Brewster, heartlessly, was fresh and lively, his booming voice grating through my head.
“What happens when you drink too much of the grape instead of the grain,” he informed us. “Me old dad used to say that. He weren’t good for much else, but he were wise about drink. No gin, and definitely no wine, and you’ll not suffer for it.”
His cheerfulness made me growl. Grenville, whose motion sickness could render him immobile, eyed the carriage he’d hired to take us to Napoli with misgivings.
He had altered the interior so that one seat folded down into a bed. This was the only way he could endure the rocking of a coach, though I imagined we’d halt many a time while he either rested or heaved the contents of his stomach out on the side of the road.
Brewster helped load the bags into the carriage and took a seat on the rear, to ensure no footpad nabbed our belongings. Bartholomew and Gautier would follow in a smaller carriage with more baggage for setting up the house in Napoli.
The carriage wound its way south through the city, heading for the road that more or less followed the ancient Appian Way to Campania and places south.
Mist filmed the streets, making the ruins we passed slide, ghostlike, around us. We creaked by a depression of weed-choked grasses that stretched a long way beside the road—the Circus Maximus. When we returned, I’d climb down into it and walk the path where charioteers had driven horses in a mad rush centuries before. Gladiators’ games had been held here as well, as the Circus had existed long before the Flavian emperors built the grand amphitheatre in the heart of Rome.
The road took us along the ancient route, lined with tombs buried in weeds and mud. Several times I spied men in greatcoats plying shovels through the earth. Historians and treasure hunters, searching for loot and knowledge.
As the road meandered south, the fog burned off and an azure sky appeared. An aqueduct, many of its ancient arches still standing, marched across a green field.
I was entranced by the juxtaposition of today and yesterday, but Grenville soon lay himself flat on his seat and closed his eyes. He was a man who loved travel but suffered much for it.
We moved slowly, ending up at a wayside inn for the night. The road was not easy, and several times I found it more convenient to walk ahead of the carriage until my knee grew too sore, and I had to climb back inside. I wished I’d had a horse—I could have covered the distance between Rome and Napoli much faster.
Grenville recovered enough at the inn to have a meal in the taproom with me. We drank a jug of wine that didn’t match what Proietti had served us, yet was surprisingly tasty.
“Vineyards are everywhere in this part of the country.” Grenville waved a vague hand at the dark window. “It is not surprising that vintners turn out delicious drink.”
I’d observed plenty of bare vines marching down hills as we went. “The volcanic soil, I have heard, is good for the plants.” I spoke confidently, as though I were an expert grape grower.
“The north of Italy is best known for its wines,” Grenville said, studying the red liquid in his ceramic cup. “But I must say, those of Campania and even farther south in Sicily are worth noting.” As Grenville had long been a connoisseur, I bowed to his expertise.
I slept heavily that night, and in the morning, we resumed the journey.
The second day of our travels was as uneventful as the first, except that Rome was well behind us, and more vineyards climbed hills, the plants waiting for the first blush of spring. Another inn housed us that night, this one smoky and filled with travelers. We supped in the private rooms Grenville had hired, slept another night, and woke for the final day of our journey to Napoli.
We bumped through that city, which was a mix of splendid tall houses and industrial docks, until the chaise finally halted on a hill overlooking the bay.
I exited the carriage, unbending my stiff limbs, and gazed about in wonder. The homes of Napoli hugged the curve of the harbor, buildings climbing from the water to the hills. Our abode was among these villas at the top, with the brilliant blue water of the bay stretching under a cloudless sky. The squat, square Castel dell’Ovo stuck out into the water—I itched to explore it.
The house Grenville had hired lay on the south end of the city. From there it would be a short journey to the ruins, which we’d set off for the next day.
I eagerly faced that direction. The tall mountain of Vesuvius, which I’d read of since boyhood, rose before me, its distinctive double peaks misty on the horizon.
“Plenty of time to explore tomorrow.” Grenville stepped down from the coach, drawing in a relieved breath that the journey had ended. “But it is beautiful, I agree.”
“I could stay here forever,” I declared.
“I’d advise you to speak with your wife before you entrench yourself. She’ll miss her friends.” Grenville’s eyes twinkled, he knowing Donata well.
The house Grenville’s agents had chosen was not overly large but opulent to my eyes. A gate led from the street to a small courtyard where a fountain delicately sprayed. Statuary graced the fountain’s corners, greenery in urns and troughs lining the space. An elegant balcony with a stone balustrade ran around the courtyard on the second floor, with French windows leading into rooms above.
The courtyard was paved in travertine, that pale tile prevalent throughout the land. The walls cut the cold winter breeze and the stone absorbed the warmth of the sun, making it a pleasant place to linger.
A door at the far end of the courtyard led to the interior, where a staircase bent upward to the rooms above. A reception room to the right of the staircase had windows overlooking the bay. I stepped into the chamber and stood at the windows, unmovable for a time, admiring the glory before me.
Donata might agree that such a place was worth staying in. Though hers was a restless soul, loving the social whirl, I’d also observed her at her father’s home in Oxfordshire, where she’d sit in the sunny garden and simplybe.
“The Romans called itCampania Felix,” I said to Grenville as he stood beside me. “Even they enjoyed its beauty.”
“As a change from tramping over the world in their large boots and stealing the best bits for themselves.” Grenville chuckled. “I agree, it is lovely. I knew my man would choose well for us.” He yawned, rumpling his hair.
