

  “Alexander is a good name. You know, for your future son with Milo.” Riley smirked.

  Abigail frowned. She didn’t know what exactly she would like to say to Riley, only that it would not be pleasant.

  6

  POMPEII, 79 A.D.

  7 DAYS BEFORE ERUPTION

  “My dear Rufus,” the Lady Augusta gushed as the porter showed Rufus into the spacious and elaborately decorated atrium, the front room of the Roman house. “And this must be Titus.”

  Livia nudged Flavia in the arm and raised her eyebrows. “Well?” she whispered.

  Flavia had a good chance to study Titus as he was standing at an angle to her, not looking directly at her. He was tall, a little older than she had expected, and handsome indeed with his fine looking face and broad shoulders. He looked far better than the horrid Gaius who leered at Flavia at every opportunity.

  Titus did, however, look very much like the man she had seen earlier that day by the Fountain of Abundance.

  The servants showed the guests through the courtly rooms into the dining room overlooking the garden courtyard. The heady scents of rose, myrrh, lily, myrtle, and laurel wafted into the dining room, as did the herbal scents of basil, rosemary, chamomile, and thyme. The sound of water tinkling from the elaborate fountain adorned with sculptures of flowers and doves added to the dining experience. However, the pleasant sounds of the fountain were shattered at intervals by the piercing shrieks of the peacocks Flavia’s parents had imported from the Near East.

  Augusta invited everyone to recline on white marble couches, which were softened by numerous, brightly colored pillows, and signaled the servants to serve dinner. Flavia had lost her appetite and toyed with her apricot starter, while Augusta and Rufus Valens, the Mayor of Pompeii, discussed politics.

  With the arrival of the seafood fricassee, Augusta’s words turned to the recent earthquakes. “My daughters and I have observed that the earthquakes seem to be getting more frequent and last much longer too. I hope we are not going to have another severe tremor like the one we had seventeen years ago.”

  “That was indeed a terrible earthquake, Augusta.” Rufus poured a large helping of garum, fish sauce, over his food.

  Flavia cringed as garum always reminded her of Gaius.

  Augusta was fast to agree with Rufus. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I have never been so scared in my entire life.” Augusta was unable to suppress a shudder. “I cannot understand why the Temple of Jupiter has not yet been fixed, or the Temple of Apollo for that matter, when Rome put so much money into having other buildings repaired. I personally do not think it wise to upset Jupiter. Who knows what he could do to this city!”