Rufus held up his hand. “Now, Augusta...”

  Augusta cut him short. “Rufus, forgive me. That was not a hint. I was not for a minute suggesting that you lobby Rome for funds.”

  Rufus hurried to explain. “No, no, my dear lady. I didn’t think you were. I was trying to stop you before you set Titus off into a lengthy discussion.”

  Everyone turned to Titus, who looked uncomfortable and propped himself up higher on his elbow. Augusta was clearly puzzled but did not speak, so Rufus enlightened them. “My dear Titus has taken leave of his senses and has gotten himself involved in some new religion.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, surely?” Augusta gave Titus an encouraging smile. “My oldest daughter, Flavia, attends the Temple Of Isis, an Egyptian not a Roman goddess, and I encouraged her. Surely, one is free to choose whichever god or goddess they like, unless of course, it is Druidism or some other foreign religion that doesn’t meet the approval of Rome. Why, even our dear neighbor Numerius provided the money to rebuild the Temple of Isis after the big earthquake. The Popidii are one of the oldest families in Pompeii, but Numerius was not biased against an Egyptian goddess.”

  Flavia couldn’t help herself. “Mother, you know he only did that so his son, Numerius Popidus Celsinus, would get a free ride into the Senate.”

  Augusta fixed Flavia with a withering glare. “Maybe so, Flavia, but my point still stands; Numerius showed no bias against foreign gods. It is not as if he had the Temple of Jupiter repaired, which would make more sense, if you ask me.”

  “I do completely agree with you, Augusta.” Rufus turned to Flavia. “And you too, Flavia. I have tried to warn you both, but I have failed. I am afraid that Titus is now going to launch into a long speech as to why we should abandon our gods and worship only his God.” Rufus laughed ruefully.

  Nobody spoke for a moment, and the atmosphere in the dining room grew decidedly tense.

  Flavia decided to break the uncomfortable silence. “So, what are these gods that you follow, Titus?”

  Titus fixed Flavia with a steely gaze, making her heart flutter. She tried to stop her knees shaking. She was unable to look him in the eyes any longer, so averted her gaze and stared at his broad shoulders.

  Titus spoke firmly. “I worship only one God, whom we call God, but the Jews call him Yahweh.”

  “But he’s a Jewish God,” Augusta broke in.

  Rufus raised his eyebrows in warning. “Have you heard of Christians?”

  Augusta looked puzzled. “Aren’t they a Jewish sect?”

  Rufus shot a worried look at Titus. “Some call them Chrestians.”

  Flavia nodded to the servants before speaking. “Yes, Rufus, I remember now. Were they not the ones Nero blamed for setting fire to Rome fifteen years earlier?”

  Rufus took a mouthful of the pear soufflé which had just arrived, and then swallowed hastily. “Precisely, my dear Flavia, but as everybody knows, Nero invented that fact to suit his own purposes, whatever they were.”

  Augusta nodded. “Yes, Nero was a terrible man. I had forgotten for a moment that his poor wife, Poppaea, was a good friend of yours. Her family’s villa is not far from ours.”

  Rufus nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. Flavia knew that Nero had accidentally—or so he said—killed Poppaea some years earlier, by kicking her hard in the stomach. That did not sound at all like an accident to Flavia. Poppaea was from Pompeii, and her family was well known and popular.

  “Augusta, I have just finished reading a treatise by Pliny on the life of the emperor Nero. He calls him an enemy of mankind. Pliny is a lovely man. You have met him, have you not?” After Augusta nodded, Rufus continued, “Yes, Pliny is the commander of the fleet just across the bay at Misenum. He is a most accomplished man. He would not have been able at liberty to write that if Nero had been still alive.”

  Augusta waved her hand. “If you ask me, politicians are all the same.” She cleared her throat. “No offense, Rufus. I was only referring to Emperors.”

  Rufus appeared not to have taken offense and merely chuckled.

