Abigail paused to look up the massive columns. “It’s breathtaking.”

  When she stepped inside, she gasped at the opulence of the magnificent ceilings and frescoes. The basilica was spacious, light, and incredibly ornate. Abigail vowed to return to Naples one day when she was not on a mission. There was so much to see. She was surprised to see a replica of Michelangelo’s Pieta and a copy of Michelangelo’s horned Moses.

  The central nave and apse were stunningly beautiful, as were the eight statues of the apostles at the high altar. In the side aisles and chapels were important paintings, but so far, Abigail had not seen a single mirror.

  Five minutes later, Abigail turned a corner, and there it was in front of her. At first, she did not comprehend it was a mirror as it reflected the scene behind it. It was only when a tourist moved behind her that she realized she was looking at a reflection.

  “Riley!”

  He swung back to her.

  “A mirror.” She nodded. Riley cast a look around him before moving swiftly to the huge gilt mirror.

  Abigail saw it at once. She dropped to her knees. Under it was an ornately framed photograph of three men standing in flames.

  “Is that significant?” Riley asked in hushed tones. “I can’t see any writing.”

  “It’s Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the three men thrown into the fire by Nebuchadnezzar.”

  Riley looked blank, so she added, “From the book of Daniel. The three men refused to bow to his idol, so Nebuchadnezzar ordered the furnace be made seven times hotter than usual, and threw them into it. They emerged unscathed.” Abigail slipped her phone from her purse and took a photo. “We should look at something else now, in case we’re being watched.”

  “But what about the clue?” Riley protested.

  “I have the clue.” She walked over to the fresco and took another photo of it, before whispering, “It’s the answer to 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.

  “It means smoke from a fire.”

  Riley’s brow furrowed. “But how does it tell us where to go next?”

  Abigail held up her phone. “That was a photo of a fresco. If I do a reverse image search, I’ll find the original. At least, I hope so.”

  Abigail found the original photo moments later. The location made her tremble.

  17

  POMPEII 79 A.D.

  2 DAYS BEFORE THE ERUPTION

  Flavia had no sleep that night, lying in bed and wondering where Gaius could be keeping Titus. She decided not to tell her sisters, Livia and Drusilla, or even her servant, Laelia. She could take no chances with Titus’s safety. She had no doubt whatsoever that Gaius was not one to make idle threats.

  Rufus was clearly aware that Gaius had been lying, but Flavia felt it not wise to tell Rufus of Gaius’ threats yet. Flavia was worried that Gaius might have someone watching Rufus to see if she went to him. She would have to bide her time, as difficult as it was. Perhaps the dinner with Gaius that afternoon would give her a piece of information, no matter how small.

  The day dragged on painfully slowly. As the hour approached when Augusta and Livia had to leave to make their way to the House of Gaius, Augusta sent for Flavia. “I should have stood by my first instincts and married you to Gaius. He’s a wonderful match for you. I already have your father’s consent in writing, so all that is required now is for you and Gaius to be willing.” Augusta emphasized the words you and willing, and glared at Flavia.

  I’m certainly not willing, Flavia thought, but there will be no convincing Mother. I need to find out where Gaius is keeping Titus.

  Flavia had no idea how she made it all the way to the House of Gaius. She was sick to the stomach, and the smell of fish sauce did not help at all.

  The House of Gaius Sallustius was situated close to the public wells, on the east side of the Via Consolare a little south of its junction with the Vico di Narcisso. A breeze stirred, carrying along the fragrance of mimosa and orange blossom on the sea air.

  Flavia and Augusta arrived at the entrance to the private apartments on the south side of the House of Gaius Sallustius. The building was imposing, being constructed with large blocks of Sarno limestone. The porch was flanked by eight low, red columns less than ten feet high. The decoration all around was dark and on a black background, which gave it a somber, depressing appearance. The sunlight into the entrance room was feebly reflected in the flooring of white mosaic, which was bordered by a dark red band of scrolling leaf designs, which in turn encompassed heavy geometric patterns.

  The porter led them through the entrance room into the colonnaded garden, which, unlike the lush flower and herb gardens of Flavia’s family villa, was sparse with some thick hedges and a small, uninspiring fountain. The wall behind the fountain featured a huge painting of the mythological hunter, Actaeon, being torn to shreds by his own dogs, his punishment for happening upon the goddess Diana when she was bathing.

  Flavia and Augusta followed the porter through the long, narrow garden to the dining room. The walls of the dining room had a thick band of orange in the center, below which were mythological scenes on a background of dark red. On the lowest panel were scenes of birds, plants, and cupids, on a background of stark black. The dining room had a large window which opened onto another courtyard. Here, another fountain emptied into a large, rectangular pool, which clearly served as the Cold Water Section of the private baths of the House of Gaius.

  Flavia’s stomach turned. She could not imagine a worse sight at dinner than to look out the window and see Gaius bathing.

  Just as Flavia’s thoughts turned to him, Gaius appeared. He greeted Augusta warmly, and then leered at Flavia, looking her up and down. She winced under his gaze. Gaius showed them to the couches, and they reclined on one each.

