Chapter 25
Two days later, Elizabeth stepped carefully from the Mary Catherine onto 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 the Mary 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 the Albergo della Luna located 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 for the 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 revealed itself 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 the Albergo del Sole proved comfortable and well-situated near the Forum 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. The Basilica Julia, where Roman courts had once dispensed justice, seemed the most likely location for the house of law, but the area yielded no obvious clues.
It was near the Colonna di Foca that 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.
“Ubi Lycei heres reges docuit, el sapiential en tectis ambulavit, Mercator verborum ultimum munus reliquit. Quaerite benedictionem noctuae ubi philosophia nata est,” Darcy read slowly, his classical education serving them well.
Her father translated. “Where the Lyceum’s heir taught kings, and wisdom walked in covered halls, the merchant of words left his final gift.
Seek the owl’s blessing where philosophy was born,” he said, his voice quickening.
“The Lyceum, Aristotle’s school in Athens.
And the owl, which is Athena’s symbol, the goddess of wisdom. ”
“Athens,” Elizabeth said. “We are bound for Greece.”
Elizabeth, her father, and Darcy each carefully copied the inscription into their journals as twilight deepened around them.
“We shall need to inform Captain Morrison of our need to reach Piraeus,” her father said. “For now, I am too weary for further exploration.”
“Papa, you should rest,” Elizabeth agreed, noting the fatigue in her father’s bearing.
Darcy offered, “If it is agreeable to you, sir, I will see if the inn has a maid who could accompany Elizabeth and me on a brief tour of the city this evening. Then we can all see the city fresh tomorrow.”
Back at their lodgings, her father retired to his chamber, leaving Darcy, Elizabeth, and an attentive English-speaking woman named Bianca Rosellini to continue their Roman adventure. The three emerged onto the lamp-lit street.
Darcy hailed a carriage. “Where shall we begin?”
“The fountains,” Signora Rosellini replied. “They are unlike anything else in the world.”
At the center of the city, they arrived at the Trevi Fountain, where the sound of cascading water created a symphony in the warm evening air. The baroque masterpiece was illuminated by torches, creating a scene of almost magical beauty.
An elderly artist sat near the fountain’s edge with his sketching materials spread around him like a painter’s coat. His hands moved with surprising speed and precision as he captured the fountain’s grandeur.
“Buona sera,” Elizabeth called in Italian. “Your work is beautiful.”
The old man looked up with twinkling eyes and a smile on his lined face. “Grazie, signorina. You are English, si? I am Mario Benedetti. I have been drawing Roma for more years than you have been alive.”
“Might we commission some drawings?” Elizabeth asked in English, producing her set of fine chalks and her journal. “I would gladly trade these for some miniatures of the city’s most beautiful sites.”
Signor Benedetti examined her art supplies with undisguised pleasure. “These are magnifico! Si, si, we make a trade that will make us both happy.”
What followed was a delightful hour of artistic collaboration.
When Elizabeth mentioned the dolphins that they had seen in the wake of the Mary Catherine, the artist drew them cavorting on the edges of her journal pages.
Then he created exquisite miniatures in her journal of the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Castel Sant’Angelo, and a dozen other landmarks, exhibiting skill born of long practice.
Finally, he gestured for Darcy and Elizabeth to pose before the fountain itself.
Using two full pages, he sketched rapidly. “Una bella memoria,” he said. “A beautiful memory of your time in the Eternal City.”
As Signor Benedetti put the finishing touches on their portrait, he studied Darcy with the shrewd assessment of an artist accustomed to reading human nature.
“You wish to impress the bella signorina, si?” he asked. “The Colosseum, the Forum, the monuments of war and victory, these are impressive, but they speak of power, not amore.”
“I…that is…”
Signor Benedetti continued, “To win a lady’s heart in Roma, you must take her to the Villa Giulia at sunset, or Isola Tiberina at dawn.
There, the morning light turns the river to gold, and the island seems to float like a dream.
But the most romantic…” he leaned closer conspiratorially.
“The most romantic is Pincian Hill, where lovers have walked since the time of Augustus.”
Signora Rosellini nodded in agreement.
Elizabeth attempted to maintain proper composure, though the old artist’s romantic advice thrilled her. “Sounds lovely.”
“Tomorrow evening,” Darcy said suddenly, his intense gaze meeting hers. “Would you―that is, if your father or Signora Rosellini is available―enjoy seeing the sunset from Pincian Hill?”
“I should like that very much,” Elizabeth replied, aware that his intention went beyond mere sightseeing.
Thanking the artist, they made their way back through Rome’s ancient streets, the city’s magic settling around them like a warm cloak.