Wayward Son (46 page)

After Walker and Juan Carlos had distanced themselves from the group, Silvio turned to Luc Renard. It was now the archaeologist’s turn to ask direct questions.

“Mr. Renard, we have only just met. But I can’t refrain from asking you about the mineral claim that you have evidently filed in conjunction with your purchase contract.”

Luc waved his hand casually. “Oh, the mineral claim? That’s standard procedure. My company always files such claims when I acquire property.

“It’s only prudent. Don’t take it seriously,” Schmidt added.

“Well, I must inform both of you that in Ercolano such claims are taken very seriously,” Silvio parried. “Let me pursue another point with you, however. When exactly do you anticipate that the title to the property will be transferred from your company to the Getty?”

Luc Renard was on the verge of replying when a helicopter with the Vatican’s yellow-and-white flag and official insignia of two crossed keys flew low overhead. Abandoning his quest for information, Silvio suggested that Luc and the lawyer should join Walker and Juan Carlos to check on their progress. But Luc, concerned about the arrival of the Vatican helicopter, demurred.

“As the prospective owner of the property, I shall join you in greeting these unexpected visitors, Dr. Sforza.”

A few minutes later, Silvio warmly greeted Cardinal Ravatti and Monsignor Notombo at their car and then made introductions. He informed Luc that Cardinal Ravatti was well versed in archaeology.

“You say you represent the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology,” Luc said to the monsignor after the exchange of pleasantries. “What interest, may I ask, does the Vatican have in
my
excavation, Monsignor?” Silvio privately noted Luc’s choice of pronoun, as well as the magnate’s proprietary tone of voice.

“It is what you might call a routine procedure, Mr. Renard,” Notombo replied suavely. “The Vatican is always represented when the excavation of any catacomb commences. Or the excavation of any site that
might
be a catacomb,” he added.

“But you are a day early,” Luc politely pointed out. “The site is closed until tomorrow. There are no excavations in progress today. It’s Sunday, as you gentlemen are well aware.”

Cardinal Ravatti intervened in a gravelly tone. “Well, Mr. Renard, you may become the owner of the land tomorrow, but you seem to be overlooking a more pressing matter—the safety of Dr. Amanda James.”

Although he maintained a poker mask, Luc Renard was disconcerted. By somehow involving the Vatican, Silvio seemed to have outmaneuvered him, at least for the moment. He would have to proceed carefully.

“Ah, yes, Dr. James,” Rudolph Schmidt hastily interjected. “We are effecting a rescue as we speak. But when she is safely out of the chamber, the entrance will be closed. There is certainly a difference, gentlemen, between a rescue and an excavation,” he reminded the clerics.

Cardinal Ravatti was not accustomed to being trumped, and certainly not by an American attorney. Here on the doorstep of the Incogniti, he made his intentions clear.

“We agree that Dr. James’s safety should be the top priority,” Ravatti said. “But if she reports a catacomb or the presence of Christian remains, the Vatican will immediately assume oversight of this excavation in keeping with long-standing Italian and international laws. And regardless of the particulars of her initial report, we already have probable cause to conduct our own inspection.” He glanced meaningfully at Renard and Schmidt. “
If
we find nothing of interest to the Vatican, gentlemen, the site is yours. But until then…”

“It is truly a pity that you are unaware of all the forces in play here,” Renard interrupted. He moved fractionally closer toward Ravatti, seeming to ignore the presence of Notombo and Schmidt. “Your claims to legality notwithstanding, you will not be the one who dictates the fate of this excavation.”

Cardinal Ravatti’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as the brash billionaire dug the verbal knife in deeper. “The property
will
be donated to the Getty, so that whatever I find within will benefit the public. I did not acquire this land so that the Vatican could hijack it and sit on the discovery for fifty years.”

Luc Renard spun on his heels and stalked toward the excavation, with Schmidt trailing after him like a puppy. After several paces, Renard called out to Ravatti over his shoulder. “When we meet again,
Cardinal
, it will be in a court of law.”

