“Very enticing stuff. Steam-powered ships, goods from India and the Far East—trade that has opened up now that Bonaparte is finished. There is much wealth to be had in new inventions and new horizons.”
“He appealed to their sense of the novel and exciting,” I concluded. “Pretending they’d be investing in the exhilarating future of England. So, not only did your acquaintances lose their money, they were made to look like fools.”
“Precisely.” Grenville nodded.
“Are any of these embarrassed gentlemen likely to strike down a man in the street outside his lodgings? Or follow him to the Continent and write him threatening letters?”
“Not many would. They prefer to grumble in their clubs. A few of my old school chums could be of the violent sort but might draw the line at waylaying a man in the back streets of London.”
“Then it might truly have been an attempt at robbery,” I mused. “I’d dismiss it if not for the letters and the fact that Broadhurst is truly frightened.”
“Well, I will continue to ask about when we return to Rome.” Grenville thumped his fingers to the table and rose. “Once you finish your breakfast, Lacey, we should make our way south and to our adventure. The past awaits.”
I agreed that I had more entertaining things to do than ponder the threats received by a man whom people were rightly angry with or wonder who might have tossed a knife at me in a lonely street in Napoli.
I tried to put both problems out of mind while I finished my excellent meal and went to my room to ready myself for our journey.
For this legwe went on horseback, Grenville never suffering his motion sickness when riding. Brewster had made it clear long ago that he did not like to ride, but he was forced to this time in order to keep up with us. He guided his horse behind us, muttering to himself but keeping a sharp watch.
I remembered how, in Egypt, Grenville had never set out to see ancient ruins without bringing several servants and plenty of baggage. He’d erected a pavilion on the sands where we could cool ourselves and slake our thirst, with Matthias and Bartholomew tending to our every need.
Grenville journeyed alone today with only a few things in a saddlebag. Granted, this was a far different climate, cool to cold in this winter month, and there were plenty of villages and taverns along the way, even if many did not look salubrious. We had no need to carry our own provisions.
From our rented house to the site of Herculaneum was only about six miles, which we accomplished in an hour or so of leisurely riding. We found the man Conte Trevisan had promised to be our guide at the indicated tavern not far from the ruins. He was a gentleman of Grenville’s height with dark hair and a slim, agile body.
“So pleased to make your acquaintance.” He shook Grenville’s hand and then mine with a ready smile after we’d introduced ourselves and Brewster. “I am Ettore Baldini. I hear you wish to see the ancient cities. I will try to show you the best of them.” His English was only slightly accented, and he quivered with eagerness.
We thanked him, answering his questions that our ride had been without difficulty. Baldini insisted we rest and refresh ourselves inside the tavern, and we politely accepted. The wine he ordered for us was quite good, and we sat at a table and chatted.
Baldini seemed to be as anxious as ourselves to visit the site, and we departed the tavern after only a scant hour. We’d leave the horses and our belongings there, he said, and continue to the nearby site on foot.
We walked through a quiet village, the bay to our right, fishing boats gliding serenely through the harbor. Brewster, happy to be rid of the horses, strode along, arms swinging.
“Herculaneum was a city of great wealth,” Baldini said as we went. His tall walking stick struck the pavement with rapidity. “Romans loved the place for its view of the sea.”
Streets crammed with houses wove toward the bay, brick and plaster crumbling as it had on the homes I’d seen in Napoli and Rome. Many in this area dwelled in near poverty or worse, exhausted by the armies that had moved through their land and the constant changes in rulers.
Baldini said nothing of dirt and penury, leading us toward our destination with every enthusiasm. A true scholar, focused on nothing but his chosen study.
“Here it is.” Baldini halted and spread his arms. “The ancient city of Herculaneum.”
I gazed where he directed, but did not see much. A depression below us undulated with grass and weeds, the shape of the hill mostly square with one curve as it bent toward the bay.
“The city was directly on the sea in its time,” Baldini said. “The shore is farther away than it used to be.”
“But where is it?” I asked in some bewilderment.
“Below us.” Baldini enjoyed our confusion. “Follow me, gentlemen. I will show you what most are not allowed to see.”
Brewster had no intention of waiting for us to return from our exploration. He walked behind me, the tramp of his boots heavy in the damp air.
Baldini took us along the edge of the hill and then plunged abruptly downward via a stair that had been cut into the earth. Grenville went ahead of me, and I navigated carefully with my walking stick, Brewster directly behind me.
“I don’t like this, guv.”
Brewster was not fond of enclosed spaces, but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. Baldini, a man we knew nothing about, could be leading us into a trap.
Regardless, I was avid to see what lay below. An entire city, frozen in time, awaited us.
