Abigail turned back to the painting and read the top line of writing aloud.

  “Panarces, Not a bird, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.”

  “What’s a Panarces?” Riley asked her.

  “A who, not a what. Panarces was a man, an ancient Greek riddler. Riddles were popular with the ancient Greeks. They were orally transmitted, which shows their antiquity. Early works weren’t written but were recited. Homer’s works, too, were not written but rather, retold. People had to remember the whole of the Iliad and the whole of the Odyssey, so they could recite it to the people, so devices to help remember were written into it.”

  She studied the framed work. “This first one is a quote from Clearchus in his commentary on Plato’s Republic. Clearchus was an ancient Greek philosopher.”

  There is a story that a man and not a man

  Saw and did not see a bird and not a bird

  Perched on a branch and not a branch

  And hit him and did not hit him with a rock and not a rock.

  She clasped her hands with excitement. “It’s the bat! This is the clue.”

  Riley peered at the painting. “The clue? But it doesn’t mention a bat. It mentions a bird that isn’t a bird, whatever that means.”

  “But that’s a bat!” Abigail said. “This is a famous riddle. It doesn’t make much sense in English translation, but it makes perfect sense in the ancient Greek original.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Riley said dryly.

  “Plato says that it’s solved like this: a eunuch who did not see well saw a bat perched on some fennel or a reed, and threw a pumice stone at him which missed.” Riley looked blank, so Abigail added, “The Greek verb here is ballo, which can mean to hit something but can also simply mean to aim at something.”

  Riley frowned.

  “And above the painting it says, ‘Not a bird, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli’. This means we have to go to this museum and find a bat.”

  “A bat?” Riley said. “I’m sure there’s more than one bat at that museum.”

  Abigail tapped the painting once more. “But don’t you see? These words are printed over this photo.” Riley continued to look blank, so Abigail pressed on. “It’s a photo of Mount Vesuvius behind the ruins of Pompeii. We’re looking for a Pompeii artifact, maybe a bronze lamp in the shape of a bat or maybe a statue featuring a bat. I’m sure there won’t be many of those at the museum. Possibly only one.”

  “But what do we do when we find it?” Riley said.

  Abigail tapped the edge of the frame. “There are other riddles written under it.” She read the first aloud:

  “What is the same everywhere and nowhere?”

  Riley tapped his chin. “What’s the answer?”

  “Time. This riddle was by the ancient Greek rhetorician, Athenaeus. There are two more riddles:

  I look at you whenever you look at me;

  You see, but I see not; no sight have I;

  I speak but have no voice; your voice is heard;

  My lips can only open uselessly.”

  Riley appeared perplexed. “Do you know the answer to that one?”

  Abigail nodded. “It’s a mirror. And the next riddle:

  I am a dark child sprung from a bright sire,

  A wingless bird, fleeting to heaven from earth.

  Each eye that meets me weeps, but not from grief,

  And in thin air I vanish at my birth.”

  Riley scratched his head. “I have no clue, to be honest.”

  Abigail laughed. “Nor would I, if I hadn’t read the answers previously. This one is smoke from a fire. The answer to the last clue is wind:

  ‘What can go in the face of the sun, yet leave no shadow?’”

  “Is there any relationship between the clues?”

  Abigail shrugged. “I have no idea. The last clue isn’t an ancient Greek riddle like the others. The riddles are all collected in a modern, well, a one-hundred-year-old work called The Greek Anthology, which pretty much all Classical Greek students own or have read, but the last clue is a Teutonic riddle, so that in itself is strange. The journal on Giles Benedict’s nightstand had an article about collections of ancient Greek riddles translated by Foster. No whole works by Panarces survive, and we have very little of Clearchus.”

  Deep furrows formed in Riley’s brow. “I’m glad it makes sense to you.”

  “It does, and hopefully the bat at the museum will give us the next clue. It will send us to the next place that has something to do with time.” And I hope that place isn’t underground, she added silently.

  8

  POMPEII 79 A.D.

  6 DAYS BEFORE THE ERUPTION

  Flavia stepped out of the peaceful, leafy courtyard at the front of the Forum Baths straight into a bustling, noisy crowd. Directly opposite the entrance to the Baths was a snack bar establishment, and as it was lunchtime, the crowds were thicker and more insistent than usual.

  Flavia walked past the series of rectangular marble countertops into which were set wooden lids as well as large jars. A crowd of hungry customers, both local residents and tourists, huddled in front of the stands. Although the tops were a pretty collage of different colored marble, Flavia far preferred the exquisitely painted flower patterns which adorned many of the masonry counters.

  Flavia continued carefully a few steps down the hill. Pompeii streets were narrower than those in Rome, being only around seven to fourteen feet wide. Even the widest street there was only twenty feet in width. The streets had deep grooves caused by many years of chariots as well as cracks from the tremors, which made simply walking down the street an exercise in caution.

  A sense of foreboding pressed down on Flavia. She shuddered as she looked up at the giant arch of the aqueduct, and then beyond to Mount Vesuvius. Don’t be foolish, she scolded herself, looking at the beautiful, puffy clouds which surrounded the top of Mount Vesuvius, against a backdrop of clear blue sky. It’s such a lovely, peaceful day. How could anything be wrong? Still, Flavia could not dismiss the uneasy feeling.

