The air had a leaden feel to it, smelled of dank earth. The corpses had long since been removed to cemeteries, and yet there was a lingering taint of death. Centuries of housing the bodies of the dead had left their indelible mark on the catacombs, and this one was no different.
They made their way carefully down the passageway that Umberto had directed them to, which was hewn from limestone and fortified in sections with ancient brickwork. Natalie edged closer to Steven as they moved past chamber after chamber, through a never-ending hall punctuated by tomb cavities with long forgotten inscriptions. Eventually, the art on the walls changed, as Umberto had told them it would. At the junction of the main passage, they came to a large crypt – if Umberto was right, that of Januarius. Most areas were elaborately painted with third-century scenes of vineyards and birds. Steven and Natalie had the same impression as they studied the art: where did they even start?
“I think it’s safe to say this is it,” Natalie whispered, taking in the marble and frescoes.
“Yes. But there’s a lot of detail here, a lot of images. Let’s work this in sections. You take the left side, I’ll take the right, and we can double our progress. Use the flashlight – I’ve got the light in my phone. We’re looking for something to do with olive pickers; maybe a carving or a picture,” Steven reminded her.
Natalie took the light and began her investigation. They pored over the walls, searching for anything that might be consistent with the cryptic message from the Basilica of San Clemente. It was slow going, and some of the paintings had degraded to the point that they were unrecognizable. Steven was getting that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach again – it seemed pointless to be playing detective six centuries after the clues had been created. He was amazed that they’d gotten this far, and to expect to progress any further was a kind of madness. Too much time had passed – there were too many variables; too much entropy at play.
After twenty minutes, Natalie called out, “I’ve found something.”
“What is it?”
Steven was reluctant to leave his position, fearing that he’d lose track of what he’d already inspected, requiring him to start all over again.
“It’s a painting of men picking something. Could be grapes, or…olives.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a sec. Let me just mark where I am.” Steven fished out his trusty piece of chalk and made a line on the floor before joining Natalie, who was shining the flashlight on several images. Birds perched upon ornately drawn vines, replete with authentic-looking flowers. At the bottom, several men were going about their business, which involved harvesting of some sort.
Steven peered at one in particular. “That’s an olive picker, all right.”
“How do you know?”
“The central figure? He’s on a ladder. And you can just make out a tree – it’s faded, but it’s there. You wouldn’t need a ladder for grapes – only for olives, which grow on–”
“Trees.” Natalie finished the thought and smiled. “We found it! What was the rest of the message?”
“…three paces from the olive pickers points the traveler to the path, five hands above the trinacrium,” Steven intoned.
“Three paces. That’s fifteen feet, right?”
“Yes. Let me walk it off,” Steven said, a hint of excitement in his voice. Maybe there was a chance, after all…
He took three long steps along the wall in one direction; he marked the floor, then reversed and took six, marking that spot as well.
“Five hands above the trinacrium,” he murmured, studying the drawings.
He went over the first area carefully, but there was nothing of note. No labyrinth crest. Nothing. Moving to the far side, he stopped at the base of the wall. There was a new, more modern painting amongst the vines: a small depiction of an island, crudely painted, in the rough shape of a triangle. Sicily, the island where Saint Januarius had died. Steven examined the image more carefully.
He knew the Romans had associated Sicily with the classic symbol of Medusa’s snake-topped head, three running men’s legs sprouting equidistant from the rough circle of the mythical woman’s face. That odd image was referred to by the Romans as the trinacrium. Even to this day, the symbol was part of the flag of Sicily, although absent Medusa’s countenance.
The crude painting’s presence on the wall would have had no meaning to anyone looking at it, or perhaps it would have seemed to be some untalented artist’s homage to Januarius’s place of death – had it not been for the basilica message. Certainly, had Steven been studying the crypt absent that information, it wouldn’t have meant anything special. But now, armed with the cryptic clue, the island took on a new significance.
Five hands above the trinacrium.
Each hand was roughly four inches. Five hands, twenty inches. Steven slid his fingers along the ancient wall, and sure enough, there was a subtle change in the texture of the surface, where the plaster had worn off and been repaired. Steven suspected that there was considerably more to it than that. He knocked on it with his knuckles and confirmed it was hollow. Natalie moved to where he was studying the spot and extracted her screwdriver and Dremel.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“Seems like they enjoyed hiding things in walls back in the fifteenth century,” Steven observed.
Natalie rapped on the area in question with the screwdriver blade. A few chunks of plaster flew off. Five hundred years of dampness had rendered it crumbly. She hacked at the spot with the screwdriver and then fired up the little battery-powered jeweler’s drill, grinding through the plaster and mortar behind it with relative ease.
After ten minutes, she’d excavated a spot eighteen inches wide by six high. Dust caked her arms and top. As she stepped back and brushed herself off, Steven wiped away the worst of the debris in the hole and peered into the opening.
“There’s something in there, but it’s not a parchment. Do me a favor and hold the flashlight for me, and I’ll see if I can get it out,” Steven said.
