Alaric's Gold

Robert Fortune

Description

Does a river bed in southern Italy still conceal a priceless hoard of Roman treasure that was buried in the grave of Alaric the Goth just months after his warlike hordes had sacked Rome in 410 AD?Set in modern day Italy, this is the light-hearted story about the recovery of that treasure. The cast includes a roguish Prime Minister, his favourite escort girl, dissolute diplomats, corrupt police officers and the mafia, while the action involves a helicopter jail break, kidnappings, a shoot-out with the mafia, and the discovery of a hoard of riches from the ancient world. On one level this is a light and amusing tale set in the present day, but on another level it draws on genuine historical records to point the way to one of the richest graves in antiquity - a grave that had been constructed in a river bed after its waters had been diverted 'by the labour of a captive multitude', a grave containing 'the splendid spoils and trophies of Rome'; one whose secrecy was assured by the 'inhuman massacre of the prisoners who had been employed to execute the work' - and one about which the world appears largely to have forgotten. Quotes are taken from Edward Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Penguin Classics: June 2000)

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 18 décembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781784628758
• Langue: English

Extrait

Alaric's Gold
Robert Fortune

Copyright © 2014 Robert Fortune
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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Contents

Cover


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


Epilogue
Chapter 1

As the red hot branding iron was brought closer to his face Richard Harris realised that it was due to his own recklessness that he now found himself in this predicament.
Manacled to the wall in the gloomy medieval cellar, it seemed that his tormentor had started to assume a menace that was all too much in keeping with the surroundings. The homely glow of the fire and the fragrant smell of pine logs in the brazier seemed strangely at odds with the very real danger in which he now stood.
It had been his determination to uncover the ancient burial chamber in the bed of the river Busento with its hoard of Roman treasure that had led him to ignore the dire warnings he had been given about the viciousness of the local mafia.
The tomb was that of Alaric the Visigoth who had led his victorious troops south through Italy after capturing and sacking Rome in 410 AD. He had allowed his soldiers three days of looting before they were ordered to leave the ancient city. Then ‘at the head of an army encumbered with rich and weighty spoils’, Alaric had travelled down to Reggio at the toe of Italy, from where he intended to cross the narrow stretch of sea to Sicily before moving on to the even richer prize of Africa.
Unfortunately for the Goth, a storm sprang up in the Straits of Messina, his fleet was scattered and many of his ships were lost. Shortly after this disaster he contracted a mysterious illness and, not wishing to die in a strange land, he began to lead his army back home. He had not travelled far when, in the southern town of Cosenza, his condition deteriorated and he died.
It was then in the words of the historian Edward Gibbon in ‘The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ that ‘the ferocious character of the barbarians was displayed in the funeral of a hero, whose valour and fortune they celebrated with mournful applause. By the labour of a captive multitude, they forcibly diverted the course of the Busento, a small river that washes the walls of Consentia. The royal sepulchre, adorned with the splendid spoils, and trophies of Rome, was constructed in the vacant bed ; the waters were then restored to their natural channel, and the secret spot where the remains of Alaric had been deposited, was forever concealed by the inhuman massacre of the prisoners who had been employed to execute the work.’
This was the goal that had brought the young man and his girlfriend Sarah Sharp to the small town in southern Italy, armed with the latest geophysical instruments to see if they could succeed where others, less well equipped, had failed.
Richard had just qualified as a barrister and Sarah as an archaeologist, and between them they brought a good deal more enthusiasm than experience.
This was also the goal that had landed them both in a makeshift prison at the mercy of the ’Ndrangheta, a local and particularly deadly strain of the mafia.
They had been seized in the early hours of the morning when they had been examining the ground in the shallows underneath the arches of the bridge that spanned the confluence of the rivers Crati and Busento, and which, with a nod to legend, was known as the Ponte Alarico.
This was the most public and visible area that they had explored and they had deliberately chosen a time when they believed that they would be unobserved.
Two men dressed in balaclavas and armed with machine pistols had thought differently. For the past week they had been watching every move the pair had made.
As Richard and Sarah walked along the dried up river bed accompanied only by the steady flashing lights and rhythmic hum of their sonar device, the whole area was suddenly bathed in light. A Land Rover skidded to a halt by the edge of the river. Attached to its roof was a row of powerful spotlights of the kind used by hunters to dazzle their prey before picking them off at leisure.
Seconds later the early morning peace was shattered by a hail of machine gun fire that whistled over their heads and bit angry gouges out of the stone work of the bridge.
Before Richard and Sarah had a chance to wipe the brick dust from their eyes, hoods had been thrown over their heads, and with the percussion of gunfire still ringing in their ears, they were bundled into the back of the Land Rover.
It seemed to be for less than a minute that they were thrown around on the back seat as the vehicle plunged into potholes and bounced over cobblestones taking them ever deeper into the labyrinth of narrow passages that made up the medieval quarter of the Italian town of Cosenza.
In a matter of moments they were pulled out of the vehicle and incarcerated in an ancient building in the heart of a maze of ancient buildings where a kidnap victim could quite literally disappear.
Upon arrival they were separated. Richard was pushed bruised and bleeding down a flight of stairs that led to a dank and musty cellar. Scarcely a word was spoken; the only sound was of grating metal as he was handcuffed to a length of rusty chains that had been thrown across the colossal oak beam that spanned the width of the cellar.
With his limbs fettered and his back pressed against the wall he could feel small rivulets of icy water trickling down the courses of crumbling mortar before landing silently in the thick carpet of moss that covered the floor. In stark contrast, the heat from an iron brazier in the middle of the floor made his face and chest perspire creating tiny wisps of steam that curled upwards in the cold air.
No natural light penetrated the cellar and, apart from the flickering glow cast by the flames, he was in darkness. An age passed during which Richard had had neither sight nor sound of Sarah or his captors. The last noise he had heard was of the iron bolt on the heavy wooden door being shot into solid masonry.
Then there was just the steady hiss of sap from the pine logs in the fire; the rest was silence.
Chained and confined, there was ample time for reflection on the circumstances that had led him and his girlfriend into this perilous position.