  Flavia shook herself and walked on another block down the street known as the Road of Good Fortune, past an enormous house which took up an entire block. Flavia nodded to the servants coming and going from the house. This house was owned by close friends of her parents.

  Flavia paused at the stone fountain with a bull’s head for a spout that marked the intersection between the Road of Good Fortune and an alley, the Lane of the Vettii. Is it my imagination, or did the ground shake a little? Flavia leaned against the nearest wall and stared at the House of the Vettii directly in front of her. It seemed to move little, or was that just a trick of the sun?

  Flavia turned left, then immediately right, and walked along a gently winding road which led past a bakery and mill. This was not the direct route, but one which she calculated would avoid Gaius, as his place of business was in that district. Flavia carefully stepped across the deep wagon tracks in the paving as she came to the next intersection, with Vesuvius Street on the left and Stabiae Street on the right.

  Flavia turned left and made her way down Vesuvius Street to the house of the banker, Decimus Caecilius Iucundus. She loved running errands to the banker due to the beauty of his house, which had belonged to his father, Tiberius Caecilius Iucundus.

  The narrow entrance was flanked on both sides by stores. A mosaic of a dog was a feature at the entrance passageway, and Flavia had long suspected that her mother had copied the idea for their villa. The entrance room was covered with the most stunning paintings, which were set off by the black and white mosaic floor.

  Flavia walked over to examine a pair of sculptured panels depicting the big earthquake of seventeen years earlier. In one, the Temple of Jupiter was shown leaning over at a precarious angle, and a panel featured a sculpture of riders being flung from their horses. Another panel depicted the Vesuvian Gate was depicted falling away from its large water reservoir. A large statue of Decimus’s father stood at the back of the entrance room.

  Flavia left for home. She had almost reached the house next to the cloth sellers and dyers’ workshops when she saw Gaius coming the other way. She caught her breath and looked for a store entrance to duck into, but there wasn’t one close. And what’s more, Gaius had already seen her.

  Despite his ample frame, he closed the distance between them in what seemed to Flavia like no time at all. He loomed over her, with the usual leering expression on his face.

  Flavia took a step back as the foul smell of rotten fish mixed with sweat was overpowering.

  Gaius loomed over her, his face close to hers. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “It is none of your business,” Flavia said in a steely tone.

  Gaius loomed even closer. “It will be my business when we are married.” His tone was darkly threatening.

  Flavia took another step back. “We will not marry.”

  Gaius looked shocked but quickly recovered. “What a good imagination you have. I assure you that we will be married. I always get what I want, one way or another.”

  Flavia feared for a minute that Gaius would go so far as to seize her arm, but just then Titus appeared.

  “Flavia, we were wondering where you were.”

  Gaius simply grunted and pushed past Flavia, who nimbly stepped aside to let him pass.

  “Was he giving you any trouble?”

  “Not really, Titus, but he is a horrible man. He thinks he will marry me.”

  Titus raised one eyebrow. “I have just concluded my business here. Would you accompany me to lunch in one of the nearby houses after you have completed your business? A friend of mine is a baker and has offered me the use of his house for dining.”

  Flavia hoped her face was not turning red and made a mental note to put more white powder on her face from now on. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Just then, the porter emerged from one of the four rooms off the atrium and escorted Flavia to meet Decimus.

  Flavia sat in Decimus’s elaborate study in an utter state of distraction. Could Titus be interested in her? Or did he simply want to tell her about his religion?

  “And so here is your dear mother’s receipt,” Decimus concluded.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Decimus repeated himself. Flavia felt badly for not listening to a word Decimus had said. She knew that Decimus rarely saw any clients; he usually left that to his freedman and servants.

  Decimus showed Flavia out. On the way, he gestured to a wall. “Look at that graffiti. I have no idea who is responsible for it, but I have not had it removed, as I like what it says.”

  Flavia crossed to the wall and read, “‘May those who love prosper; let them perish who cannot love; let them perish twice over who veto love.’ That is lovely, Decimus. I can see why you have allowed it to remain.”

  They had reached the atrium, where Titus was waiting. The three of them said their goodbyes, and then Titus escorted Flavia outside. He led her back up the hill in the direction of the sea.

  Flavia guessed, correctly as it turned out, that Titus was taking her to the House of Sallust, a most elegant villa which had been converted from an old, Samnite-style private residence.

  “Would you prefer to dine in an inside, private dining room or the garden dining room?”

  When Flavia looked blank and didn’t answer, Titus continued, “It is such a lovely day. Shall we dine in the garden?”

  Flavia had lost her tongue and could only nod. Oh, what will he think of me? she scolded herself.

  A servant showed the pair into a private garden. Two fixed couches faced each other. Flavia blinked hard as the sunlight reflected off the white marble casing on the opposite couch.

  It was the fountain, however, that caught her attention. Although her own family had a magnificent fountain system, this was a splendid design of glass beads and sea shells woven masterfully into a mosaic. A stream of water cascaded softly down the fountain, the sun catching the light and throwing rainbow patterns over the garden.

