The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Jasper pulled a folded map from a leather satchel and opened it. The detailed drawing appeared to be old, its charcoal and pencil marks smeared at the edges where fingers had gripped the paper. “The old Greco-Roman quarter has been partially excavated by Serradifalco’s men,” he said as he used his fingertip to indicate a grid on the paper. “It’s laid out in a square, with its streets parallel and perpendicular to one another. Dr. Jones wrote that there is evidence of an aqueduct system—that’s what he is concentrating on, of course—and foundations for some rather impressive villas. Those are where I expect we’ll find the most impressive tile floors.”

  Jasper compared his map with the scene that appeared before them as the barouche made its way. “Christ, it’s huge,” he remarked as he scanned what appeared to be ordered rubble directly ahead of them. He didn’t even realize he had cursed until James cleared his throat. “Oh, forgive me, my love,” Jasper said as he placed a gloved hand over one of Marianne’s.

  But his wife’s attention was on what appeared beyond the knee-high ruins of the old city. She was holding up her spectacles like a lorgnette and was staring at the honey-colored columns of a well-preserved Greek temple. Its Doric columns still stood in support of a mostly intact entablature and pediment. “Is that the Temple of Concordia?” she asked in awe.

  “Hold up, Pietro,” Jasper ordered. “Yes. How did you know?

  “Angela told me about it last night. She said it was a basilica until the last century, and that’s why it’s still in such good condition. May we go there?”

  James stood up so he could take in the entire Valle dei Templi, its series of colonnaded temples strung out along a ridge. Although Jasper and Marianne had seen some of them the night before as they made their way to Casa Romano, their vantage was from the east edge of the ruins and hampered somewhat by trees. “We’ll see all of them today,” Jasper assured her. “I promise.

  “Where will we go first?”

  Jasper dared a glance at their guide, hoping Pietro would chime in with a suggestion. “Ladies first,” the man said with a grin. “We go to Juno Lucina.” One gnarled finger pointed to the temple at the east end of the island.

  When he noticed Marianne’s quizzical expression, James said, “We call that a peripteros temple,” as he took his seat, referring to the fact that the original Doric building was surrounded by a colonnade. “Although it’s missing most of three sides, it has the traditional arrangement of six columns on the ends and thirteen columns on the long sides.” He gave a whistle of what sounded like approval as they neared the ruins.

  “The columns are almost all there,” Jasper said in surprise.

  “Because some of the columns have been restored,” Pietro said as he pulled the barouche to a halt. “Serradifalco’s men reconstructed some of this when they were here five years ago.”

  Marianne allowed Jasper to remove her from the barouche, barely noticing when he set her down. She had fished her spectacles from her reticule and pulled them on as they neared the structure, and she hadn’t taken her eyes off of it since. “It’s so majestic,” she murmured.

  Jasper afforded the temple a critical eye, impressed at how it was difficult to tell where the restoration efforts had taken place. “Anastylosis,” he murmured to James, referring to the technique of restoring a ruin using the original materials as much as possible.

  “Indeed,” his colleague agreed. He glanced around the grounds, figuring that with the marina so far away, any marble from this temple would have been ignored in favor of ruins closer to the marina. “There was enough left here for them to do the restoration using the original pieces.” He turned to find Jasper leading Marianne to the intact steps of the temple, and watched as the two passed between two columns and made their way to what was left of an altar. He hurried to join them, glancing about in search of pieces of friezes or the naos—the walls that would have made up the inner temple—and wasn’t disappointed to see a few of the ruins scattered about.

  “It burned around four-hundred BC,” Jasper said when Marianne asked about its color, the stone a far darker golden brown than the honey-colored columns of the Temple of Concordia. “And the Romans substituted clay tiles for the marble tiles.” He stood in front of a column and examined it closely, marveling at how it seemed to bulge about a third of the way up before beginning a slight tapering to the top.

