‘Oh my God,’ Maria muttered. She quickly hit the pause button on her video camera. ‘Remember the face on the archway that appeared to be laughing at Christ’s death?’
He walked toward her. ‘Of course, I do. That blasphemous image is burned into my mind.’
Maria pointed to the two-foot-high stone cube that sat at her feet. ‘He’s back.’
Boyd glanced at the box and realized that she was correct. It was him, all right, and his devilish grin was featured in great detail. ‘I’ll be flummoxed. What’s he doing here?’
She ran her gloved finger over the carved face. ‘I don’t know. But he seems awfully happy.’
‘Maria, while you were filming the artwork, did you see this man on anything else?’
She shook her head. ‘I would’ve told you if I did.’
‘What about his face? Do you remember where you’ve seen his face?’
Maria stared at the image. ‘No, but I have to admit that it’s been driving me crazy. I know I’ve seen him before. I just know it!’
Boyd stood and quickly inspected the other chests in the room. Even though they varied in size, he realized that every box carried a similar theme: They were adorned with pictures of war. All of them, that is, except one — the one with the laughing man.
‘This man had to be an emperor. Or at the very least, a man of great power and wealth. He is the only person who is featured on his own cube.’
‘Plus he was on the arch. They obviously held him in high esteem.’
‘But why?’ Boyd pondered the question as he wrapped his fingers around the box. After a brief pause, he carefully slid his hands over the edge of the crate’s lid, making sure that it was sturdy enough to be moved without damage. ‘I know this goes against many of the things that I told you earlier, but — ’
Maria nodded in understanding. ‘You want to see what’s inside.’
‘I have to. I can’t help it. It’s the young whipper-snapper in me.’
‘That’s all right. If you didn’t remove the lid, I was going to get a crowbar and do it myself.’
It took nearly five minutes to ease the stone cover from its tight-fitting seam, but once they did, they were able to lift it with little difficulty. It was much lighter than they had expected.
‘Careful!’ Boyd begged. ‘This stone could provide us with important clues about the identity of this man. I’d hate for anything to happen to it.’
The duo lowered the chiseled lid onto the floor, making sure they didn’t scratch it. Then, once they were satisfied with its positioning, they rushed to the box to see what they had found.
‘Bring the light closer. Quickly!’
Maria grabbed the flashlight and pointed it into the box. The bright stream of light overwhelmed the darkness, revealing the sole object inside: a slender bronze cylinder.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Boyd smiled while removing the eight-inch bronze cylinder with his gloved hand. ‘It’s a twin, my dear. An identical twin.’
‘A twin?’
‘The documents that I found in England — the documents that led us to the Catacombs — were stored in an identical bronze cylinder… Do you know what that means?’
‘No! What?’
Boyd laughed. ‘I have no idea, but I bet it’s bloody important!’
Maria smiled, but in her heart she knew something was going on that Boyd wasn’t talking about. She could sense it from the way he cradled the cylinder, treating it with a parental tenderness that was usually reserved for newborns. ‘Professore? May I look at it?’
He grimaced, reluctant to part with the artifact. ‘Be very careful, my dear. Until we open it, there’s no telling what may be inside. The contents could be quite delicate.’
She nodded, although she sensed that Boyd was being melodramatic. Nevertheless, she obeyed his wishes and treated the discovery with the utmost respect. ‘Wow! It seems so incredibly light. Are you sure this is the same type of cylinder that you found in Bath?’
‘Positive!’ Boyd brought his flashlight closer to the object and pointed out a series of small engravings that could barely be seen. ‘I’m not sure if this symbol can be translated, but I found an identical marking on the other one as well.’
Maria ran her finger over the triangular carvings, trying to probe the subtle indentations in the metal. The engraving on the cylinder was so shallow she could barely feel anything. ‘Why is this so faint? I can barely see it.’
‘I don’t know,’ Boyd admitted. ‘It could’ve been worn down over time, or perhaps it was the style of the particular engraver. I’m hoping the contents of the canister will give us a clue.’
‘That’s if there’s something inside.’
The look on Boyd’s face proved that he wasn’t amused. In response, he snatched the artifact from Maria’s grasp. ‘We don’t have the correct tools to open this. I need to go upstairs to get them.’ She winced, not realizing what had caused his sudden mood swing. ‘While I’m gone, make yourself useful and finish filming this room.’
‘Of course. Whatever you want, sir.’
‘Well, that’s what I want.’ Boyd took two steps through the archway, then stopped abruptly. ‘And don’t touch anything while I’m gone. Just film!’
Maria watched as her mentor stomped down the stone corridor, the radiance of his flashlight getting dimmer and dimmer with every step that he took. Then, when he reached the far end of the hallway, Boyd turned up the narrow stairs and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone in the massive vault.
As Boyd made his way upstairs, he slowed his pace near the crypts, careful not to brush against any of the hands that reached into the corridor. His light danced along the walls as he walked, giving the corpses the illusion of movement. For a split second he could’ve sworn that one of the fingers twitched, like the skeletal remains were coming to life. He paused ever so slightly to examine it before stepping into the first chamber.
The bronze cylinder needed to be protected, he knew that, so he tucked it into his deepest pocket before he climbed through the hole in the wall. He opened his toolbox in a huff, tossing aside screwdrivers and wrenches, hammers and nails, even a small set of rock picks until it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He stood there pondering the question when he realized that the walls of the cave seemed to be shaking, actually vibrating with pulsating bursts of energy.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
He could feel the rocks trembling beneath his feet.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Putting his hand on the wall, Boyd tried to determine the source of the tremors, but the entire rock face was vibrating at an even rate. Next, he placed his ear to the cool surface of the wall, hoping to establish the origin of the bass-filled pitch. Strangely, the strength of the sound actually seemed to diminish as he moved closer to the sides of the cave.
He quickly went through a series of calculations, attempting to figure out what could cause such a phenomenon. The resonance, the undulation, the energy. After a moment, it dawned on him that it was probably due to an external force. But what?
As he moved toward the site entrance, he noticed the drastic change in temperature. His body, which had grown accustomed to the underground climate, was now forced to deal with the hot Italian sun. Large beads of sweat surfaced on Boyd’s brow, droplets that turned to mud as they streamed down his dirt-caked face and tumbled to the ground below.
His eyes, which were used to the dim light of the tunnels, suddenly burned in the afternoon sun. Its radiance was so intense that he found himself shading his face like a moviegoer leaving a matinee. And to make matters worse, the sound grew in intensity, forcing him to plug his ears while shielding his eyes at the same time.