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I followed him with my eyes in the moonlight. A little later, he emerged from the carriage, jumping nimbly to the ground. He held the chest under his left arm.

"Give me the other one. Yes, that is it, it is just behind," said he, speaking to someone within.

He then reached inside the carriage and drew out what appeared to be a pistol, unless my eyes betrayed me. Rather than reload his first arm, he had preferred to take a second pistol, ready for use. Meanwhile, Atto had risen and was rushing towards the carriage.

"Abbot Melani," said Dulcibeni, half scornful and half threaten­ing, "since you enjoy stalking people so much, you may now complete your work."

He then turned and began to run in the direction of the Colos­seum.

"Stop! Give me that bag!" called Atto.

"But Signor Atto, Dulcibeni..." I objected.

"... is armed. I am aware of that," replied Abbot Melani, crouch­ing prudently near the ground. "But that is no reason to let him es­cape us."

I was struck by Atto's decisive tone and in a blinding insight, I understood what was agitating his heart and his thoughts and why, that evening, he had climbed without a moment's hesitation onto the back of Tiracorda's carriage, taking the mortal risk of following Dulcibeni.

Atto's natural predisposition to embroil himself in obscure in­trigues and the potent pride which caused him to puff up his chest when he detected the presence of plotters, all those things which he felt and wanted and tended naturally to desire, remained unsat­isfied. Dulcibeni's half-unveiled revelations had drawn Melani into their vortex. And now the abbot could not, would not withdraw. He wanted to know, come what may. Atto was not running in order to tear the leeches from Dulcibeni's hands: he wanted his secrets.

While those images and those thoughts rushed before my eyes at a speed a thousand times greater than that of Tiracorda's carriage, Dulcibeni fled towards the Colosseum.

Dulcibeni disappeared in the twinkling of an eye behind the dark portico of the Colosseum. Atto dragged me to the right, as though he intended to follow the same route as the man he was pursuing, but outside the colonnade.

"We must surprise him before he reloads his pistol," he whispered to me.

Dodging from side to side, we drew near to the arches of the Colosseum. We stopped first by one of the mighty load-bearing columns, draping ourselves like ivy around the stone blocks. Then we slipped into the colonnade: of Dulcibeni, there was no trace or sound.

We advanced a few paces, listening intently. It was only the sec­ond time in my life that I found myself among the ruins of the Col­osseum, but I did know that the place was often infested, not only by owls and bats, but by all manner of bawds, thieves and wrongdo­ers who hid there in order to avoid justice and to perpetrate their execrable practices. The darkness made it almost impossible to see anything; now and again, one could distinguish only whatever was open to the sky and the pale light of the moon.

We proceeded cautiously along the great arcade, almost more at pains to avoid stumbling on some half-buried lump of stone than to track down our prey. The vault of the portico and the wall to our right echoed our every sound; the latter separated the arcade from the interior of the amphitheatre, and was pierced at regular inter­vals by vertical slits which allowed one to peer into the great arena. Apart from the padding of our feet and the swishing sounds of such gestures as we inevitably made, there was silence. That was why we jumped when, clearly and directly, a voice came out of the dark: "Poor Melani, slave to your king unto the bitter end."

Atto stopped: "Dulcibeni, where are you?"

There followed a moment's silence.

"I am ascending to heaven, I want to see God from closer quar­ters," whispered Dulcibeni from an unidentifiable place, which sounded at once distant and near at hand.

We looked fruitlessly around us.

"Stop and let us talk," said Atto. "If you do so, we shall not de­nounce you."

"So you wish to know, Abbot. Well, then I shall give you satisfac­tion. But first, you must find me."

Dulcibeni was moving away; but neither behind, nor before us under the portico, nor outside the Colosseum.

"He is already inside," concluded Atto.

Only far later, a long time after these events, did I discover that the wall which separates the interior of the amphitheatre from the arcade, while allowing one to see into the great arena, was regularly penetrated by criminals. One could obtain lawful access to the are­na only through the big wooden gates situated at either end of the edifice, and these were obviously closed at night. Thus, to make a useful secret hiding place of the ruins, men and women engaged in nefarious activities would open up breaches in the surround­ing wall, which the authorities rarely repaired as swiftly as they should.

Clearly, Dulcibeni had passed through one of these gaps. Abbot Melani at once set about exploring the nearby part of the wall, in search of the passage.

"Come on, come on, Melani," Dulcibeni's voice derided us all the while, growing ever more distant.

"Damn it, I cannot... ah, here we are!" exclaimed Atto.

It was not so much a hole as a simple widening of one of the slits in the surrounding wall, reaching up to the waist of a person of normal height. We helped each other through this gap. As I lowered myself into the arena, I felt myself shaken by a powerful tremor of fear. From outside, a hand had gripped my shoulder. I thought with alarm that this must be one of the criminals who infest the area at night, and was about to cry out when a familiar voice invited me to remain silent: "Gfrrrlubh."

Ciacconio had retraced us, and now he was about to join forces with us in the difficult task of capturing Dulcibeni. While the
corpisantaro
slipped through the opening, I breathed a sigh of relief and passed the news on to Atto.

The abbot had already moved ahead to scout the place out. We were in one of the many corridors which extend round the central space, whose sands were, centuries ago, stained by the blood of gladi­ators, lions and Christian martyrs, all sacrificed to the delirium of the pagan mob.

