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"That's enough, I can see you. Halt or I fire."

It seemed to me that a long time passed (but now I know it was only a few minutes) before I was called back from the formless nightmare into which I had fallen by the echoing sound of a strange voice.

I noted with alarm that a strange hand was holding my head up, while someone (a third being?) freed my limbs from the frightful mass under which I was all but buried. Instinctively, I drew back from these strange attentions but, slipping clumsily, I found myself with my nose up against a nauseous-smelling member (impossible to tell which one). Suddenly overcome by the exertions of my stomach, in a few seconds I threw up all my dinner. I heard the stranger curse in a language that seemed similar to my own.

While I was still trying to recover my breath, I felt the kindly hand of Abbot Melani grasp me under the armpit.

"Courage, boy."

I rose painfully to my feet, and by the dim light of the lamp I caught sight of an individual, wrapped in a sort of gown, muttering as he bent down to the ground in a febrile attempt to isolate from my gastric se­cretions the no less vomit-inducing heap of human remains.

"To each his own treasures," sneered Atto.

I saw that Abbot Melani was holding a little device in his hand; from what I could make out, it ended with a piece of shining wood in­set with gleaming metal. He was pointing it threateningly at a second individual, dressed like his companion and seated on a carved stone.

In the moment when the lantern lit up this figure, I was thunder­struck by the sight of his face, that is, if one could call it a face. For it was nothing but a symphony of wrinkles, a concerto of folds, a mad­rigal of ribbons of skin which seemed to hold together only because they were too old and tired to rebel against their enforced compan­ionship. The grey and diffident pupils were crowned by the intense red of the eye, which made of the whole one of the most fearsome sights I had ever beheld. The picture was completed by sharp brown teeth, worthy of an infernal vision by Melozzo da Forli.

"Corpisantari
," murmured the abbot to himself, disgustedly, shak­ing his head.

"You could at least have shown a little more care," he added sardonically. "You scared these two gentlemen."

And he lowered the little device with which he had been keeping the first mysterious individual covered, returning it to his pocket in token of peace.

While I was cleaning myself up as well as I could under the cir­cumstances, and struggling to overcome the nausea that still af­flicted me, I was able to see the face of the second individual when he stood up for a moment. Or rather, to catch a glimpse of him, because he wore a filthy greatcoat with sleeves that were too long and a cowl that almost completely covered his face, leaving a slit through which, when the light permitted it, one could distinguish his features. And that was just as well, for after many patient at­tempts to observe him I discovered the existence of a whitish half- closed eye and of another swollen eyeball, enormous and protrud­ing, as though it were almost about to fall to the ground; a nose like a deformed and cankered cucumber, and a yellowish, greasy skin; while, as to the mouth, I could never have sworn that he had one, were it not for the formless sounds that occasionally emerged from that vicinity. From the sleeves, two hands would furtively emerge from time to time, hooked and clawed, and as decrepit as they were swift and predatory.

The abbot turned and met my fearful and questioning gaze. With a nod, he pointed to the first of the two, impatient to recover his freedom so that he could rejoin his companion in his disgusting sort­ing of bones from the contents of my stomach.

"How curious," said Atto, dusting his sleeves and shoulders care­fully. "In the hostelry I am forever sneezing, yet all the dust these two wretches have on them has not caused me to sneeze even once."

And he explained that the two strange beings whom we had en­countered were members of the miserable (yet adequately fed) band of those who spent their nights exploring the innumerable cavities under the city of Rome in search of treasures. Not jewels or Roman statues, but the most holy relics of the saints and martyrs which abounded in the catacombs and tombs of the martyrs of the Holy Roman Church, disseminated throughout the length and breadth of the city.

"I do not understand," I broke in. "Are they really allowed to take these holy relics from the tombs?"

"Not only is it permitted: I daresay that it is even necessary," replied Abbot Melani with a hint of irony. "The places frequented by the first Christians are to be regarded as fertile ground for spir­itual questing, and sometimes even hunting,
ut ita dicam
, by elevated souls."

Saint Philip Neri and Saint Carlo Borromeo had indeed been in the habit of praying in the catacombs, so the abbot reminded me. And at the end of the last century, a courageous Jesuit, a certain Antonio Bosio, had descended into the most recondite and obscure crevices and had explored all the cavities under Rome, making many marvellous discoveries and publishing a book entitled
Roma Subterranea
, which had met with great and general plaudits. The good Pope Gregory XV had, around 1620, laid down that the remains of saints were to be removed from the catacombs so that these precious relics could be distributed to churches throughout all Christendom, and he had instructed Cardinal Crescenzi to see to the implementation of this holy programme.

I turned towards the two bizarre manikins who were fussing around these human remains, emitting obscene grunts.

"I know it seems curious to you that a mission of such high spir­ituality should be entrusted to two such beings," continued Atto. "But you must bear in mind that descending into the catacombs and artificial grottoes, of which Rome has so many, is not to everyone's taste. One must enter dangerous places, cross watercourses, face the risk of rock-falls and collapsing galleries. And it takes a strong stom­ach to go rummaging among the corpses..."

"But they are just old bones."