  “They’re not as tall as they seem,” Marianne remarked, her head tilted back as she surveyed the tops of the columns where they met the entablature.

  “It’s an illusion created by their shape,” Jasper explained, secretly pleased by Marianne’s interest. He watched as she turned her attention to the sea, grinning as she hurried off to the other end of the temple. He was about to follow, but James pointed to some marble blocks, and soon the two were engaged in a spirited discussion about the Roman reconstruction. Neither noticed as Marianne continued off the end of the temple and headed to the edge of the ridge.

  “Where did she go?” Jasper said suddenly, turning around and scanning the horizon. He noticed Pietro at the barouche, the man’s attention toward the east. He followed his line of sight and spotted Marianne looking over the edge of the ridge. He broke into a run, dodging marble blocks and clay tiles on his way to where Marianne stood, her slippers at the very edge of the ridge. “Marianne,” he said as he struggled for breath. “You cannot go running off like that,” he admonished her. But his gaze fell to the river below, where it led to the remains of another building.

  “Why is it so small?” she asked in a whisper, oblivious to Jasper’s worry.

  Jasper sighed as he realized she referred to the Sanctuary of Asclepius. Situated on the edge of the river San Biagio, the structure had once been a place for healing. “It was a sort of hospital,” he replied, placing one of her hands on his sleeve, as if he expected her to go running down the embankment if he didn’t hold onto her.

  An olive tree hid one corner of the ruins from their view, and several prickly pears were scattered about the grounds. The two columns that they could see were actually built into one of the partial walls that still stood, although the amount of rubble at the base of the structure was a testament to the earthquake that had destroyed it.

  “There is some question as to its validity as a sanctuary of Asclepius,” James offered, his hands going to his hips as he surveyed the ruin below. Jasper gave a start, unaware that James had joined them. “I read about it last night. This structure is not exactly where Polybius said it would be, but there isn’t another that matches his description,” James explained, referring to the Greek historian that had documented the area.

  “Do you wish to see it up close?” Jasper asked, his attention on Marianne.

  She shook her head. “Not today. We should be going. There are so many others to see,” she said as she turned to find Pietro driving the barouche to the east end of the temple, shortening their walk. Within minutes, they were on their way to the Temple of Concordia.

  The best preserved of all the temples near Girgenti, Concordia dominated the skyline as they made their way west. Farm fields seemed to extend right up to the temple steps—at least from the two sides they could see—and a number of livestock dotted the land around it.

  “Serradifalco’s team must have spent a couple of years on this one,” Jasper murmured, as he pulled a dog-eared drawing from a pile of papers. James held up the drawing and compared what they saw now to what had been drawn the century before. “They reconstructed the ends of the pediments,” James acknowledged. “But all the columns were intact, as were the architraves and most of the triglyphs and metopes.” When he noticed Marianne’s furrowed brow, he pointed to the top of the temple and added, “The recessed rectangles above the columns are the metopes, and the set of three vertical channels in between are the triglyphs. We only find them on the entablatures of Doric structures.”

  Marianne nodded her understanding. “And if there were no metopes or triglyphs?”

  Jasper shrug
ged. “It wouldn’t be Doric but rather...” He shrugged.

  “Tuscan,” James offered, his knowledge of ancient architecture a bit better than Jasper’s.

  “I knew there was a reason I had you come along,” Jasper teased, before he noticed Marianne was counting the columns. “The peristatis is six by thirteen,” he offered, referring to the number of columns on each side.

  “Just like the last one,” Marianne half-asked.

  “Indeed. Most of them are. The notes here mention the tympana was intact, too,” Jasper said with some awe. “So they only had to reconstruct the outer edges of the pediments.”

  James grinned at how Marianne’s eyes widened. “The tympana is that triangle above the entrance,” he explained.

  “Yes, but where are the carvings? Aren’t there supposed to be... religious figures on it?” she asked. She had slid to the front of her seat and seemed ready to bolt from the conveyance.