We proceeded in single file under high stone walls sloping down towards the centre of the Colosseum, which once framed the central arena and which must once—as could readily be conjectured—have supported the tiers on which the public sat. The nocturnal hour, the damp and the stink of the walls, arches and half-ruined bridges, and the crazed fluttering of bats, all rendered the atmosphere gloomy and menacing. The stench of mould and organic waste made it difficult even for Ciacconio, with his miraculous sense of smell, to determine which direction we should take in order to find Dulcibeni. Several times, I saw the
corpisantaro
point his huge nose upwards, panting and sniffing like an animal, but all in vain. Only the moonlight, which was reflected even on the white stone of the highest tiers of the edi­fice, afforded us some partial comfort and enabled us to proceed, al­though we had no lamp, without falling into one of the many chasms that opened up between one ruin and another.

After yet more useless reconnoitring, Atto lost patience and halted.

"Dulcibeni, where are you?" he cried.

The unquiet silence of the ruins was the only response.

"Shall we try dividing our forces?" I asked.

"On no account," replied Atto. "By the way, where have all your friends gone?" he asked Ciacconio.

"Gfrrrlubh," replied the latter, gesticulating and making it clear that the rest of the
corpisantaro
rabble would soon be arriving.

"Good. We shall need reinforcements to collar..."

"Slave of crowned heads, are you not coming to catch me?"

Dulcibeni had once more called us to action. This time, the voice came unequivocally from above our heads.

"Stupid Jansenist," commented Atto in a low voice, clearly irri­tated by the provocation, then he called out: "Come closer, Pompeo, I only want to talk with you."

In response, we heard resounding laughter.

"Very well, then I shall come up," Atto retorted.

That was in truth more easily said than done. The interior of the Colosseum, between the central arena and the fagade, was a labyrin­thine series of ruined walls, mutilated architraves and decapitated columns, in which the difficulty of orienting oneself was exacerbated by the lack of light.

Over centuries, the Colosseum had been, first, abandoned, then stripped of its marble and stone by many pontiffs for the (justified and sacrosanct) construction of many churches; as I have said, of the former terraces sloping down to the arena, there remained only the supporting walls. These radiated from the perimeter of the arena to the top of the curved outer wall. Parallel to these ran the narrow pas­sages connecting the many concentric circular corridors which com­pletely surrounded the stadium. The whole formed an inextricable maze through which we now moved.

We followed one of the circular corridors some way, endeavouring to draw nearer to the point from which Dulcibeni's voice had issued. The attempt proved useless. Atto looked questioningly at Ciacconio. The
corpmntaro
again explored the air with wide open nostrils, to no effect.

Dulcibeni must have realised our difficulties, because he almost immediately showed his presence again: "Abbot Melani, you are mak­ing me lose my patience."

Contrary to all our expectations, the voice was anything but far off; yet the echoes produced by the ruins made it impossible to de­tect from which direction the fugitive's mocking words came. Curi­ously, the moment that the sonorous reflections of his voice died out, I seemed to hear a brief and repeated whistling sound, which seemed familiar to me.

"Did you hear?" I asked Atto in a very small voice. "It seems that... I think that he is taking snuff."

"Strange," commented the abbot. "At a time like this..."

"I heard him doing that this evening, too, when he did not come down to dinner."

"In other words, when he was on the point of setting out to com­plete his plan," noted Abbot Melani.

"Precisely. I also saw him take snuff just before his soliloquy about crowned heads, when he went on about corrupt sovereigns and so forth. And I noticed that, after taking snuff, he seemed more awake and vigorous. It was as though he used it to think more clearly, or... to gain strength—yes, that is it."

"I think that I have just fathomed this," murmured Atto under his breath, but he suddenly broke off.

Ciacconio was pulling us by the sleeves, drawing us towards the cen­tre of the arena. The
corpisantaro
had moved out of the labyrinth, the better to follow the scent of Dulcibeni. Hardly had he entered the open space when he gave a start. "Gfrrrlubh," said he, indicating a point on the immense and impervious perimeter walls of the Colosseum.

"Are you sure?" we asked in unison, vaguely put out by the danger and inaccessibility of the place.

Ciacconio nodded and we at once set out for our objective.

The great perimeter walls of the stadium were composed of three superimposed orders of arches. The point indicated by Ciacconio was an arch at the intermediate level, at a height above ground perhaps exceeding that of the entire Locanda del Donzello.

"How are we to get up there?" asked Abbot Melani.

"Get some help from your monsters," we heard Dulcibeni cry; this time Atto had spoken without lowering his voice sufficiently.

"You are quite right, that is a good idea!" he yelled back. "You were not mistaken," he then added, turning to Ciacconio, "the voice does come from up there."

Ciacconio was meanwhile beating a path in all haste across the labyrinth. He led us towards one of the two great wooden gates which were left open in daytime to give access to the interior of the amphitheatre. Just in front of the gate there rose a great, steep staircase which entered into the majestic body of the Colosseum.

"He must have come up this way," murmured Melani.

The stairs did indeed lead to the first storey of the building, in other words to the level of the second order of arches. Hardly had we ascended the last steps than we emerged into the open and found ourselves in an enormous corridor which ringed the entire amphi­theatre. Here, rising no little above the level of the auditorium, the moonlight spread more surely and more generously. Spectacular was the view over the central space and the ruins of the tiers of seats; and, above us, the enormous walls that contained the entire mass of the circus, standing out majestically against the heavens. With our breath short after our rapid climb, for an instant we halted and almost forgot our objective, ravished by so grandiose a spectacle.

"You are almost there, spy of kings," the harsh, grating voice of Dulcibeni called us from the right.

From there, came a detonation that terrified us, and almost instant­ly we flattened ourselves on the ground. Dulcibeni had fired at us.

We were then startled by a loud clatter a few paces away. I approached on all fours and found Dulcibeni's pistol, half-broken by the hard impact.

"Two misses, what a pity! Take courage, Melani, now we are on an equal footing."

I handed the arm to Atto, who looked thoughtfully in Dulcibeni's direction. "There is something that escapes me," he commented, as we approached the place from which the voice and the pistol had come.