chorus of birds, and exhaust fumes started to mix with the spiced scent of the pines. Eventually they reached an iron gate, and then just beyond it a heavy wooden door. Griffin kept watch behind as she unlocked and pushed open the door, the hinges protesting as she ushered them into a long dark passage.
23
It took several seconds for Sydney’s eyes to adjust to the interior of what turned out to be a long corridor, and she stood there a few moments, afraid to venture farther until she could see.
Francesca turned on a large flashlight, its beam wavering off the stuccoed ceilings. “I certainly hope you brought a sketchbook,” she said to Sydney. “Signore DeAngelis will ask to see the sketches when I return the key—and I may need to return here someday.”
Griffin nodded to Sydney, and she pulled out her sketchbook as well as a pencil. “How many do you want?”
“Three or four should add some legitimacy,” Francesca replied, then aimed her light at the ground, indicating they should follow. “Do be careful. The floor is uneven, and the staircase is narrow and steep—about forty feet straight down. There’s an iron railing, but it’s not very sturdy.”
Although Sydney had no idea what to expect, she was unprepared for the immensity of the chamber as they descended. It looked nothing like the catacombs that she’d seen in pictures. The professor’s flashlight revealed neatly stuccoed walls with row upon row of half-moon niches, about two feet in height and width, each of which had two terra cotta lids set into its base. Below each niche was a marble plaque with what Sydney supposed were the names of the deceased.
As they moved into the chamber, a soft light began to filter down from light wells that had been cut at one end of a vaulted ceiling. Fronds of maidenhair fern growing from the cracks in the ancient wall swayed as the air stirred around them, sending up sparkling dust motes into the shafts of light. Sydney looked around in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
“If you like mausoleums,” Griffin said.
Sydney, ignoring him, opened her sketchbook and started drawing. “How old is this place?”
“First century A.D.,” Francesca said. “The columbaria were burial clubs where slaves and freed slaves gathered socially to commemorate and inter the ashes of their club members who had preceded them in death.”
“And the lids in each niche?”
“The one thing besides the frescoes on the wall and the mosaics on the floor that the treasure hunters didn’t bother to remove. Each niche contains two large terra cotta jars, out of sight, behind the walls.” Francesca lifted the lid of one. “Cremated bones in each pot,” she said, replacing the lid. “Bones are still here, but most of the decorations—freestanding urns or anything of value—were stripped during the eighteenth century and added to the pope’s coffers,” she said, glancing at Griffin as though he might be inclined to pass on that information to Dumas.
His response was to ask, “Exactly what are you looking for that couldn’t wait?”
“A hidden chamber. Something that hasn’t yet been discovered that has a connection to another ossuary chamber.” She gave Griffin a patronizing smile. “That means bones.”
“I’m so glad you clarified.”
Sydney threw Griffin a dark look, turned the page in her sketchbook to start a new drawing. “You were saying?” she asked the professor.
“The purpose of my…grant is to prove the location of the final resting place of Raimondo di Sangro, Prince of Sansevero.”
“And why would this be important?” Griffin asked.
“For history’s sake. He is not buried in his own crypt, and there are some historians who believe that he is instead resting in a chamber elsewhere. And if you wonder at the historical significance of this, then you might also wonder at why the Vatican was interested in di Sangro’s final resting place. They questioned a friar who helped di Sangro make his final arrangements and learned that he hid three…clues you might say, each one hidden in other burial chambers, which would eventually allow entry to his final burial chamber. The friar revealed only the location of this first key or clue, but so far it has eluded even the most ardent historians as well as the Vatican, and to this day remains unsolved.”
“And yet,” Griffin said, “you say you are looking for proof of the burial site, as if you have an idea of where it is?”
“A very good idea. Unfortunately, without the hidden clues, death will surely fall on those who search within.”
“Another curse?”
“A reality.