CHAPTER 61

Rome and Judaea, AD 29–33

“ALL PAID UP?” CAIN asked Felix after the captain had returned from the port administration office. He was eager to see his son, so from Caesarea they had made directly for Ostia, without bothering to break the journey in Naples in order to unload the items purchased for his villa in Herculaneum.

Felix reached into the leather bag he carried and handed Cain the receipt for payment of the port fees. He also withdrew a small leather pouch and gave it to his master.

“Everything is in order, sir. But while I was verifying the accounts and the funds in the treasury, I discovered something curious.”

Cain opened the pouch with the silver coins that had been forfeited by his opponent at the tile game. Among the coins was the ceramic tile with the green snake, still stained with the blood from Jesus’s finger.

“Very strange,” thought Cain, as he closed the pouch and attached it to his belt. How could the tile have gotten in there? He was sure he had last seen it on Abaddon’s game board.

“No matter, Felix. Have all the merchandise delivered to the estate. We’ll decide there which goods we want to ship to Herculaneum.”

The captain saluted, and Cain disembarked to board his smaller launch for the brief journey up the Tiber to central Rome.

Because word of his safe arrival had been dispatched from the ship, he had expected that Quintus would meet him at some distance from the estate on the Palatine. He longed to scoop the boy up in his arms as his son greeted him joyfully.

But there was no sign of Quintus near the entrance to the estate. It was only as he strode into the atrium that Cain glimpsed the boy, now confined to a wooden wheelchair. The disease that had weakened his legs, though, had not dulled the child’s eyes. As a house servant guided the chair across the terrazzo floor, Cain reached out and took Quintus in his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Father! It is really you!” Quintus cried. “I’ve dreamed about this day for so long!”

Suppressing a twinge of guilt for his extended absence, Cain kissed his son on the forehead.

“I, too, have dreamed of you, my son. I can’t wait to cheer for the Greens together!”

The boy clapped his hands in anticipation. “There are races at the Circus tomorrow, Father! Can we go?”

“Why not? Of course we can go! We will leave for the Circus early and stay as long as you want.”

“The new horse Fulgur will be running his first race. He’s as good as his name, fast as lightning. I helped train him!” said the boy proudly.

“You’re a trainer now, little man?” Cain smiled.

“Well, Scorpus allows me to help him sometimes. But he does most of the training, I have to admit.”

“I see,” Cain said. “He is our best charioteer. You can learn much from him.” The proud father was pleased that Scorpus had, perhaps unwittingly, served as a big brother to his son.

“Let us have our meal now,” he said, turning to the house servant. “The sea air has given me quite an appetite. What’s on the menu?”

“Today we are preparing Corsican mullet with asparagus sauce, quail’s eggs, and celery, sir,” the man replied. “And for wine?”

“The Falernian, by all means.” He then dismissed the servant with instructions to send for the local barber. Handing him the leather pouch that contained the silver pieces and the mysterious senet tile, he told him to secure it in the estate’s strongbox. He then placed Quintus in the wheelchair and took hold of the seat back. “Let’s go into the garden, son, and I’ll show you what I brought you for your birthday,” he said as he wheeled him forward. Quintus, who had turned eight while Cain was away in Judaea, clapped his hands again in pleasure.

They sat near the tall cypress trees flanking the western end of the peristyle. The sun was high now, but the trees provided ample shade, and the gently splashing fountains helped relieve the heavy, humid air of Rome in late summer. Cain reached into one of the bags that the launch’s crew had delivered to the estate and withdrew a large package.

“There you are, son. Happy belated birthday!”

Unwrapping the package hastily, Quintus ran his hand smoothly over its contents: four highly polished agate horses pulling a
quadriga
, or racing chariot, made of the purest silver. All the figures had been fashioned meticulously to scale.

“Oh, Father, how beautiful they are!” he exclaimed.

“I should have gotten you two of these sculptures. Then you’d have one horse for each of your eight years.”

“I’ll put this one right next to my bed.” The boy declared firmly. “That way it will be the last thing I see at night and the first when I wake up in the morning.”

“I’m glad you like it. They are made in Sicily, but I came upon it in Judaea at a place called Caesarea.”

“That’s the provincial capital isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, but how did you know?”

