“But you don't want them to go. Why?”
“They'd watch me,” she said baldly. “They'd analyze why and what I was doing and wonder if they should have let me go. People who love you do that. But you don't care. If you watch me, it'll be because you're curious. I'll be safe if you go with me because you don't want to lose Aldo, but you're not going to be biting your nails and fretting.”
“No, I'm not inclined to fret.” He smiled crookedly. “And, yes, I'm curious about everything about you.” He turned away. “I'll see you in an hour. Bring a sweater.”
“Wait.” When he looked back at her, she asked, “How do you get to this tunnel? Where's the entrance?”
“You're sitting on it.” He nodded at the rug covering the stone floor beneath her chair. “It's a seven-foot trapdoor that evidently accommodated Sontag's thievery of the larger items he found. And there's a steel ladder leading fifty feet down. Don't get eager and leave me behind. Okay?”
There was no danger of that. The knowledge that she was sitting over that dark emptiness was disturbing. She wanted to get up and move but forced herself not to do it. She kept her tone casual. “I'll wait for you.”
SIXTEEN
Darkness. Only the beam of Trevor's flashlight illuminated the blackness of the tunnel.
The chill and damp seemed to ooze into her every pore and Jane found she was having trouble getting her breath.
Night without air.
Imagination. If she couldn't breathe, it was because she was hurrying after Trevor. “Are we going to the vomitorium first?”
“No, I thought we'd do that on our way back. I have a hunch that wasn't your first priority. You wanted to see the theater.”
She didn't argue with him. She was filled with eagerness. “Are there rats down here?”
“Probably. When there isn't any human habitation, nature tends to take back its own.” His voice drifted back to her. “Stay close. I don't want to lose you.”
“But you wouldn't mind giving me a scare.”
He laughed. “I admit I'd like to shake you up a little to see if I could do it.”
“Well, you won't do it with the threat of rats. I got used to them in some of the foster homes where I lived when I was a kid. I was just curious.”
“There were rats at the orphanage where I grew up, too.”
“In Johannesburg?”
“That's right, Quinn dug deep into my murky past.”
“It wasn't that murky. At least, what he could uncover.”
“It wasn't pristine clean. Watch your step. There's a puddle ahead.”
“Why is it so damp down here?”
“Cracks, fissures.” He paused. “You said you dreamed about tunnels. Was it like this?”
She didn't answer for a moment. She'd told herself that there was no way she'd confide in him about those dreams but the isolation and darkness made her feel strangely close to him. And what real difference did it make what he thought of her? “No, it wasn't like this. It wasn't damp. And it was hot and smoky. I— She couldn't breathe.”
“The eruption?”
“How do I know? It was a dream. She was running. She was afraid.” She waited for a moment, and then said, “You said you dreamed of Cira.”
“Oh, yes. From the time we found the scrolls. At first, it was every night. Now it's not so often.”
“What do you dream about her? Tunnels? Eruptions?”
“No.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Jane, I'm a man. What do you think I dream about?”
“Oh, for God's sake.”
“You asked me. I'd like to tell you some mystic, romantic story but I know you'd prefer the truth.”
“She doesn't deserve that.”
“What can I say? It's sex. I don't really think she'd mind me having a few fantasies about her. Cira understood sex. She used it to survive. And she probably would have enjoyed the thought that she had that much power over me two thousand years after she died.”
“I don't believe you're— Maybe you're right, but she was more than a sex object.” She had a sudden thought. “And I don't think that's all she was to you. You spent a fortune for that bust of her you bought from that collector. Why would you do that?”
“It's a wonderful piece of art.” He was silent a moment. “And maybe I'm a little obsessed with her personality as well as her body. She was larger than life.”
“Then why the devil didn't you say that in the beginning?”
“I wouldn't want you to think I'm sensitive. It would ruin my image.”
She made a rude sound. “I don't think you need to worry about your—”
“This is where the Via Spagnola tunnel ends and joins with the network around the theater,” he interrupted. “It should be a little brighter because of the electric lights though it's still pretty dim. I'll keep the flashlight on. These tunnels meander around but it's the only way to view the theater since it's still buried.”
“Why haven't they worked harder at excavating it?”
“Money. Difficulty. Interest. They've been doing better lately. Though it's an uphill battle since parts of it are buried beneath more than ninety feet of volcanic rock. It's a shame because this theater is a jewel. It sat between two thousand five hundred and three thousand people and it had all the bells and whistles. Bronze drums for making thunder, cranes for flying the gods across the stage, seat cushions, trays of sweets and nuts, saffron water to spray the patrons. Amazing.”
“And exciting. It must have seemed magical to them.”
“Good theater still seems magical to us.”
“And you found out all of this from that newspaper reporter?”
“No, I did a little research. You said you wanted information. I didn't dare disobey.”
“Bull. You were interested yourself.”
“Busted.”
“It's surprising that the theater wasn't destroyed by the lava flow.”
“It's one of the freaky things that happened that day. The flow picked up enough mud to encase and protect it. It might have been excavated intact except for the greed of the people who came after it. At one point King Ferdinand was melting down priceless bronze fragments to make candlesticks.”
“I thought you had no respect for the preservation of antiquities.”
“I respect the artifacts themselves. And I don't like stupidity or destruction.”
“Could Cira have been here at the theater when the volcano blew?”
“Yes, it's believed the cast was rehearsing for an afternoon performance.”
“What play?”
“No one knows. Maybe as the excavations progress, we'll find out.”
“And they might find Cira buried here.”
“You mean, fact following fiction? It's possible. Who knows? The archaeologists are discovering new things all the time.”
“New things from a dead world. But somehow it doesn't seem dead, does it? I was thinking while we were driving here from the Naples airport that if you closed your eyes, you might be able to imagine what life was like before the eruption. I wonder what it was like for them that day. . . .”
“I was wondering, too. Shall I tell you?”
“Your research again?”
“It started out that way but it's hard to keep a clinical attitude when you're this close to the source.” His soft voice came out of the darkness. “It was a normal day, the sun was shining. There had been earth tremors but nothing to worry about. Vesuvius was always rumbling. The wells in the country had dried up but it was August. Again, not unexpected.
“It was a hot day but it was cooler here in Herculaneum because the city was on a promontory over the sea. It was the birthday of an emperor, a holiday, and people were in town to see the sights and celebrate. The forum was crowded with hawkers, acrobats, jugglers. Ladies were carried on litters by slaves. The public baths were open and men were undressing and preparing to be bathed by attendants. There were athletic events at the palaestra and the victors were about to receive their olive wreath crowns. They were only boys, naked and suntanned and proud of their feats. Mosaicists were cutting their polished stones and glass, bakers were making their breads and tarts, and Cira's friends and fellow actors, maybe Cira herself, were rehearsing their play at the finest theater in the Roman world.” He paused. “I can tell you more. Do you want to hear it?”