This is 2/4 free chapters
Half an hour later and Jupiter only knew how many metres down, Ike wasn't sure any more the ministry visit should count as a treat.
Not that the resident archaeologist was to blame. Far from resenting a visitor group three times the foreseen size, he must have fancied himself in an auditory and went all out, his voice bouncing along a passage so narrow, Ike could almost reach the other side with her arm. On the left and the right, stone walls honeycombed by man—or woman—sized ledges rose as high as houses. Strip-lighting buzzed and hummed above their heads and the two groups moved through the underground space like a multi-coloured human caterpillar, filling the corridor with an army of uneasy shadows and the soft shuffling of feet.
All of a sudden, the passage opened into a domed chamber lined with whitish boulders that Ike suspected to be marble. Blocked by a solid mass of tourists, Ike could not make out much more than two pillars to one side and an opening ahead of her, where the passage continued. As spacious as the chamber might be, the tourists had stirred the quiet air and the dank smell of a root cellar lost in time assaulted Ike's nostrils.
The archaeologist harrumphed, drawing a tingly response in Ike's parched throat. "Okay, Signore, before I explain where we are, let me briefly tell you something about the portal we passed on our way down. These days, it might not look much, but once the Porta Collina was a landmark in ancient Rome. It was supposed to have been built by Servius Tullius, a semi-legendary king way back in the sixth century BCE. These days, it's mostly remembered for the Vestals."
A dramatic pause followed.
Nobody dared to speak.
"Vestals?" Ike prompted from behind. And coughed.
"Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you are familiar with the concept? Chaste virgins whose main job was to guard the sacred fire. It was forbidden to spill their blood. So, if one of them broke her vows, she got entombed alive. To avoid ill luck that had to happen outside the city walls. Right outside the Colline Gate."
Excited murmuring from the mixed group. Feet shuffling. More earthy odours.
Gruesome deaths always got people's attention.
Like the tickly feet of a millipede, the small hairs on Ike's arms rose. Her neck tingled, and she felt the weight of the tons of soil and building above them. Sensed the walls of the corridor coming closer. Pressing in on her.
But there was no space left inside the marble chamber for either Shalon or herself.
More shuffling of feet, shifting of bodies. A sneeze. Another dramatic pause that got broken by Viktor. "Where would we be here?"
"Inside the city walls. The catacombs started under the road that leads out of Rome." From the sea of touristic heads an arm rose and pointed at the passage at the other end of the chamber. "Eventually, the builders burrowed their way in."
A female voice came from somewhere within the barrier of bodies in front of her. "Did you find any Vestals?"
"Not to our knowledge," the archaeologist responded. "It's a distinct possibility though, that the Christians, when they dug out the catacombs, might have come across one of these burials and annexed the space for their own purposes. It's a real hodge-podge down there. They even used stones from the Colline gate."
"How would you know?" Another female voice, somewhere on the right.
When the archaeologist spoke, there was a smile in his voice. "I might say chemical composition. But no, there's a little text on it. Dates back to the time of the last king of Rome, who had parts of the gate repaired."
Time to dazzle and shine with stolen expertise. Gary's deceased wife Emma had done the groundwork for both the German and the Rome trip and compiled endless files filled with knowledge as dry as Ike's throat. "You mean the chappie who got approached by the Sibyl of Cumae? Got offered nine books for an extortionate price, did not bite, not even when she burned first three, then six scrolls and offered the remaining three at the original price. Which he bought?"
The crowd shifted, and Ike spotted the archaeologist pointing his dirty finger at her. "Exactly that one. He was a real stinker, got bounced from his throne, the reason why they established the republic. But the Sibylline books became key to the Roman cult. Even if it was a bit of a bad deal."
Laughter boomed through the marble dome. Shadows twitched.
"Are there any toilets down here?"
Ike couldn't see the speaker but recognised the voice. A middle-aged lady in camouflage trousers, Hello Kitty barrettes, and no-nonsense shoes. One of Shalon's tourists, she stuck to her guide over breakfast, forever complaining in the most strident of tones. The lady was accompanied by a thin man in a matching outfit. Minus the barrettes.
"Roman latrines you mean?"
"No, modern ones."
Embarrassed silence followed that comment.
"Uh, you might have to wait a moment. Just half an hour or so. I'll talk faster, okay?"
The presentation continued, drowning the sounds of protest.
Next to Ike, Shalon swore under her breath. "That's now the third time she does that. I even pointed out the washrooms to her before we came down. She ignored me."
"Some people are born troublemakers. What's up with you?"
Shalon was hugging herself, shivering in her thin jeans jacket. Not that the place was frigid. Just not warm.