“What is it?” Natalie asked.
“I don’t know. Hard to tell with all the dust. Give me a second,” he said, handing her the light. She shone it into the aperture, and Steven tentatively reached inside.
He jerked his arm back with a shudder as a large black spider scuttled up his bare arm. Natalie swatted it away and stepped on it while Steven worked to bring his racing pulse back to something approaching normal. They exchanged a look.
“Do you want to get it out?” Steven asked, only half joking.
“You’re the expert. Besides, I’m not a big spider fan,” she said.
“Thanks for knocking that one off me. I think it was some kind of tarantula. That could have ruined my day,” Steven observed.
“I was just trying to save myself from having to carry you out of here. You looked about ready to faint.”
Steven steadied himself. The adrenaline response from the arachnid racing up his arm had his hands shaking a little. He took several deep breaths. “Mind handing me the screwdriver?”
Natalie complied, and he carefully slid it along the edge of whatever was lying in the hidden recess. It shifted a little, and he wedged the entire blade under it and pried it up. The distinctive sound of metal-on-metal grated. After reassuring himself that there were no more spiders – deadly or otherwise – he reached in and grabbed the hidden item. It was heavier than he was expecting. He slid it out and found himself holding a burnished metal plaque covered with dust. Steven noisily blew it off, creating a small cloud and causing both of them to cough.
“What is it? What does it say?” she asked.
He studied it. “If I’m reading this right, it’s the key to deciphering the Scroll. Look – see the symbols? It’s a substitution cypher, but it looks like it takes two glyphs to compose one traditional letter – and even then, the glyphs before and after change the letter.” He wiped at it with his hand. It was a deep brown color, with the letters and glyphs e
tched into the metal by hand. “It’s a brass alloy. That’s why it didn’t degrade other than the surface patina, and why it’s so heavy. Someone went to a lot of trouble to create a record that wouldn’t be lost to time,” he said, hefting the plate.
Natalie shifted closer to look at it. “It’s got etching on both sides,” she noted.
Steven turned it over and examined the lettering with interest. Here, finally, was the solution to the code that had stumped cryptologists for centuries. And now he would get the honor of being the first man in history to decrypt not only the Voynich, but also the Holy Scroll.
Then the lights went off.
CHAPTER 25
Steven froze, ears straining for any hint of threat. The catacomb was impenetrably dark. Even after thirty seconds of standing motionless his eyes didn’t adjust. He could hear his heart beating in his ears like kettle drums, and when Natalie shifted her feet the sound seemed to be amplified fifty-fold. Steven slowly slipped the brass tablet into the back of his pants so his hands would be free for whatever was happening. He felt Natalie edge closer and do something, and then heard the distinctive snick of the pistol as she chambered a round. Then a pale wash of illumination lit their area with the flick of the flashlight switch. Steven gestured for her to turn it back off – if there was a threat, there was no point in hanging a neon light out for an assailant to find.
A sound echoed in the far distance; a muffled thud that barely reached them. Then, just as suddenly as the lights had gone off, they flickered back on. Steven held a finger to his lips so that Natalie wouldn’t speak, and then, quietly as he could, moved to the entrance of Januarius’s crypt. She followed, gun at the ready. Once they were free of the tomb, they stopped again, listening for any evidence of company. Silence was their sole companion in the halls of the dead.
Natalie slid past Steven to take the lead, weapon clasped in one hand before her, the flashlight in the other at its side, ready to flick on should the lights fail again. She moved gracefully, sure of her steps and yet soundless. They were still several hundred yards from where Umberto had opened the door for them.
Natalie held up a hand and signaled for Steven to stop. A scrape sounded from far down the passageway. Another noise echoed, this time closer.
Someone was approaching. Natalie motioned to Steven to move into one of the cavities along the way and slid herself into a depression across the passage from him. They both held their breath as footsteps moved along the stone floor, approaching their hiding place.
When Umberto shuffled into view, Steven nodded his head in warning, and Natalie quickly slid the pistol back into her purse. Steven cleared his throat, and Umberto almost fainted.
“What the hell are you trying to do? Scare me to death?” he demanded, hand clenched to his chest.
“I’m sorry. No, we were spooked by the lights going off. My young companion got frightened. What happened?” Steven countered. Natalie shot him an annoyed look at his using her youth as the reason for their fright.
“I was fiddling with the wiring, where it’s coming apart from age, and I guess I tripped something. But I got it sorted out in a few minutes. I apologize for that. Anyhow, your time’s up, so we need to get going, eh?” Umberto tapped on his watch crystal with a dirty nail.
Steven nodded.
“The tombs are fascinating, Umberto,” Natalie said. “Really. They seem to go on forever. Have you ever cataloged everything in here?” she asked, turning a beaming charm on as she pressed close to the man.
“Yes, well, they are interesting, no? I haven’t spent much time down here in forever. As a younger man, yes, and there are still more tunnels below us, but now I have things up in the real world to attend to. These are just a curiosity for me at this point in my life. I keep watch over the entrance to make sure no vandals get in and collect a meager salary from the state for doing so, but other than that and the occasional exploration by a few interested academics, nobody has been down here for years.”
