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upon them both.
     

Chapter Four
     
    The dawn air was cool as Gervase and Hugh rode up the track behind the church with the broken spire. Both men wore winter clothes, Gervase the greatcoat that had led Teresa to believe him to be her assailant, and Hugh a mock-military coat for which he still owed his tailor. Gervase wished he hadn’t allowed Hugh to persuade him to come on what might prove a hazardous exercise, but it was too late now.
    Behind them the moonlit bay was dotted with the torches of fishing boats, and Naples itself was still ablaze with lights. The city rose from the quays, tier upon tier of houses that in daylight were bright terra-cotta, yellow, coral, and parchment, and from time to time fireworks could bee seen and heard. But up here the only sound that really mattered was the disturbing rumble of Vesuvius to the east.
    Violets and anemones scented the air as the track wound up through groves of oranges and olives, and then the shadows became purple and mysterious as evergreen trees, oak, and cypress closed in around the track. The atmosphere was strange and alien, and the horses were nervous, tossing their heads occasionally as if sensing something disagreeable nearby. At last the track petered out into nothing, seeming to offer no certain way forward—only the prospect of returning down the mountain. The trees whispered unsettlingly, and suddenly the lights of Naples were nowhere to be seen.
    Gervase reined in to scan the gently moving foliage, and his breath was silvery in the dawn cold. A shiver passed through him. Fanciful thoughts came more easily in places such as this, so fanciful it was possible to believe in Pan’s power to strike unreasoning terror into men’s hearts. He removed his hat to run his fingers through his hair, and looked at Hugh. “Right, Coz, this is your expedition, so which direction do you select? Back to the Riviero de Chiaia, I hope?”
    “That Sylvanus fellow said we would find our way straight to our destination, and having come this far, I intend to test his claims,” Hugh replied.
    “So he did, and if one believes that, one will believe anything, including the existence of Ariadne’s diadem.” Gervase smiled.
    Hugh flushed. “I’m not here because I believe in any diadem.”
    “No, we’re here because you were drunk and allowed yourself to be goaded.” As he replaced his hat, Gervase recalled those moments at the inn. Just why had the stranger set out to lure them up here? Maybe it would prove to be an ambush after all, but somehow he didn’t think so. No doubt all would soon be revealed. He kicked his heel to move his horse on, but the animal balked, and so he dismounted. “It seems my nag doesn’t wish to proceed,” he murmured, tying the reins to a low-hanging branch.
    “Flea-bitten Neapolitan jades,” Hugh muttered, alighting as well.
    The two men made little sound as they walked through the springy grass. In spite of the night chill, the scent of flowers was almost heady, especially the violets that bloomed so freely in the hollows. The trees continued to rustle, and Vesuvius grumbled in the distance, but then the sound of trickling water carried on the air. They made toward it instinctively, and gradually the trees thinned into a grove where a spring splashed gently into a deep shining pool.
    Gervase smiled. “Behold, the sylvan resting place of Ariadne’s diadem,” he observed.
    “It’s just a grove,” Hugh answered disappointedly, although what else he had expected he didn’t know.
    They approached the pool and looked down at the shimmering surface, from where the moon and stars gazed back as clearly as if from another universe. Suddenly the hitherto constant rumble of Vesuvius was briefly stilled, and in the fleeting silence Gervase thought he heard something.
    He put a hand on Hugh’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
    “What? Oh, you mean Vesuvius has stopped. Yes, I hear.”
    “No, it’s something else. There it is again. It’s