uniformly in the center of the carved chamber, the forbidding place

might have been mistaken for the catacombs beneath Rome.

Venator peered at the copper tags attached to the crates, checking their

numbers against those on a scroll he flattened on a small folding table.

The air was dry and heavy, and sweat began to course through the layers

of dust that blanketed his skin. Two hours later, satisfied everything

was catalogued and in proper order, he rolled up the scroll and slid it

into a sash at his waist.

He took one final, solemn look at the objects in the gallery and exhaled

a sigh of regret. He knew he would never see or touch them again.

Tiredly, he turned, held the little lamp in front of him and retraced

his steps through the tunnel.

Venator was not a young man; he was approaching his fifty-seventh year.

tired dragging steps reflected the weariness of a man who had no more

heart for life. And yet, down deep, he felt a glow of warmth it-from an

inner satisfaction. The immense project was successfully completed; the

great burden lifted from his bent shoulders. All that remained for him

was to survive the long voyage to Rome.

He passed four other tunnels leading off into the hill. One had been

blocked off by a great pile of rubble. Twelve slaves excavating deep

inside had perished when the roof collapsed.

They were still in there, crushed and buried where they fell.

Venator felt little remorse. Better for them to have died quickly than

suffer years of misery in the mines of the Empire on a bare subsistence

diet before dropping from disease or being abandoned when they were too

old to work.

He took the far passage on the left and walked toward a pale glimmer of

daylight. The entrance shaft had been hand-cut inside a small grotto

and measured two-and-a-half meters in diameter-just wide enough to

permit entry of the largest crates.

Suddenly the sound of a faraway scream echoed down the shaft from the

outside. A frown of concern furrowed Venator's forehead, and he

increased his pace. Out of habit he squinted his eyes against the

brilliance of the sun as he stepped into its light. He hesitated and

studied the camp that lay a short distance away on a sloping plain. A

group of Roman legionaries stood around several barbarian women. One

young girl screamed again and tried to scramble away. She almost broke

through the cordon of soldiers, but one of them grabbed her by her long

flowing black hair. He pulled her back, and she stumbled to her knees

in the coarse dirt.

A huge, hard-bitten character spied Venator and approached. The man was

a giant, standing a good full head above everyone else in camp, with

great shoulders and hips joined nearly as one, and a pair of oak-beam

arms ending in hands that dropped almost to his knees.

Latinius Macer, a Gaul, was the chief overseer of the slaves. He waved