“We can’t thank you enough. It’s always been my fiancé’s dream to visit, and now you’ve helped make that a reality,” she said.
Umberto grinned. “You’re a lucky man, eh, my friend?” he said to Steven.
“So I’ve been told.” Steven smiled back in as neutral a manner as he could muster.
When they reached the top of the stairs it was dusk, getting darker by the second. Steven gave Umberto two hundred dollars as a symbol of his additional gratitude, which made the old man happy. Whatever Danny had paid, and he was sure they’d be getting the bill soon enough, it was worth it. The cool metal of the tablet rubbed against his back, covered by his shirt, as they ambled unhurriedly down the path, Umberto’s eyes boring holes in Natalie’s jeans.
“You think he heard anything, with the drilling?” she murmured to Steven as they approached the gate.
“Nah. He was more interested in you than in anything we were doing in the crypt,” Steven said.
“Old pervert,” she said, her tone good-natured.
“You seem to be surrounded by them,” Steven said, regretting the joke even as he uttered the final words.
“Occupational hazard for a woman in Italy, it seems,” she fired back.
Steven cast a glance over his shoulder, noting that Umberto had disappeared back into the building’s gloom. They moved up the long drive, and Steven slowed his pace as they neared the road, then gripped Natalie’s arm to stop her. He didn’t know what it was, but he had a bad feeling. It could have been nerves from the scare in the catacombs, but he didn’t want to take any chances. And his senses were telling him that something was wrong.
“Let’s circle to the edge of the property and check out the road from there,” he whispered.
Natalie’s eyes flashed understanding, and she extracted the pistol from her purse as they moved down one of the long rows of vines. Several hundred yards further they came to a side wall delineating the periphery of the property, and Steven motioned for Natalie to approach. She did, and he boosted her foot so she could climb over to the neighboring property. Steven jumped and scrambled over the wall, to find himself in another massive field of vines and olive trees. The frontage was another brick wall running parallel to the road, the same as the catacomb. They moved to a gap in the wall and peered out.
It was already so dark that it was hard to make anything out. Steven pointed a hundred yards away, to where they’d entered the catacomb vineyard. Instead of Danny’s car, a van was parked twenty feet from the gate with two men standing beside it. Both had the distinctive shapes of pistols in their hands.
“Let’s keep moving,” Natalie advised. “This field’s huge. If we go to the far edge and climb over the wall there, they won’t see us. The bend in the road should provide cover. We’ll be out of their field of vision.”
Steven nodded agreement.
They walked for five minutes before reaching another, smaller service gate. Natalie looked through the bars and confirmed that they were clear, so Steven repeated the process of boosting her over the wall before following her. They found themselves on a road darkened to the point where it was barely recognizable, the tall trees that lined it further blocking the dim light from the low crescent moon. Natalie took her cell phone from her purse and called Danny’s number, but it went straight to voice mail.
“He’s not answering,” Natalie complained.
“I think it’s safe to say that he either turned us in or they got him. Either way, we have to assume he’s a hostile now.” Steven checked the time. “It’s seven-twenty. We’re maybe a mile from the hotel. I suggest we hoof it, given the welcome committee at the other gate.”
“It’s a nice evening for a walk,” Natalie observed as she set off across the road to one of two intersecting streets.
A car sped by them after they’d crossed. A police cruiser, which slowed down as it passed and then stopped. The brake lights flashed, and then it reversed to where they were walking. Natalie reached into her purse, but Steven st
opped her.
Two officers were in the car, and one rolled his window down and addressed Steven.
“Pretty dark out for a walk, no?” he said.
Steven nodded. “We’re just out exploring, and the night rushed in on us.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To our hotel. It’s a nice evening for it,” Steven explained.
The cop looked Natalie over, then grunted. “Have a good one,” he said, and then they pulled off down the road.
Steven and Natalie let out audible exhalations and exchanged worried glances. They needed to make tracks and get out of the area.
After walking several hundred yards up a smaller street, they set off in the direction of the hotel. It took twenty-five minutes to make it, and the first thing Steven did once they were in their room was to carefully clean off the brass tablet. While Natalie watched him, he painstakingly photographed both sides so they’d have a record if they had to ditch it somewhere.
Natalie’s phone rang, startling them both. She checked the number and answered.
“Moody. Am I glad to hear from you,” she said.
“You sound odd, Natalie. What’s going on?” Moody asked.
Natalie explained about their missed rendezvous with Danny, the two mystery men, and the situation with the Roman police.
“Sounds like it’s time to leave Rome. Let me see what we have in the way of safe houses elsewhere in Italy and figure out how to get you some transportation. I’m staying at the St. Regis downtown. I’ll get on the horn and call you ba– wait a second. Natalie. Did Danny have your cell number?” Moody asked.
“Yes. We needed a way to stay in touch. I called him a little while ago but he didn’t answer.”
The Voynich Cypher Page 20