Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (12 page)

Harry turned to her, his face white. He made a strangled sound of horror, and she felt quite frightened. “My ancestry?” His voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” said Savelli. “This statue bears a remarkable resemblance to you. I commented that you must be descended from an ancient Etruscan. I assure you, no insult was intended.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded slowly. His color was returning. “An Etruscan ancestor,” he said softly. “How very interesting. You will excuse me.”

He walked quickly from the room. Elinor was about to follow him, but the prince caught her arm.

“No,” he said. “I do not know what has upset him, but he will want to recover himself in private.” When she tried to protest, he said, “Trust me. I know better than you how young men feel.”

On the evening of the fourth day of their visit, Savelli and Penworth came back to the villa in great excitement. The workmen had uncovered what appeared to be the entrance to a tomb, and the two noblemen seemed to have left their dignity behind with the shovels. Savelli was almost beside himself with enthusiasm, his florid gesticulations in wild contrast to his usual dignified manner.

“You understand, we have found many tombs, but all too often, someone has found them first. The thieves seem to smell them out, I swear it. By the time we reach a tomb, we find broken pottery, little clay figures, but nothing of real value. But this one is different. There is something of real importance in there. I can almost smell it!”

“It's extraordinary, the way he found the place. A remarkable piece of deduction,” Penworth said. When Savelli tried to dismiss it modestly, the marquess insisted, “No, it really is.” He turned to his wife. “He noticed the trees. That part of the cliff has just a shallow layer of earth over the travertine rock, so only a few scraggly plants can grow. But in one place, there are real trees growing. If the soil is deep enough for trees to grow, something must have excavated the rock. And sure enough, he found an opening filled with rubble. The workmen have been digging out the rubble, and today we found it. A tomb marker with an Etruscan inscription!”

“It was growing too dark to see much,” said Savelli, breaking in, “but I could feel the letters. I touched them.”

Penworth beamed at Savelli, and the prince tried unsuccessfully to hide his delight. His joy was infectious. Delighted laughter filled the room.

“This one is different,” Savelli said. “I know it. For one thing, it is on the other side of the river. All the tombs we have found before have been on this side, caves dug into the walls of the ravines. But this one is on the far side, across the bridge, and it is an underground tomb. That will make it much later, I think.” He broke off his exposition. “Ah, my friend, you have brought me luck.” Savelli threw his arms around Penworth, who was too excited to object and returned the embrace with laughter.

Everyone else joined in the excitement. Contessa Landi managed to lift a languid hand in acknowledgment. Even the young people, whose interest in the Etruscans ranged from moderate on the part of Tunbury to indifferent on the part of Rycote, were infected by their elders' enthusiasm and vowed to be present early the next morning.

* * *

Not long after sunrise, with the grass still damp with dew and wisps of mist lingering about, they rode across the ancient bridge that spanned the river separating the
castello
from the plateau on which the ancient city once stood. The sun would be strong soon enough. Elinor was glad her mother had agreed that they would wear their exploring outfits today. Poplin, sturdy though it might be, was far cooler and more comfortable than layers of petticoats. The men were also dressed practically, with broad-brimmed hats, loose jackets, and shirts open at the neck. Except, of course, for Landi, who rode with his mother in a landau at the rear of the party, both of them dressed in their usual fashionable finery.

Here on the empty plateau, a desolate moor for the most part, the grove of trees that had drawn Savelli's attention was immediately noticeable. At least, thought Elinor, it was noticeable now that he had pointed it out.

Turning back in his saddle to address the party, Savelli said, “You must not be disappointed if we cannot immediately enter the tomb. Even though the entrances are not deliberately blocked, as was the Egyptian practice, tunnels often collapse, and we must proceed very carefully.”

“We quite understand, Your Excellency,” said Lady Penworth cheerfully, “and we will be quite willing to watch and wait. Staying away, however, would make the suspense unbearable.”

The contessa, riding in the landau at the end of the procession, turned and glared at her son sitting beside her. “You did not mention this when you said I must arise at this ungodly hour.”