  Flavia had been watching Titus out of the corner of her eye and noticed that he appeared most desperate to speak. He finally did so.

  “If I may, I will explain.”

  The girls and Augusta nodded politely, while Rufus ducked his head and ate more dessert.

  Titus drew a deep breath. “We believe everything that is written in the Law and the Prophets.”

  Augusta interrupted. “So, do you mean you believe what the Jews believe?”

  Titus nodded. “Yes, but more. The Jews often say they are waiting for the Messiah. The Messiah has come and His name is Jesus, although most of the Jews do not agree that this is the case. Jesus was crucified over forty years ago when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea.”

  “But there are hundreds of gods,” Augusta protested. “For a start, there are the Lares, the household gods, and as well as our gods, there are the Greek gods, the Egyptian gods—I could continue at length. Pompeii is full of gods and goddesses, as is Rome.”

  Flavia had finished her dessert and leaned over to address Augusta. “Mother, the Jews believe there is only one God.”

  Augusta looked surprised. “Do they? I did not know that, Flavia.”

  “Yes, last week at dinner Gaius told you that his business makes a special garum for the Jewish population of Pompeii that suits their religious laws. He spoke about the Jews’ religion.” At the thought of Gaius, Flavia’s heart sank.

  Everyone nodded politely, although Flavia was sure that no one understood Titus’s religion any more than she did.

  After her guests had left, Augusta took Flavia by the arm. “My dear, I know I wanted a match for you with Gaius, but I think Titus would be more suited. With Rufus as his Patron, he is ideal as well as being well politically connected, and Rufus informs me that Titus is a wealthy landowner.”

  Titus and Rufus were discussing the afternoon’s events.

  “They are one of the wealthiest families in Pompeii,” Rufus said. “I believe it would be safe to hide the sacred spear with them.”

  Titus disagreed. “They are pagans, Rufus.”

  “So is nearly the entire population of Pompeii. I myself pretend to be pagan, so as not to arouse Gaius’s suspicions. He would think a pagan would have no interest in the Spear of Destiny.”

  Titus shook his head. “I mean, they would have no idea of its significance.”

  Rufus nodded solemnly. “My dear Titus, that is precisely why it would be safe with them. Gaius will stop at nothing to steal the Spear of Destiny. He has already killed, and he will kill again.”

  7

  NAPLES

  THE PRESENT DAY

  The little shop smelled musty. The building was centuries old and didn’t appear to be in a good state of repair. Abigail figured it was subject to rising damp or mold—maybe both. She wrinkled her nose and followed Riley inside. He at once locked the door behind them and peeked out of the window.

  “Expecting trouble?” she asked him.

  Riley shot her a half smile. “I’m always expecting trouble.” He waved his right hand around the room. “This is Gaius Benedict’s little showroom, and his apartment is above. His office is through that door. That’s where he was killed.”

  Abigail’s stomach clenched. She didn’t like to walk into a room where somebody had been murdered.

  Riley was still speaking. “That’s where they found the codex.”

  Abigail walked past him and opened the door to the back room. To her surprise, it was significantly bigger than the shop. “There’s a lot of equipment in here.”

  Riley nodded. “He authenticated many of the pieces himself.” He walked over and tapped the outside of a large safe. “Benedict opened the safe door, no doubt so the perpetrator would think that was the only safe.”

  “That was clever of him,” Abigail said.

  Riley readily agreed. “And the other safe was over here.” He crossed the room, walking past several framed pictures of sayings by ancient Greeks and a marble bust of Socrates. He paused at one of the framed pictures and tapped it. The picture moved away from the wall at an angle, revealing a small safe. “It was in this little safe that the codex was found.”

  “The murderer had no idea there were two safes?”

  Riley nodded. “Precisely.”

  Abigail looked around the room. Laboratory equipment was spread over a stainless steel countertop. In the far corner was a coffee pot and small fridge, and in front of the countertop was a large leather armchair. It seemed Giles spent much of his time in this room.

