Roman Ice Read online

  Roman Ice

  Dave Bartell

  Copyright © 2018 by David W. Bartell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my wife, Diane, who encouraged me to write.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Darwin Lacroix choked on his coffee when he read the headline:

  ROMAN DIAMONDS FOUND IN ICELAND

  Today’s edition of Le Monde lay on an unoccupied seat of the high-speed TGV (France’s Train à Grande Vitesse). He picked up the paper with his free hand and coughed again from the coffee that had gone down the wrong way. Darwin began reading and braced himself against the seat back as the train swept through a curve on its way to Paris. The subheadline announced:

  €10,000,000 IN UNCUT GEMS

  A photo of diamonds, some coins, and pottery shards topped the article about an accidental discovery in eastern Iceland. Part of a university dig site had caved in when a truck parked too close. He looked closer. The face on one coin was identical to those discovered in London and Herculaneum.

  “Merde,” he said and looked around. It was early afternoon, and the train had few passengers. He tucked the paper under his arm and continued up the aisle. Back at his seat, he scanned a few websites on his mobile, but there were no more details available. He thought of Agrippa’s crude map and its markings in Caledonia. Bits of the treasure so far north were perplexing, but Darwin’s gut told him this dig site in Iceland held the answer.

  He needed to get there.

  Swiping to a travel app, he found a flight from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Reykjavík the next morning. The secret would not keep. This would be his discovery. And he would prove the Lacroixes right.

  1

  54 AD

  Herculaneum, Italia

  The trading vessel limped into Herculaneum for repairs. Its mast had split just a day after leaving the Roman port city of Ostia, and to make up time, the captain put everyone on the oars.

  “Tell him who you are. He’ll be whipped for this insult,” said Agrippa, pausing to rewrap the rags protecting his tender palms where blisters were boiling up.

  “No,” growled Nero. “We’ll be sent home. I want to see Carthage.”

  “Shut up,” the ship’s first mate grunted through clenched teeth. The captain’s lash had stung his shoulders more than once in the last twelve hours.

  Both Nero and Agrippa were sixteen and had been best friends since childhood. Their families revolved around the inner circle of Roman politics. Agrippa’s family owned the mines whose output produced everything from lead pipes to currency. Nero hailed from the ruling class and was being groomed as the next emperor.

  Nero had persuaded Agrippa to sign on with him to crew a merchant trading ship. Nero said he needed a break from the marriage forced on him earlier that year and was also bored with the “old men” of the senate. He wanted adventure. One last chance to be his own man, Nero would have to mend his own trouble or run like hell.

  Agrippa had agreed to go. As the youngest son, his prospects in the family business were limited. However, their current situation was not much of an adventure.

  Agrippa kneaded the muscles in his forearms. Nero elbowed him as the first mate stepped menacingly toward them. Agrippa grasped the oar and pulled with Nero.

  At last, the craft rounded the breakwater, and the captain visibly relaxed. The Herculaneum harbor and the dockside thrummed with activity. Early afternoon sun reflected off the water to create a riot of shapes and movement. Shadows were swallowed underfoot in the late June sun. Men shouted commands as slaves ran with heavily laden baskets between the boats and carts. Seagulls circled and swooped at the carts, barking their high-pitched calls.

  The steady onshore breeze that helped push the craft into the harbor had abated on the lee side of the breakwater. Agrippa recoiled at the stench. Donkeys, birds, dead fish, and human sweat all mixed in the quayside air.

  “Stay here,” the captain shouted at them as he jumped onto the dock. “Watch them,” he added to the first mate.

  “They won’t be going nowhere, now, will they?” said the wiry first mate, smiling. His remaining three front teeth leaned left, probably from the blow that had knocked out the others.

  “Only to get away from your smell,” said Nero, facing him. The first mate turned as the captain yelled something. Agrippa pulled Nero away and retreated to the stern.

  “Watch it,” said Agrippa.

  “He’s half my size,” Nero puffed.

  “Look at those scars.” Agrippa tipped his head toward the first mate. “He’s not your fighting coaches. He’d slice you before you knew what happened.”r />
  Nero pulled away from Agrippa. “Fine. Let’s get another ship. I don’t want to sit here for two days while they repair this piece of dung.”

  Agrippa scanned the harbor. They had docked about midway along the shorter of the two piers. The longer pier was two boats deep on much of its length. Each pier connected harbor side, where a long series of buildings housed the traders and vendors. If they could get to the chaos of the crowds, they could lose anyone chasing. We need a distraction, he thought sitting against the rail in the shade cast by the sail and dozed in the warm sunshine.

  “What—” Nero poked him awake and pointed aft. All the sailors had gathered at the stern to ogle at the concubines on a magnificent barge opposite them. The strong breeze flapped its crimson banners and pressed the women’s fine robes against curves that teased the sailor’s imagination. One of them made a rutting motion on the railing as the others let out catcalls.

  “Back off!” shouted a legionnaire who lowered his spear.

  “Now!” Nero hissed and leapt onto the pier. Agrippa vaulted the rail and followed. They were almost quayside when they heard the first mate yell.

  “Through here,” Nero shouted while passing behind a stack of crates. Agrippa followed him into the crowd among the din of fishmongers baying out the virtues of their catch.

  Herculaneum was a resort city where the elite waited out the stench of the Roman summer. Its market was a confluence of classes. Slaves bought goods bound for the great houses perched on the hills of the city. Wealthy patricians navigated the crowds in their chariots toward alleys with coveted shops.

  Agrippa marveled at the sights. The smells were pungent and fragrant, and his stomach churned as they passed through a food court. When had they eaten last? Sometime this morning, a ration of dried meat and bread.