  The water pooled into a large vessel between the two couches, before meandering along to another fountain with a little pool. The tinkling sound was charming. The diners reclined either side of the pool. The play of light was enchanting.

  “This must look so beautiful at night when the oil lights reflect the light.” Flavia did not realize for a moment that she had spoken aloud.

  “I must bring you back here at night on another occasion.”

  Flavia smiled coyly at Titus and then silently chastised herself. I must not flirt with him! I do not know anything about him. If his new religion is anything like the religion of the Bacchantes, I will have to be careful not to become involved with him, despite my feelings for him.

  Servants appeared and served the pair the first course: dormice with pork stuffing, dipped in honey and sprinkled with pepper, fennel and pine nuts, and served with garum. The tableware was silver, the best Flavia had seen outside her own home, and she had attended many private dinner parties in Rome with her parents.

  “Your parents have not found a match for you yet?”

  “A match?” Flavia repeated, shocked at Titus’s forthright speech.

  “Yes,” Titus continued. “I heard your parents were considering a match for you.”

  “You must be thinking of Gaius Umbricius Scaurus, the garum merchant,” Flavia said.

  Titus looked thoughtful. “How do you feel about such a match? Please forgive me for asking,” he added.

  Flavia decided to be candid. “I was not at all happy about it, but Mother is beginning to think it is not such a good idea after all.”

  Titus nodded and pushed his food around his plate with his knife. Neither spoke for a while, and servants cleared their plates and brought in a dessert made from crushed rue, pine nuts, honey, milk, and eggs.

  Flavia felt uneasy about the silence, so decided to ask Titus about his religion. “Have you had any trouble with Rome with your new religion? I believe it’s allied with the Jews, and Claudius did expel some of the Jews from Rome many years ago.”

  “Actually, our main opposition has been from the Jews.” Titus leaned forward in his seat. “And, of course, you know that some Christians were put to death by Nero several years ago?”

  Flavia nodded. “That is sad.”

  “These days, Rome tolerates us. They see us as just another foreign religion.” Titus would have said more, but the earth vibrated, and then shook to the degree that the fountain water sprayed into the air, sprinkling Titus and Flavia.

  “Come. I must get you safely home.” Titus leaped to his feet and hurried over to Flavia.

  Flavia stood up abruptly. This had been a bad tremor for an initial one. Usually, the tremors were at first mild and then built up in intensity.

  Titus was glad that Flavia was not talking on the walk to her villa, as he had plenty to think about. There was the problem of Gaius Umbricius Scaurus. Gaius was indeed a nasty man. Titus did not think he had met nastier, not even in Rome itself. Had the Lady Augusta, in fact, promised Flavia in marriage to Gaius? It was possible that she had, and Flavia was unaware. He had to find Rufus and warn him at once. There was no way the Spear of Destiny would be safe near the Augustii family, not with their close connections to Gaius.

  9

  HERCULANEUM

  THE PRESENT DAY

  “Don’t go out on the balcony.” Riley handed Abigail her hotel key. “And don’t go near the windows. Keep the curtains drawn.”

  Abigail’s heart beat faster and faster. She was already on another mission. She wanted to have some time between missions, like maybe a year with plenty of time to stare blankly at feel-good movies that required no thinking. Her stress levels had been way out of control, and she had wanted to relax, but instead, she was on another mission.

  “In the morning we’ll go to the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli,” Riley said. “Actually, I need to speak with you in private for a moment.”

  As Riley’s hand reached for the door, Milo appeared in the corridor. He looked startled to see them. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude.”

  “What are you doing here?” Abigail asked him. It seemed Milo was popping up unexpectedly everywhere.

  “I got a room here in your hotel,” he said. “I am your TA, after all.”

  “But the conference is over and I’m going to spend some, um, vacation time with, um, Tom.” Abigail almost said Riley’s name. She would have to be more careful next time.

  Milo waved one hand at her. “Sure. I won’t intrude. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been anywhere internationally before, and I’m a little bit out of my depth.” His lip twitched. “I wanted to stick around and do some research. I’m terribly excited to be so close to Herculaneum and Pompeii.” He uttered a nervous giggle.

  “Well, we couldn’t get much closer to Herculaneum than this hotel,” Abigail said with a laugh. Her heart went out to Milo. A slight, nervous man, Milo was a stereotypical academic—introverted, completely obsessed with his work, and far from a social butterfly. Abigail had found him to be a kindly man and a hard worker. She looked up to see Milo standing there, an awkward smile plastered across his face.

  “I won’t keep you any longer. I am sorry to intrude. I’ll keep out of your way, but it’s nice to know that you’ll be around if I need anybody.” His voice trembled.

  Abigail shot him a reassuring smile. “You have my number. Don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Or you could text,” Riley said. “Goodnight, Milo.”

  “Goodnight, Tom.” Milo afforded him a slight nod before going past him and down the corridor. Riley and Abigail watched him as he unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  Riley held the door open for Abigail. He slipped through and shut it behind him. Abigail looked around the room and then crossed to peek behind the curtains to the balcony.