* * *

Just two months earlier they had been on a plane to Venice.
“Feel free to congratulate me,” said Richard.
“And why would I want to do that?” asked Sarah.
“Take a look out of the window.”
It was Sarah’s first visit to Venice but Richard’s second and he had remembered to book seats on the right hand side of the plane. Now as they were about to make the final turn before coming in to land they had the perfect view of Venice; so close and so compact, Sarah felt that she could reach out of her window and scoop up the whole city in the palm of her hand.
At the beginning of the year they had promised themselves a week in La Serenissima as an incentive to get through their studies. Richard had duly been called to the Bar and Sarah had completed her degree in archaeology. Now they each had a few months before the real world would intrude.
Richard had yielded the window seat to his girlfriend, but although he had made much of this concession, he was glad to be able to stretch his tall frame in the aisle. She had relaxed by the window and enjoyed a panoramic view over the lagoon before the plane came in to land.
Sarah had a slim youthful figure topped with a well-defined face. A friendly, ingenuous expression looked out from beneath abundant brown ringlets. Her honey golden skin was the product of her parentage. Having an English father and an Italian mother, she had inherited from the former a placid easy going nature that could sometimes be displaced by the volatile and passionate personality bequeathed by the latter. Occasionally a comet-like burst of rage would explode across the skies only to disperse moments later and vanish harmlessly into deep space.
At times like these Richard would raise his head and pretend to sniff the air before commenting that he could smell the warm breath of the Mediterranean; an observation that seldom defused the situation.
Temperamentally it was the attraction of opposites; Richard was calm and relaxed while Sarah was mercurial and feisty. Slim with short dark hair and a build in proportion to his height, Richard appeared to have made a pact with his body. In return for the occasional visit to the gym he was allowed to eat and drink with impunity.
Together they made an attractive couple. Intellectually, Sarah was the more gifted, but this was not a superiority that Richa