“I love geography! And Tisias is a good tutor, although he is strict.” Tisias was one of the Greek freedmen whom Cain had hired as tutors for his son during his absence.

When the barber arrived, Cain drew his chair closer to a nearby fountain. During his haircut and shave, he plied Quintus with questions about his studies. Clearly, the boy was highly motivated. He had mastered Euclidean geometry theorems that would have challenged students twice his age, and he had memorized several entire orations of Cicero. The father beamed with pride as Quintus gave a rousing performance worthy of the renowned Roman orator, complete with dramatic arm gestures from the wheelchair.

“At this rate, you will be Rome’s leading advocate when you grow up!” he complimented his son.

They ate in the garden. After lunch, Cain wheeled Quintus from the peristyle indoors to the child’s bedroom. When his son had chosen a suitable spot for the agate sculpture, Cain was about to leave him for his afternoon nap when Quintus said, “I’m awfully worried, Father.”

Cain’s stomach tightened. He thought of the cypress trees in the garden, trees that were often linked with death and planted in cemeteries.

“What troubles you?”

“I worry about you after I am gone. I don’t want you to be so lonely.”

Tears came to the father’s eyes. “He knows he may die soon,” Cain thought, “but he’s worried about
me
.” With his back still to the boy, he attempted to redirect the pathway of their conversation.

“You are not going anywhere, son, except to the Circus Maximus tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, I know. But tell me, Father. What actually happens when someone dies?”

Cain recalled one of their conversations after Julia passed away. He turned and faced his son. “You remember what we said about your mother?” he asked Quintus. “Death is a part of life. It’s hard to understand, but death is a happy state, where a person is free of troubles. And many people think that, after we die, we are reunited with all those whom we have loved and who have gone before us.”

“Then I will see Mother again? If I’ll be with her, I am not afraid of death,” Quintus declared.

“Yes, but you have many years to go before that, little man. Now lie down and get your rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”

As he withdrew to the atrium, Cain marveled at his son’s courage. The prospect that his son’s life would be all too brief stood in stark contrast to his own longevity, and his ambivalence about it.

While Quintus slept during the late afternoon, Cain sent for the doctor who headed the team attending on his son.

“What is your prognosis, Junius?” he asked the physician, a trim fifty-year-old with close-cropped, slightly graying hair.

“The boy’s physical condition has deteriorated significantly since you left, sir,” the doctor answered. “It is possible that other organs besides the lungs have been affected. For two months now, his legs have not been able to support him. But his mind is vibrant. If anything, his interest in his studies has intensified.”

“And how do you think he will be six months from now?”

“His disease consumes bodily strength,” the doctor replied. “But the link between emotions—mind and spirit—and physical health should never be underestimated. Your son has tremendous willpower, sir. All I can say for sure is that his condition is chronic, not critical.”

***

Safeguarding his son’s happiness now became the guiding force of Cain’s existence. The doctor’s remark about Quintus’s emotional state lingered in his mind. He decided to do everything possible to give the boy a full and satisfying life, whatever its duration.

Father and son haunted the Circus and the stables, with Quintus taking more and more of an interest in the mechanics and nuances of horse training. Cain gave the boy Xenophon’s manual on horsemanship, written in Greek nearly four centuries before. Quintus absorbed every detail, amazing his father with observations on everything from how to break a colt to such esoteric issues as whether a colt should be fed with his halter on or off.

As the months slipped by, Cain received regular reports from Carthage concerning his blown-glass factory and from Herculaneum about his villa and repository. He limited his visits to Herculaneum, since without a hippodrome, Quintus found the place boring. When he felt his presence there was required, however, he left his son in the charge of Scorpus, whose relationship with the boy was now that of a mentor. Quintus accompanied the chariot driver to the horse sales and delighted in helping select new stallions for the Greens.

One day, at Cain’s prompting, Scorpus arranged for Quintus to take his own chariot ride—this time in one of the larger, ceremonial chariots used for the great processions of owners and drivers that were arranged two or three times every season. With the track clear of other chariots in the early morning, Scorpus glanced at Cain, who nodded approvingly. Scorpus then handed the reins to the boy.