  “Come back here!” came an angry shout from his left. A man with a cleaver came around a stall, and Nero ran past him, a smoking skewer in hand.

  “Run, Agrippa,” yelled Nero.

  He followed without thinking, knocking down a man as he spun around behind Nero. They tore through the crowds and soon lost the man, although Agrippa felt as if they had run in a circle. They squeezed into a doorway and sat, knees up, against the wall and shoved the meat into their mouths.

  “Let’s go,” Nero slurred through a full mouth, tossing aside the skewer.

  Stealing food was a crime. In Rome, where they were well known, being caught for stealing would be an inconvenience, but a couple hundred kilometers from home, no one would believe their identities.

  They wandered deeper into the city, amusing themselves with provincial shops and the mix of cultures. Toward the city’s edge, the slope increased, and they found themselves at what looked like a construction site. It was deserted but looked like someone was excavating a ruin. A lone hut contained a rough table, a couple straw mattresses, and—thanks be to Bacchus—wine. Exhausted from the night of rowing and running through town, they soon fell asleep.

  “What are you doing here?” asked a man kicking their feet. He looked more angry than dangerous. The two young men ran to the door, where they collided with a wall of workers. They stopped and turned back around.

  “We were tired,” said Agrippa.

  “Can you pay for what you took?” asked the man.

  “No,” said Nero. “We have no money.”

  “What’s going on, father?” said a young woman. The sun framed her slender figure, revealing a shape that rendered the boys senseless.

  “Nothing to concern you, Sabina,” he said brusquely.

  “We’ll work for you,” Agrippa heard himself say.

  The man snorted. “You’ll work for me? What can you do?”

  “My friend here is the fastest shovel in all of Rome,” said Nero, smiling at Agrippa.

  “Fine. You can work for me today. If you do well enough, we’ll see about tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Agrippa, still in a daze. “I am Agrippa, and this is my friend Nero.”

  “I am Martinus Saturninus. Follow those men. They will show you what to do.”

  They filed out the door, and Agrippa glanced at the young woman. She smiled, and he tripped on a rock.

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Nero as they moved away from the hut.

  “Did you see her?”

  “So what? I don’t want to be here,” said Nero, waving his hand as if dismissing a slave.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Agrippa.

  “There are beautiful women in Carthage, too—and less innocent,” said Nero.

  “She’s… I don’t know… different,” said Agrippa, grinning. His eyes fixed past Nero’s shoulder at Sabina.

  Nero just glared at him.

  “Look, I’ve followed your adventures for years,” said Agrippa, returning his attention to Nero. “Give me a few days here and I promise to lose the memory of anything you do in Carthage.”

  They argued a few more minutes before Nero gave in.

  “Three days,” said Nero. “That’s all.”

  2

  A couple days later they argued again. Nero complained about the backbreaking work and Agrippa’s lack of progress with Sabina. Agrippa tried to plead his case, but Nero stomped off to drink with the other laborers. Agrippa shrugged it off. He knew Nero did not mind labor when it was for his benefit, but he feared Nero was right about Sabina. She seemed to toy with him more than expressing a genuine desire. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and cringed at the stink coming from his raised arm. No wonder Sabina lacked interest.

  He walked to the river, stripped to the waist, and washed the grime from his body. The water revived him after a few minutes and he sat back. He thought of Sabina again and his argument with Nero. His chin slumped on his chest. A column of insects danced in the light above the grass-covered bank. The gurgling river was the only other sound over the faint insect buzzing. Sabina walked over and sat down beside him on the bank. She kicked off her sandals and dangled her feet in the cool water. Agrippa pretended not to notice and waited for her to make the first move.

  “Hi,” said Sabina.

  “Hi,” he said with more fatigue than he intended.

  “You’re not used to hard work, are you?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Adventure.”

  “Not much adventure in digging.”

  “No. There isn’t.”

  The late afternoon sun blazed. She pulled her stola up to her thighs and rubbed water on her legs to cool off. Agrippa watched her slow, graceful movements.

  “What’s your dad doing here? I mean the digging—what’s he looking for?” he asked.

  “He didn’t tell you?” she said.

  A breeze blew hair across her face. She swept it away and leaned on her side to face him. Her green eyes glowed in the slanted sunlight.

  “He said he was paying us to dig and not to ask questions.”

  She rolled onto her back and laughed. “That’s my father. He keeps the old arrogance as if he were still tutoring for the wealthy.”

  “Really?”

  “I had a life in the city, but after Mom died, my dad stopped talking. Then one day he came home and said we’re moving out here,” she said, rolling again onto her side.

  “So, you know what he’s doing?”

  “Of course. He has no one else to talk to. He’s got this idea that there are tunnels underground, something to do with that big mountain,” she said, pointing.

  “Vesuvius?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “So what about it?”

  “Ask him,” she said, and her soft features tightened as she looked away.

  “You must know more,” said Agrippa.

  “I don’t care. He’s just been… I don’t know… stupid. I was happy until he dragged us here,” she said, sitting up and fluffing her hair.

  “I’m sorry.” He paused, trying to recapture the moment. “Did I say something wrong
?”

  “Never mind,” she said and walked away.

  Agrippa was again alone on the bank. Part of him wanted to go after her, but another part of him suddenly wanted to talk with Martinus about the tunnels.

  Martinus was standing over a table when Agrippa walked in. There were several scrolls spread out around a crude map. Agrippa stood for a minute, and then coughed to get his attention.

  “What?” said Martinus. “I’m busy.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Agrippa. “May I ask about your work?”

  “Why?”