"Girl, you must be freezing."
"I'm so stupid. F-forgot my pullover. Perhaps, the temperature is getting to that woman's bladder."
Ike didn't hesitate a second. She shrugged out of her weatherproof jacket. "Put this on top. I've still got my fleece shirt."
The garment was a trifle damp, but who cared.
"You sure?"
"Put it on before you catch your death, and we have to leave you in one of those graves."
With a grateful smile, the young guide slipped into the windbreaker. She too was built on Junoesque lines, and the jacket fitted her like a glove.
Ten minutes later, applause broke out, and the tourists shifted around to push past the two guides, shuffling back along the corridor they had come from, past the entrance and deeper into the mouldy ground.
"You not coming?" Viktor's voice blared into her ear.
Ike winced. If he spoke any louder, he would bring those walls with their sinister ledges toppling down on them.
The beard shifted, showed white teeth. "It's quite safe. I mean, this part is. The rest is blocked off. Just like in the lab at Castle Frankenstein."
Ike didn't like the "quite". "Uh. Yes, sure."
The imaginary millipedes now swarmed her body, and somehow a big lump had got lodged in her throat.
This place was way too authentic and—unexplored.
How she wished Boris was with her. But she wouldn't trust her canine companion not to make off with a historical bone, the reason why she left him in the coach.
Now the chamber lay empty again, Ike had a free view of the gap in the marble wall and the corridor on the other side. It snaked into the distance until it got blocked by a wooden barrier.
Hang on.
Was there movement in the gloom? But that was impossible.
Shuffle. Crunch.
Perhaps not.
Viktor had heard it as well and swung around, staring at the barricade. "Hey, what are you doing there," he hollered.
A shrill scream was his response, followed by crashing and rumbling noises echoing from the passage. Then silence.
"Marilyn! Oh my god. Help us!" A male voice.
"Cripes!"
Instinct took over and Ike's feet, hesitant at first, then faster, dashed into the corridor, towards the barrier.
"Wait!" Viktor and Shalon were in hot pursuit.
Once she reached the wooden fence, Ike stopped. Warning signs were plastered all over the rough planks, spelling danger in many languages, claiming the ground from this point onward was unsafe. Dusty bootprints showed some determined person had clambered across and ventured forth into danger territory.
"Help!" echoed from the passage.
Viktor growled a German swearword and ripped at the barricade with his shovel-like hands.
Ike heard panting and soles slapping on the packed soil. It told her the other archaeologist had arrived.
"It's locked. Let me do this." He pulled a keyring from his pockets, opened a padlock dangling on one side and dragged the fence into the corridor.
Viktor was the first to push through. "Where does the tricky bit begin?"
"Not for another ten metres or so. We think these corridors are in reality galleries, with more passages underneath. Still mapping out the place. Let's stick to the sides where the walls are, and we should be fine."
Viktor was already on the move. Ike hesitated. Perhaps, she should wait. But how could she when a guest of hers might be in trouble?
"Ike?" Shalon's voice reverberated through the corridor behind her.
"Stay with the groups. I'll follow them."
Ike dry-swallowed once then forced herself to inch along the rough stonework of the walls.
Viktor and the other man had vanished from sight, but she still heard their footsteps scuffling along. A whisper exploded into the gritty silence.
"Marilyn?"
Dust drifted through the passage, and the fiendish tickle in her throat worsened. Ike squeezed on, trying not to think of the galleries below, wishing she had gone on that diet and lost a few kilos. She coughed—and rammed straight into Victor's broad back. He and the other archaeologist kneeled next to a ragged hole in the ground from where dust still rose. Next to it quivered the man in camouflage trousers, his face smeared with a greyish mixture of grime and tears.
He raised his face towards them.
"She . . . She always drinks a lot of water, see? We couldn't wait. I accompanied her to make sure she was safe."
He had been spectacularly unsuccessful.
As the haze settled below, a pair of legs clad in a ripped mottled cloth took shape among the debris. Broken wood, chunks of rocks half-hid an oblong shape that somehow reminded Ike of a sofa.
A bowl. An earthenware jug. Greyish twigs underneath torn fabric.
Not twigs.
Bones, tattered rags still clinging to them. A ribcage, long bones, a pelvis, and a skull lying to one side, covered in a matted nest of hair.
On top of one frizzled strand lay broken Hello Kitty barrette. The middle-aged woman—Marilyn—must have crossed the barrier to take a leak and crashed through the floor.
Straight into the bony embrace of a skeleton.
Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.
Image is of the Catacombe di San Pancrazio by georgesyrios from Pixabay