Landi patted her hand in its soft kid glove. “Now you know you would not have wished to miss an event such as this.” Then as the others pulled ahead out of earshot, “Behave yourself. The prince may not be willing to put up with your fits of pique indefinitely.”

As the road curved, the contessa tilted her parasol to keep the sun from her face. “He knows I have no interest in this, this grave digging. I am not a peasant to admire a man when he is covered in dirt.”

“But perhaps he begins to find you tiresome. Do you not see him there, chatting with Lady Penworth, who shows a flattering interest in his activities?”

“Bah. You cannot think he is falling in love with that woman.”

Landi took a deep breath. “Do not be stupid. But she does not bore him. He admires her. And the more he admires her, the less patience he has with you.”

She narrowed her eyes at her son. “And the less patience he has with you?”

He smiled bleakly in acknowledgment. “And with me.”

“So why are you here with me? Why are you not up there with the girl? If you intend to marry her, you need to make her fall in love with you soon,” she snapped. “Entertain her. She is probably bored.”

“Our cousin does not approve. I must
entertain
her when he is not present.” He looked at the three Englishmen, dressed no better than ordinary workmen. He sneered slightly and brushed an invisible speck from the sleeve of his immaculate black frock coat.

The workmen were already at the site when they arrived, and had swept away the remaining debris at the entrance. Savelli dismounted and strode over. Reaching out a hand, he delicately traced the inscription carved in the tomb marker,
Ravnthu
Seitithi
.

“A woman's name,” he said softly. “This must be your family tomb. Please forgive us for disturbing you after all this time.” With a pickax, he carefully loosened the stone sealing the entrance until, with the help of his foreman, he could remove it. They laid it to the side, and he peered into the darkness.

His shoulders slumped.

Turning to the others with a rueful smile, he said, “As I feared, at least part of the passage has collapsed. It appears there will be a delay in the proceedings. I apologize for having taken you from your beds at such an unseemly hour.” He waved a hand at the tomb. “It will take some time, perhaps even days, to clear a passage. And the rubble must be carefully examined. Who knows what may have been buried by the collapse?”

“Well, we can help with that,” Elinor said cheerfully. “If your men can bring the debris out, we can sift through it.”

“We can?” Rycote looked startled.

“Certainly,” said Lady Penworth. “I may not have any expertise, but I can tell a piece of pottery from a pebble. If we are uncertain about anything, we can set it aside to be examined later.”

Prince Savelli looked at them, and a trace of his buoyant optimism returned. “It is good to have friends.”

By noon, the volunteers were no longer so enthusiastic. The rubble was not greatly compacted, so the workmen made rapid progress. That prompted Savelli to think that the collapse had not happened too long ago. That also meant that the piles of rubble grew quickly. More quickly than Elinor and the others might have liked.

Sitting on the ground soon became uncomfortable, and there was a dreary monotony in picking up a pebble from one bucket and putting it into another one. Had Lord Penworth not been so obviously committed to the task, Lady Penworth might have given in to a desire to return to the castello for a nap. And had Lady Penworth not skewered her children with a glare whenever they showed an inclination to flag, they might have found a way to sneak off after their alfresco luncheon of bread, cheese, and wine.

But they kept at it until Tunbury made a weird sound, something between a shout and a gurgle. He held up an object about three inches wide and slightly rounded. Elinor looked at him and began to feel alive again, no longer weighed down. Something was actually happening.

Savelli hurried over and took the fragment reverently from the younger man. With a soft brush, he delicately removed some of the dirt, until it was possible to see that part of the shard was dark and a lighter section curved into it.

“Red-figure pottery,” he said, looking up with a grin. “They learned that technique from the Greeks, but rather late. Perhaps the fourth century BC. I cannot clean this here—that will have to wait for my workroom—but we may find more fragments. Perhaps enough to give us an idea of the whole piece.”

Suddenly, the entire party revived, and by late afternoon a respectable pile of shards had been collected. Enough enthusiasm had been generated to ensure everyone's return.