"That is all too easily said, yet how did you react a few moments ago? Our two friends had just completed their round, as they ex­plained to me while you lay half dead on the ground. In this cav­ity, they keep their collection. The catacombs are a long way off and there is no danger of encountering one of their competitors around here. So they were not expecting to meet with a living soul; and when we surprised them, they panicked and started to run in all directions. In the confusion, you came too near to their pile of bones and disturbed it, and it collapsed on top of you. And then you fainted."

I looked down and saw that the two strange little men had by now separated their bones from the vomit and had given them a quick cleaning. The little mountain under which I had been buried must have been far higher than myself; and now it all lay spread out on the ground. In reality, the human remains (a skull, a few long bones, and three vertebrae) were few when compared with all the remaining matter: earth, potsherds, stones, wood splinters, moss and roots, rags, all manner of rubbish. What, fuelled by fear, I had experienced as a deluge of death was but the contents of a sack filled by a peasant who had scraped too much from the soil of his little field.

"To exercise a dirty trade like this," the abbot continued, "you need a couple of characters like those whom you see before you. These tomb robbers are called
corpisantari
, after the sacred relics of saints for which they are always searching. If fortune does not smile upon them, they sell some rubbish to the next simpleton they meet. Have you not seen them, in front of your inn, selling Saint John's shoulder-blade or the jaw of Saint Catherine, feathers from angels' wings, splinters from the one True Cross borne by Our Lord? Well, the suppliers are our two friends, or their companions in the trade. When they are in luck, they find the tomb of some presumed martyr. Of course, those who reap the honours of translating the relics of Saint Etcetera to some church in Spain are the cardinals, or that old windbag Father Fabretti, whom Innocent X appointed, if I am not mistaken,
custos reliquiarum ac coemeteriorum
, the Custodian of Relics and Cemeteries."

"Where are we, Signor Abbot?" I asked, confused by our hostile and shadowy surroundings.

"I have mentally retraced the way we have covered and asked these two one or two questions. They call it the Archives, because this is where they heap up their ordure. I would say that we are more or less inside the ruins of the old stadium of Domitian, where during the Roman Empire they held sea battles, with ships. To make mat­ters easier for you, I can tell you that we are under the Piazza Navona, at the end nearest the Tiber. If we had covered the distance from the inn to the same point on the surface, at a good walking pace, it would have taken no more than three minutes."

"So these ruins are from Roman times."

"But of course these are Roman ruins. Do you see those arches? They must be the old structures of the stadium where they held games and naval battles, above which were built the palazzi which now surround the Piazza Navona, following the old oblong design."

"As in the Circo Massimo?"

"Exactly: except that there, everything has remained visible; whereas here it was all buried under the weight of centuries. But you will see, sooner or later, they will excavate here too. There are things that cannot remain buried."

While he told me of matters that were utterly new to me, I was astonished to see for the first time shining in Abbot Melani's eyes the spark of fascination with art and antiquity, despite the fact that he was at that moment deeply involved in what would appear to be very different affairs. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but this inclination was to have not unimportant consequences in this and later adventures.

"Well, well, we should so like to be able to mention, one day, the names of our two nocturnal acquaintances."

"I am Ugonio," said the less runted of the twain.

Atto Melani looked questioningly at the other one.

"Gfrrrlubh," came the sound issuing from under his hood.

"And he is Ciacconio," said Ugonio, hastening to translate Ciac-conio's gurglings.

"Can he not speak?" insisted Abbot Melani.

"Gfrrrlubh," replied Ciacconio.

"I understand," said Atto, reining in his impatience. "We humbly beg your pardon for having disturbed your perambulations. But, now that I come to think of it, may I avail myself of this opportunity to inquire whether you have, by any chance, seen someone pass this way, a little while before our arrival?"

"Gfrrrlubh!" broke in Ciacconio.

"He has invisioned a presence," announced Ugonio.

"Tell him that we want to know everything," said I, butting in.

"Gfrrrlubh," repeated Ciacconio.

We looked questioningly at Ugonio.

"Ciacconio entrified the galleria whence your worships emergen- cied, and was espied there by one who held a lamp-light; whereupon Ciacconio regressed upon his feetsteps. But the lamp-lifter must have entrified a trap-portal, for he disapparitioned like smoke, and Ciacconio sought sanctity here, most alarmified."

"Could he not have told us himself?" asked Abbot Melani, some­what taken aback.

"But he has now descripted and confessated it," replied Ugonio.

"Gfrrrlubh," confirmed Ciacconio, vaguely piqued.

Atto Melani and I looked at one another in some perplexity.

"Gfrrrlubh," continued Ciacconio, becoming animated, and seem­ing by his grunts proudly to claim that even he, a poor creature of darkness, could render himself more than useful.

As his companion was most opportunely to interpret for us, Ciacconio had, after the meeting with the stranger, carried out a second minute investigation of the gallery, because his curiosity was stronger than his fear.

"He is a great miner of other people's busyness," explained Ugonio, in the tones of one reiterating an old and worn reproof, "which leads him only into troubleness and misfortunity."

"Gfrrrlubh," broke in Ciacconio, fumbling through his coat in search of something.

Ugonio seemed to hesitate.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"Naught, or only that..."

Triumphantly, Ciacconio produced a screwed-up piece of paper. Ugonio grabbed his forearm and with lightning speed tore it from his hand.

"Hand it over to me or I shall blow your head off," said Abbot Melani calmly, reaching into his right-hand pocket in which he had placed the device with which he had already threatened the two