  The servants appeared and handed them small bowls to wash their hands. Just as one servant handed Gaius the bowl, the bowl tipped and splashed Gaius. He leaped to his feet, more nimbly than Flavia imaged someone of his size could move. Flavia was afraid he was about to strike the servant, when the whole dining room shook.

  “A tremor,” Augusta exclaimed somewhat unnecessarily, and the servants hurried from the room.

  Even Flavia, who had since childhood been used to the frequent tremors of Pompeii, was unnerved. This tremor was the strongest one she had ever encountered. It seemed to last for ages, and no one in the room spoke. All the guard dogs in the House of Gaius were howling, and their howling sounded to Flavia like the wailing of tortured souls.

  Finally, the shaking subsided, and Gaius called for a messenger to send others to check to see if he had incurred any damage throughout his private home or place of business.

  Other servants appeared and served prosciutto ham on tiny slivers of bread, as well as grapes. Augusta and Gaius were making small talk, and Flavia was listening closely for anything that would give a hint of Titus’s whereabouts.

  The talk, however, was all about the tremors, the weather, and politics in Rome, although Augusta did complain frequently about her favorite subject, the lack of government-funded building repair throughout the whole of Pompeii.

  The servants served pastry shells filled with ricotta cheese and bay leaves. Flavia declined the garum. Who has fish sauce on pastries? she thought. That would taste disgusting. Still, she was not surprised when Gaius poured garum liberally over his pastries.

  The messenger returned and spoke breathlessly. “Sir, it appears that the cellar and the private dungeons have received some damage.”

  “Not now! Get out! Can’t you see I have guests? We’re in the middle of dinner?” A furious Gaius followed the confused messenger out of the dining room, after mumbling a hasty apology to Augusta and Flavia. “Please excuse me. I must check this damage for myself. I shouldn’t be long; please go on with your meals.”

  Flavia however, was thrilled to hear the words ‘private dungeons’. It’s obviously where he’s holding Titus, she thought. Why didn’t I think of that before? Many Pompeii houses have private jails. It’s obvious that Gaius has Titus there, given the way he reacted to the messenger.

  Her happiness was short-lived, when she thought the matter through more carefully. What if Titus was injured by the tremor? Or even is dead? Her eyes filled with tears. She set aside her pastries, and a servant removed her silver plate and offered her the bowl again to wash her hands.

  Gaius returned just as the servants began serving the dessert, peaches poached in wine, cumin, and fennel, and drizzled with honey. Flavia noted that he looked smug.

  “A little damage to the walls in the cellar and jail, but no harm has come to any person.” Gaius looked pointedly at Flavia and added, “For the moment, at any rate. Now, Augusta, let us discuss the wedding arrangements. I would like to marry as soon as possible. We will have to contact the Future Foretellers so they can consult the signs for an appropriate date, of course.”

  Flavia was relieved, and not at all distressed by the talk of marriage to the horrid Gaius. Not only was Titus unharmed, but she knew where he was. Gaius was clearly confident that Titus was well guarded, but that did not change the fact that Flavia at least now knew Titus’s whereabouts. Now all she had to do was rescue him.

  Titus was in the dark when the earthquake struck. His small oil lamp had long since run out of oil for fuel. There was a sudden loud sound followed by a thud and Titus wondered if a chunk of limestone had fallen down in the next cell. Titus braced himself against the wall, and it seemed to him for a moment that the wall was closing in on him.

  When the shaking finally stopped, Titus heard approaching footsteps, and then a lamp was held up at his cell door. He blinked hard, blinded by the first light he had seen in hours. No words were spoken, but the light traveled around the rest of the underground jail, and then slowly disappeared up the corridor.

  Only minutes later, Titus heard more footsteps and saw the light returning. This time, however, it was Gaius. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive, Titus. Are you unharmed?”

  “Yes.” Titus was surprised at his own voice; it was croaky, and he could barely speak. Somebody had given him water and bread twice a day, and he had a blanket, so he could not understand what had happened to his voice.

  “I am glad, as I need you alive to fit in with my plans. In fact, your beloved Flavia and her dear mother Augusta are dining with me at this very minute, oblivious to the fact that you are not far from them. Augusta and I are making wedding plans for Flavia to be married to me as soon as possible.”

  Titus suddenly found his voice. “You’re lying!”

  Gaius laughed, a dry, gloating laugh. “No, I can assure you, Titus, that I have made a deal with Flavia. I will not kill you if she marries me. Of course, I will torture you within an inch of death unless you tell me where the Spear of Destiny is. Have you changed your mind about telling me where it is? I will give you two days to decide.”

  Titus did not respond. The sound of Gaius’ maniacal, gloating laughter stayed with Titus long after Gaius had left the dungeon area.

  18

  NAPLES

  THE PRESENT DAY

  Riley touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Abigail shook her head. “The fresco. It’s below us, below this church, in the catacombs.”

  Riley hesitated for a moment before speaking. “The catacombs under here are large. Tourists go into them every day. I believe Mass is even held in the catacombs under this church. We could go on a guided tour if that would make you feel better. In fact, it would be safer to join a tour. Don’t worry, I’m certain the catacombs are well lit.”

