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“The usual ways, I guess. We start with the things that were already here in 452.”
“The town was founded in the first century, so it was already three hundred years old when Attila arrived.”
“It was just a little village along the shore. Without much warning, out of the north comes Attila the Hun, of all people, at the head of a huge army of horsemen. He had just devastated much of northern Italy on his way here.”
“The people were probably too busy running to look at him closely,” said Remi. “I know I would have been.”
“Me too. That’s how Venice was founded. People running from Attila as he came down from the north hid on the islands. When he left, they didn’t.”
“Okay, smart guy,” she said. “The towns around here have changed. But the place where the river leaves the lake must be the same.”
“That’s logical.”
Remi said, “So Attila and about fifty or a hundred thousand warriors and their horses and wagons came this far south, loaded with the plunder of northern Italy. They camped south of here where the Mincio ran into the Po. Then the Roman delegation, consisting of Pope Leo, the Consul Avienus, and the Prefect Trigetius, arrived. What the two sides said to each other was never revealed. All the accounts are guesswork. What we know is that because Italy was in the middle of a famine, there was not much food for the Huns to steal. There was also an epidemic, and many of the Huns already had fallen sick. Marcian, the new emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, was encroaching on the Danube, which would threaten the Hun strongholds. For whatever combination of reasons, Attila and his men packed up and returned north, giving up his chance to rescue Honoria f
rom her brother and gain control of the Roman Empire.”
“Let’s think a minute,” said Sam. “He’s heading home. But he hopes to come back in a year or two and conquer Rome. He’s loaded down with loot from northern Italy. So he leaves a treasure to resupply his troops on his next attempt. Where would he leave it?”
“At the place where he stopped to camp,” Remi said. “It’s as far south as he got. That’s the place where he could safely and secretly bury whatever he wanted to. And if he was going to use it to resupply his army, the road to Rome is the place to do it.”
“Right.”
“So we agree. It’s where the Mincio meets the Po?”
“I think so. The place where he turned back has got to be where the world was lost.”
“Let’s start with the west side of the Mincio. If you’re coming down Lake Garda, that’s the less mountainous side, so it’s the most sensible way to travel.”
“All right,” said Sam. “Let’s go check into our hotel. On the way, we can tell Selma to track down the equipment we’ll need.”
As they walked toward their car, Remi called Selma in California and put her on speaker.
“Hi, Remi.”
“Hi, Selma. We’re here in Peschiera del Garda and we think we know where to search. But we’ll need a handheld magnetometer and a good metal detector.”
“They’re waiting in your hotel. I ordered two of each.”
“Why, thank you, Selma,” said Remi.
“Once I saw the pictures of the big iron slabs, I knew you’d be needing detectors. Anything else you want, just let me know.”
“You got it,” said Remi. “Has Albrecht arrived yet?”
“Not yet. His plane arrives in about two hours. Pete and Wendy are going to pick him up. We’ve got his room ready and plenty of space and computer equipment set up.”
“Thanks, Selma,” said Sam. “We’ll start work this afternoon.”
Remi added, “We’ll call and let you know if anything turns up. Has Bako moved yet?”
“You’re safe for the moment. Tibor says that Bako and his men are still in Szeged. If they understood the message, they’re in no hurry to get to Italy.”
“That’s the best news of the day,” said Remi.
“Glad to oblige. I’ll talk to you if anything changes,” Selma said and then hung up.
Remi put the phone away and they drove to their hotel, a white building on the beach with a cordon of bright red beach umbrellas that made it look as though it belonged a few miles to the east on the Adriatic. After checking into the hotel and examining their equipment, Remi and Sam went to see the concierge, a fifty-year-old woman wearing a tailored gray suit with the hotel’s logo on the left lapel. “May I help you?” she said, her lightly tinted glasses glinting.