  Both James and Jasper dared a glance up at the end of temple, just as Pietro halted the horses. “Not likely on this one, but it’s true that tympana usually have them.”

  They stepped down from the barouche and climbed the steps into the temple. Marianne would have raced ahead, but Jasper kept her hand on his arm. “Unfortunately, the interior is not going to be as the Greeks built it,” Jasper said with a sigh.

  “Because it was used as a church?” Marianne asked, remembering what Angela had told her.

  “Indeed. The rear wall of the cella was destroyed to make an entrance, and those arches were carved out to make a nave,” he explained as he pointed to where the stones of the interior walls of the cella had been cut to create twelve arches. From the sound of disappointment in his voice, Marianne knew he wasn’t pleased with the alterations.

  “The original altar was destroyed,” James remarked as he stood before the one that had been put in its place. His gaze swept the rest of the remodeled interior as he gave a shake of his head, as if he, too, were disappointed.

  Marianne was staring up at a series of holes in the entablature’s interior. “That’s where the wooden beams for the ceiling were,” Jasper said, when he noticed what had her attention. He turned and pointed to pylons where stairs would have allowed someone to reach the roof. “And there would have been stairs all the way to the top.”

  Staring out toward the Mediterranean, Marianne was struck by what any church goer of generations past would have seen from this vantage. With almond and olive trees framing the scene, the view was magnificent. She was still regarding the reflection of the noon-day sun on the calm water when Jasper dipped his head a bit and managed to kiss her cheek beneath her broad-brimmed hat. “Jasper!” she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, shocked he would do such a thing, and in a temple no less.

  “I could not help myself. And besides, no one is about,” he replied in a quiet voice. “Are you ready to see more?”

  “How did the Duke of Serradifalco make the repairs?” she asked, turning to gaze up at her husband.

  Jasper blinked, rather surprised she was so interested in the restoration efforts. “Well, his team used the broken stonework that was on the ground, and mortared it back into place.”

  “But it’s so high. However did they get up there?”

  Jasper gave an, “Ah,” and said, “They built scaffolding and used ladders to climb up. I have a drawing of it in the barouche.”

  Marianne’s eyes widened. “Oh, may I see it?”

  Tempted to kiss her—despite how ridiculous her spectacles made her appear—Jasper gave a nod. “Of course.” He turned and found James already back at the barouche. “I’ll show you on the way to the next temple.”

  Pietro had them on a path to a tall, rectangular structure as Marianne studied the print of the drawing Jasper mentioned. The artist had done it during the reconstruction of the Temple of Concordia, the detailed illustration showing a number of men atop what appeared to be rather rickety scaffolding that had been built on the south side of the temple. Other men down below were on horseback or inside a tent that had been erected adjacent to the tomb.

  “More Roman than Greek, wouldn’t you say?” James commented as he stood regarding the edifice before them. A cornfield extended right up to the huge stone base.

  “The Tomb of Theron,” Jasper announced when Marianne finally lifted her gaze from the drawing and stared at the giant block and two short walls adjacent to it.

  James had already made his way to the base of the pyramid-like structure, a hand pressed against the large stone blocks that made up the base. “Tuff,” he said when Jasper and Marianne joined him.

  “Tuff?” Marianne repeated.

  “It’s a kind of rock made from the ash of a volcano. From Mount Etna,” Jasper explained as he made his way to another side of the naiskos sepulcher. Positioned above the large base was a secondary rectangular structure with ionic columns built into the corners and topped by an entablature. There were no pediments, though, but each side appeared to have a door carved into it. Plants had obviously grown on the roof, for their leaves could be seen along the top edge.

  “Who was Theron?” Marianne asked as she pressed a gloved hand against the stone.

  “A Greek tyrant who once ruled the ancient city of Acragas,” James said as he pointed in the direction of Girgenti. “With some help from another tyrant, he was able to defeat the Carthaginians. That helped Acragas to become one of the most important cities in Sicily at the time.”

