“And lies!” Elizabeth grinned, noticing that Prudence stood next to the colonel, their arms touching.
“Not at all. You told a story, a fictional tale that the good commander chose to believe as truth.”
“A clever story thatyouconcocted, Papa!”
Captain Morrison ordered, “Cast loose all sail! Let’s get away from here and hie to Italian waters.”
“Aye, aye!” Elizabeth replied at the same time as did her father.
25
Two days later, Elizabeth stepped carefully from theMary Catherineonto the weathered planks of Civitavecchia’s harbor. Due to heavy demand, dock space was limited. The ship had been anchored in the water for almost a day while small boats transported cargo and crew to shore before it was tied to the moorings.
The Italian port had the same urgent energy of commerce Elizabeth had observed in Porto and Gibraltar, yet it had a distinctly different flavor. The architecture she could view from the ship spoke of Roman engineering and Renaissance artistry.
“Captain Morrison has arranged to drop the remaining military supplies at the British fortification in Messina after we complete our business in Rome,” Darcy informed them as he supervised the unloading of their traveling bags. “We have until Friday morning to locate the next clue.”
“Only two days?” The timeline was compressed. “Is that sufficient?”
“It will have to be if we want to remain on theMary Catherine,” her father replied. “Rome has been revealing its secrets to scholars for centuries. I have every confidence that we shall succeed.”
Prudence approached with Tommy beside her, his arms full of linens. “Arrangements will be made for proper bathing facilities at theAlbergo della Lunalocated up from the harbor. Fresh water, soap, and laundry service are available there. Once Tommy takes it to the laundress, your clothing will be delivered to the ship before we sail.”
Gratitude filled Elizabeth at the prospect of hot water and clean garments. The past week at sea, culminating in their encounter with the warship, had left her feeling grimy and windblown despite her best efforts with shipboard cleanliness.
“Your cousin is not coming with us?” her father asked Darcy.
“Captain Morrison’s contacts here may be able to provide valuable information to help make our travel to Sicily safer. Richard decided it was wise to join him during the discussions.”
Prudence nodded.
An hour later, Elizabeth emerged from the inn’s bathing chamber feeling refreshed and renewed. Her traveling gown had been brushed and pressed, her hair properly washed and arranged, and her skin was blissfully free of salt residue. The simple pleasure of cleanliness had become a luxury.
The carriage that Prudence assisted Darcy to hire forthe land journey to Rome was well-appointed but compact for three passengers and their luggage. She also recommended lodgings, and their driver concurred. As they settled in for the fifty-mile ride, Elizabeth was pressed closely between Darcy and the window, with her father occupying the opposite side. Despite the discomfort, Elizabeth was pleased with the forced proximity to the man courting her. Their shared experience aboard the warship had substantially increased their intimacy. When the carriage swayed around a sharp curve, throwing him against her shoulder, he made no effort to move away.
The Italian countryside rolled past their windows, stunning in its pastoral beauty. Vineyards climbed hillsides in neat terraces, ancient olive groves cast silver shadows in the afternoon sun, and occasional ruins spoke of Rome’s enduring influence throughout the peninsula. Elizabeth was eager to absorb every detail of this landscape that had inspired poets and artists for millennia. “It is so much more alive than I expected,” she said, seeing a shepherd guide his flock across a meadow dotted with wildflowers. “In England, we think of Italy as a museum of ancient glories, but this feels vibrantly present.”
“I agree,” Darcy replied, leaning closer to share her view.
She enjoyed having these new experiences with him. And with her father, too.
Rome revealeditself gradually as their carriage approached the city in the late afternoon light. First, they came to newer constructions built around and atop older foundations, creating a palimpsest of architectural history. Then the walls themselves, massive and enduring, spoke of an empire that had once commanded the known world.
“Well, I have never,” her father said as they passed through one of the gates. “It is overwhelming.”
Elizabeth completely agreed with his sentiments. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of Rome or the casual way in which its inhabitants conducted their daily business among monuments that predated Christ.
Their lodgings at theAlbergo del Soleproved comfortable and well-situated near theForum Romanum.After having a light meal, they ventured forth to search for Professor Drye’s clue.
The Forum at sunset was magnificent beyond description. Golden light struck the stone columns and arches, turning the weathered marble to an almost ethereal glow. Elizabeth tried to absorb the magnitude of the history surrounding them.
“Where the eagle’s shadow falls upon the seven hills, seek the scholar who fled with flame-touched scrolls,” her father recited from memory as they walked among the ruins. “In the house of law, wisdom sleeps beneath marble feet.”
They examined statue after statue, searching for signs of hidden compartments or concealed messages. TheBasilica Julia,where Roman courts had once dispensed justice, seemed the most likely location forthe house of law,but the area yielded no obvious clues.
It was near theColonna di Focathat her father suddenly stopped, his attention fixed on the base of a statue of the philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius. “Here!” he said with quiet exultation. “Look at the inscription on the pedestal.”
Elizabeth moved closer, studying the Latin text carved into the marble. In the formal dedication, she spotted an irregularity—letters that seemed deeper, arranged in a pattern that formed words when read selectively.