Unfortunately, no further bits of broken pottery appeared on the next day. The workmen had progressed far enough in clearing the passage to have gone beyond the area where the pot may have been. Hours passed in what they were all beginning to think was futile labor. Even Lord Penworth began hinting that perhaps his wife might wish to return to the castello for a rest. Elinor was about to say that sounded like an excellent idea when she reached into her bucket and made a new discovery. However, this one was far less encouraging than Tunbury's pottery shard had been.

“Cloth?” she said, pulling out what seemed to be a filthy rag. “I would never have thought it would survive all these centuries.”

The chatter gradually faded away. The workmen had spent enough time on the prince's excavations to know how unlikely a piece of cloth was. They turned to watch as the prince walked over to her and took the cloth from her hand. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he examined it.

“You are quite right,” he said eventually. “This would not have survived. It is of no great age at all.” Without another word, he returned to his post, supervising the workers clearing out the passage. Lord Penworth watched for a minute and then went to stand silently beside him. A moment later, Lady Penworth joined them.

Elinor looked at the others in confusion. “I don't understand. Why is the prince so upset?”

“It means someone has been in the tomb,” Tunbury said. “Thieves, for certain, and not very long ago.” He thought for a minute. “Most likely during the night after Prince Savelli's men uncovered the entrance. They could have sealed up the tomb easily enough when they were finished, and they probably caused the collapse to cover their traces. If you hadn't found that piece of cloth, no one would have suspected.”

“But surely there was a guard set,” Rycote protested. “The prince is hardly careless.”

Tunbury shrugged. “The guard could have been bribed. Or given some drugged wine. In which case he would not want to admit he was asleep all night when he should have been on watch.”

They sat there rather glumly watching the progress at the tunnel until Elinor spoke.

“Really, Harry,” she said, “you seem to know a great deal about underhand dealings. I shall have to remember to ask your advice, should I ever decide to turn to a life of crime.” She smiled, and the gloom lifted a bit.

A shout from the tomb entrance brought them to their feet. The despondency brought upon everyone by the discovery of the cloth dissipated and the workmen began chattering excitedly. By the time they got there, Savelli had disappeared. The workmen had cleared a passage big enough for a man to crawl through, and Savelli had gone in, Lord Penworth told them.

They waited. And waited.

Elinor realized she was clutching Harry's hand so tightly that it must be causing him pain. She loosened her grip a fraction, but he turned and smiled at her. Then he squeezed her hand, so she decided it was all right.

At last, with a small fall of gravel, Savelli crawled out of the passage, his appearance transformed. It was not simply that the normally immaculate prince was covered with dust and grime, his jacket discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled up, a tear in his trousers. It was that his face bore an expression of awe mixed with fear. He set the workmen to finish clearing the passage and then came over to Penworth.

He shook his head and gave a short nervous laugh. “I do not know… I dare not say…” He shook his head again. “I cannot believe I saw what I think I saw. I cannot describe it. You will have to see. Then you can tell me if I have lost my mind and am seeing things.”

“We will wait with you,” Penworth said. “It cannot be long now.”

And so they waited once more. At least this time there was a bit of noise from the workmen as they dug out the rest of the rubble. It would have been less tense, Elinor thought, if people would at least say something, but since no one did, she felt obliged to be quiet as well. Not only quiet, but almost motionless. They were all too intent on the tomb entrance as workmen carried out basket after basket of rubble.

Finally the foreman appeared with a broad smile on his face. Savelli gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment, then turned to Penworth. “Lanterns. We will need lanterns.”

This was quickly arranged and they entered the tomb, Savelli in the lead. The beginning passage was narrow but soon opened into a small room carved out of the rock and perhaps nine feet high. That, in turn, opened into a larger room, perhaps twelve feet high, with seven doorways leading from it. They stepped in and stood, staring, in silence.

“My God, Savelli. It's incredible.” Penworth barely managed a whisper.

The prince turned slowly in a circle. “I was not dreaming then.”

The walls were covered in frescoes, vivid, almost alive. Life-sized figures in realistic colors and natural poses, nothing like the stylized paintings they had first seen. These were war scenes, for the most part, some of men fighting furiously, some of slaughter. And above these, one wall had a frieze of animals and birds, while another had complicated geometric decoration.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” asked Tunbury.