  Riley searched through drawers and then straightened. “I think we have come up against a dead end. The codex doesn’t give us a clue, and it could take people months to find any evidence in here.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Abigail said slowly. “Giles Benedict was obviously a clever man. He wanted people to find the Spear of Destiny or he wouldn’t have kept the codex safe.”

  Riley opened his mouth to speak, but Abigail pushed on. “He wouldn’t have written the word ‘bat’ on a piece of paper and then swallowed it if he didn’t want to tell somebody where the spear was.”

  “But that’s the only clue we have,” Riley protested. “Bat. What does that word mean to you?”

  Abigail scratched her head. “I must say, it isn’t much of a clue at all. I can’t think of many accounts of bats in ancient Greece or Rome. They were regarded in a positive light, and there is a beautiful account in Ovid’s Metamorphoses about them. It wasn’t until the Church Father, Basil of Caesarea, that bats came to be associated with evil.”

  “Were there any bats in the Bible?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d have to look it up, but I remember the Bible lists bats as birds that shouldn’t be eaten, along with eagles and owls. Bat idols were mentioned, though.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” Riley said. “Surely, Benedict would have left a clue that made sense, yet we don’t know what we are looking for. I doubt that the bat is a clue to the actual whereabouts of the Spear of Destiny. It’s probably a clue to the next clue.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Abigail said. “I only hope this trail doesn’t involve subterranean passages and armed Vortex agents.”

  “It will definitely involve armed Vortex agents,” Riley said with a frown. “And as for subterranean passages, well, who can say?”

  Abigail didn’t like the sound of that. “What do we do now? Search everything in these rooms for mention of a bat?”

  “I don’t see what else we can do,” Riley said. “And you’re the Biblical scholar. The Spear of Destiny is from the era of your area of expertise. If anybody is likely to find a clue, it’s you.”

  Abigail shrugged and walked into the main room. She looked at the collection of artifacts on display. There weren’t as many as there were in the back room. Giles did, however, have an extensive collection of books printed in the nineteenth century, gold-embossed, leather-bound volumes of the entire works of Plato, Aristotle, all the Greek playwrights, and some of the Roman orators as well as the poems of Catullus. She turned to Riley. “He has more Greek than Roman works.”

  “Nothing that will give you a clue about a bat?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. What about his computer?”

  “Because it’s a murder investigation, the local police have it. They’re cooperating with RHTF and have agreed to turn it over to us when they’re finished with it.”

  “I certainly hope there aren’t any Vortex agents infiltrating the local police,” Abigail said.

  “Anything is possible. It’s unlikely, though. At any rate, there might be a clue in his computer, but for now, we need to find anything here before Vortex agents get around to it.”

  Something occurred to Abigail. “What if the person who murdered him already took the clue?” She silently rebuked herself for not thinking of that before now.

  “I doubt it very much. Giles Benedict seems to have set things up nicely. He would have been protecting the Spear of Destiny for years, and he would have been well aware that somebody would come looking for it one day. That’s why he hurried to open the decoy safe and why he wrote the word ‘bat’ on a piece of paper and swallowed it. The paper was still in his mouth, so the Vortex agent didn’t see it.”

  “So then, you’re certain the Vortex agent didn’t get the next clue?”

  Riley nodded. “Yes, I’m certain.” He hesitated and added, “As certain as I can be. No, Benedict left the clue for a reason, and we just have to discover what that reason was.”

  To Abigail, it felt hopeless. “The clue could be on a bookmark or might be a word written in any one of these books, and he has hundreds of books,” she lamented. “I don’t know where to start. It would be good if we had more help. Is Myles still in the hospital?”

  “He’s been discharged, but he’s still on sick leave. I would like to request more RHTF agents,” Riley said, “but the Director said it would just be us this time. There’s another pressing case and most of the agents have been assigned to it. And we can’t trust your TA.”