  “So he is buried here?” Marianne asked as she moved around the corner to regard another side of the tomb. She frowned at the strange, stone walls, wondering at their position. They weren’t attached to the structure, but they seemed intact. Just beyond them, the corn grew to half their height.

  “One of the gates to the ancient city,” Jasper said from behind her. “Walls completely surrounded it at one time,” he added as he examined the one he stood nearest. “This one would have been important, given it’s so close to the sea.”

  Just as Marianne rounded the next corner, she came to a halt and let out a loud gasp.

  “What is it?” Jasper called out as he hurried to join her, jerking to a stop for the same reason as Marianne. A goat stood staring at them, the front half of his body poking out of a doorway at the base of the tomb.

  “I think I shall not go in there,” Marianne whispered.

  “I wouldn’t allow you to,” Jasper countered, just as James rounded the corner and let out a laugh. “So much for respecting the dead,” he said under his breath.

  “Is Theron buried here?” she asked again.

  “Probably not,” Jasper replied. “According to the notes I brought along, it was built as a monument to the Roman soldiers who died fighting the War Against Hannibal,” he explained. “One of the deadliest wars of ancient times.”

  Marianne gave a shake of her head. “Why have I not heard of it?” she whispered.

  The two men turned to stare at her, rather surprised to learn she had heard of any wars, other than the one that had just ended.

  “Perhaps you have heard of the Second Punic War, my lady,” James offered. “Your husband refers to it as the Romans do.”

  Marianne nodded. “Indeed,” she murmured, her attention on a single column that appeared between some trees atop a hill just to the north. “What is that?”

  Pietro, who had stayed with the barouche but was close enough to overhear their conversation, followed her line of sight and said, “That, my lady, is what is left of the Temple of Erocle.”

  “Hercules,” Jasper whispered.

  “Our next stop,” Pietro stated.

  “We can walk if you’d like,” Jasper suggested, noticing Marianne wore a pair of half-boots. Although he had expected it to be far too warm to be outdoors at this hour of the day, it wasn’t as hot as Dr. Jones had warned it might be.

  “I would like that,” she said as she allowed Jasper to lead her along a well-worn path up to the rubble-strewn base of the temple. James followed, and Pietro saw to it th
e barouche was moved by way of the ancient road up to the same level as the temple.

  Although the climb wasn’t too steep, the rubble made it hard to get to the single column that jutted up from the remains. “I take it Serradifalco’s team didn’t work on this one,” Jasper said as he surveyed the field. He could tell from what was left of the base that the temple would have been larger than Concordia and its columns broader.

  “There are enough pieces here to have done so, though,” James remarked. “This one would have been six by fifteen columns,” he added as he regarded the single column that still stood. “And tall,” he added when he saw how broad the capitals left on the ground were.

  “Why is it so ruined compared to the others?” Marianne asked in dismay.

  “According to the history book I’ve been reading, there was an earthquake in fourteen-oh-one that destroyed most of the temples on the island,” Jasper explained.

  James arched a brow. “Who wrote it?” he asked, his curiosity evident.

  “A Dominican friar. Tommeso Fazello. Damn thing’s in Latin, though, so I admit it’s taken me longer to get through it than I expected. From what I can tell of the title page, it was written sometime in the fifteen-hundreds,” Jasper said with a shake of his head.

  “I should like to read that,” James said. “When you’re finished, of course.”

  “You’re welcome to it.” Jasper glanced around, his attention on another set of columns to the west. “Is that our next stop?”

  Their guide nodded. “Either that one, which is dedicated to Castor and Pollux, or the Olympian field and the remains of the Temple of Zeus are to the north.”

  “We’ll save Zeus for last,” Jasper said as he led the way west to the Dioscuri’s temple. Not that Zeus’ temple was the best any longer—Dr. Jones’ last letter had warned him the temple lay in ruins—but they would be traveling in the right direction to return to the villa. Their canteen was nearly empty, and he was growing thirsty.