  Abigail nodded slowly. The catacombs could surely not be as terrifying as the dark recesses of a pyramid or an ancient, gloomy cave.

  It wasn’t long before they reached the entrance to the Catacombs of San Gennaro. Riley paid for the tickets and for an English-speaking guide, and Abigail took a deep breath before plunging inside.

  To her relief, Riley had been right—the stairs into the catacombs were well lit and did not prompt any pangs of claustrophobia in her. The tunnels were wide and high. There was even some sort of flooring that looked like matting.

  The guide made an opening speech, telling them the catacombs were on two levels, the lower and earlier being pagan, and the upper being Christian and dating to the last centuries of the Roman Empire. During World War II, the catacombs were used as air-raid shelters.

  His voice echoed eerily around the walls. “There are many large catacombs in and around Naples. They are dug out from the tufo stone, a soft volcanic rock, on which much of the city is built.”

  Abigail was looking into the tunnels ahead, trying to ascertain whether they were just as wide and tall as this one, when Riley cleared his throat to get her attention. Under a large fresco of San Gennaro with St. Peter at the gates of Paradise was a small fresco showing three men in flames. To him, it looked exactly like the image in the church.

  Under that fresco were scrawled the words, ‘Villa A cryptoporticus’.

  “What was the next riddle again?”

  Abigail bent down to look at the words. “The next riddle is:

  One wind there is: ten sailors row amain

  Two vessels, and one steersman steers the twain.

  “and the answer is a double flute played with all ten fingers.”

  Abigail looked around before continuing, “Villa A could refer to several things, but it does refer to the Villa Poppaea, and there is a cryptoporticus there. We have to find out if there’s a fresco of a double flute at the Villa Poppaea.”

  “Two questions: what is a cryptoporticus and where is the Villa Poppaea?”

  Abigail shook with excitement. “The Villa Poppaea is in Pompeii—actually less than two and a half miles from Pompeii at Oplontis, modern Torre Annunziata. Oh, and a cryptoporticus is often semi-subterranean and is often built into the side of a hill. They were used as shady passageways. They usually have vaulted ceilings. I think the cryptoporticus at the Villa Poppaea has only been partially excavated.”

  “Is there likely to be a fresco of a double flute at the Villa Poppaea?”

  The tourists were standing still, listening to the guide tell them that Napoleon ordered the bones removed outside the city when he conquered Naples in 1806. Abigail took the opportunity to pull out her phone. “I’ll see.” She searched ‘tibia’, the word for a Roman double flute, and ‘Villa Poppaea’. To her delight, the first entry listed old archeological notes of the Villa Poppaea. A note dated to 1845 mentioned a fresco depicting the mythological Echo playing the tibia while spying on Narcissus. The note also mentioned it was at the entrance to the cryptoporticus.

  Abigail’s excitement grew. “It’s the last riddle.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “The spear must be there, in the cryptoporticus at the Villa Poppaea!”

  Abigail was looking at her phone when somebody knocked into her from behind. It took her a moment or two to realize someone had taken her phone.

  “Stay there.” Riley was already disappearing into the darkness after the man.

  By instinct, Abigail started after him. She slowed her pace as the tunnel narrowed slightly and turned to the right. The light was growing fainter. Abigail kept her one hand on the wall to guide her way.

  Soon, the flooring vanished to be replaced by rough ground and mounds of dirt. She stumbled several times, putting out her hands to save herself. She could hear them ahead of her, but they were getting away and she was losing ground on them.

  Panic overwhelmed her. Would she be able to find her way back? And would anyone be able to find her? How far had she gone?

  Despite not being able to see in front of her, Abigail did her best to pick up speed and run through the gloom. How far did these catacombs go?

  She thought of calling out for Riley, but that would stop him following the man. And was it a simple mugging or had the man been a Vortex agent? There was no way of knowing.

  Abigail’s fear ramped up to the point where she called to Riley.

  He didn’t call back. She called his name again, more panic-stricken with each moment.

  Finally, she heard him call, “Abigail, Abigail?”

  “I’m here,” she said, slumping against a wall. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

  She heard a sound and then the sound moved closer. Suddenly, around the corner, Riley came into a few.

  She only barely resisted throwing her arms around his neck. “Did you get him?”

  Riley shook his head. “He had a start, and he knew where he was going. We had better get back to the others.”

  As they hurried past one burial chamber after the other, Abigail’s heart beat faster and faster. “Do you think he was a simple mugger?”

  “I doubt it,” Riley said. “Abigail, what exactly did you have on your phone?”

  “I had the photo of the men in the fire that we found in the church and here at the catacombs,” she said.

  “Nothing else?”

  Abigail had to think. For a moment, she didn’t breathe. After an interval, she said, “No. I think that was all. How long before they figure it out?”

  “They might not figure it out,” Riley said. “I think I need to question Milo.”

  As they turned a corner, Abigail could see a muted light which grew brighter with every step.

  Soon, the tour group was in front of them.

  The guide hurried over to them. “I’m terribly sorry. It’s usually safe down here, although one of the exits opens onto a less safe part of town. Did he take anything? Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Riley said. “It’s all right.”