  Abigail chuckled. “I wasn’t for a moment suggesting we should ask Milo to help us. He’s extremely nosy.” She shut one of the volumes of Xenophon and put it back on the shelf. “Like you said, we could be here for days, even weeks.”

  “We haven’t looked in his apartment yet or in the other room,” Riley said. “If Benedict left a clue, likely he’d have left it in the private areas rather than the public room.”

  Abigail planted her palm on her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You and me both,” Riley said. He opened the door to the back room, and Abigail walked through.

  The stairs to the apartment were at the rear of the back room. They were particularly steep and painted an odd shade of deep green. There was no handrail. Abigail expected anyone could put their hands on the cracked plaster walls either side to keep their balance.

  The small room directly ahead of them at the top of the stairs had a built-in bookcase, and every inch of it was filled with books. Freestanding bookcases stood across the other wall. The wood was dark and added to the gloomy feeling, as did the darkly polished floor with no carpet. A red chair with a small table next to it and a faded reading lamp above stood in the middle of the room. A red and white striped sofa sat at an angle to the chair. The apartment smelled mustier than the rooms downstairs.

  Abigail followed Riley as he looked in each room. The kitchen was rudimentary and cluttered. On top of the old wooden table with mismatched chairs in the center of the room was a blue dishcloth and one empty dinner plate. A glass chandelier hung low over the table and contrasted with the dreary decor. The walls were filled with old paintings.

  The first bedroom was sparse. The bed was made and there was a tiny TV on a wooden table in the corner. The wallpaper was an odd shade of mustard with brown dots, and the bedroom was carpeted in a deep gray. Abigail crossed to look at the book on the nightstand. It was the paperback journal, Greece & Rome, dated to 1945. A bookmark was in it, marking the article, Riddles and Problems from the Greek Anthology by E.S. Foster.

  Just as Abigail was beginning to think the apartment would be easy to search, Riley opened the door to the second bedroom. It appeared Giles Benedict had used it as a storage room. They were only able to walk a few paces into the room, as cardboard boxes were stacked to ceiling height. Riley opened the first box.

  Abigail looked inside. It was packed with books, leather bound volumes of Plutarch’s Lives. “I wonder if all these cartons are full of books?”

  “Maybe he should have replaced some of them with a Kindle,” Riley said with a sigh.

  Abigail looked in the next box, and it too was filled with books. The top book was a commentary on Cicero. The cover was a faded blue.

  “If there’s a clue in this room, it’s going to take a very long time to find it,” she said.

  Half an hour later, they hadn’t found anything of note. “It seems he did most of his reading downstairs,” Abigail said. “Perhaps he only used the apartment for cooking and sleeping.”

  Riley nodded to several pizza boxes stacked on the countertop next to the sink. “I don’t know if he did any cooking.”

  “The poor man.” Abigail rubbed her forehead. “He died protecting the Spear of Destiny.”

  “You were right. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble to swallow a piece of paper with a clue on it and then not have a clue in his apartment.”

  “But I haven’t seen a single bat anywhere,” Abigail protested. “I’ve been looking for a statue of a bat or a book about bats.” She crossed to the window and looked out. “There isn’t even a view of a bat statue or bat graffiti from any of his windows. I checked every one of them. All I can see are other buildings.”

  “Then let’s search the office again.”

  Abigail agreed. She went down the steps which seemed even steeper going down. This time, she put her hand against one wall for balance. When she reached the bottom, she turned into the back room of the office and gasped. “I didn’t see that painting before!”

  Riley walked to her side. “What painting?”

  Abigail pointed to the painting, still at right angles to the wall. “The painting that was covering the second safe. Its back was to me the whole time I was here, and I’ve only seen the front just now.” She peered at the painting. “Riley, this is the clue! Or rather, a series of clues. Should we take this painting so Vortex agents don’t find the clues?”

  Riley shook his head. “No, because they would have taken photos of the entire place, and if something goes missing, they will know it’s important.”