Treasure

Clive Cussler

TREASURE

BY CLIVE CUSSLER

Books by Clive Cussler

Sahara

Dragon

Treasure

Cyclops

Deep Six

Pacific Vortex

Night Probe!

Vixen 03

Raise the Titanic!

Iceberg

The Mediterranean Caper

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portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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ISBN: 0-671-70465-6

First Pocket Books printing November 1988

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POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster

Printed in the U.S.A.

A NOTE TO THE READER

Please forgive the inconvenience of converting measurements from what

most Americans are used to. But in 1991 the United States finally

became the last nation on earth to convert to the metric system.

It's easy.

1 kilometer roughly equals a little more than 1/2 Mile.

1 meter is slightly more than a yard, about 39 inches.

THE ALEXANDRIA LIBRARY truly existed, and if it had remained unravished

by wars and religious zealots it would have given us not only the

knowledge of the Egyptian, Greek and Roman empires, but those

little-known civilizations that rose and fell far beyond the shores of

the Mediterranean.

In A.D. 391 Christian Emperor Theodosius ordered all books and art

depicting anything remotely pagan, which included the teachings of the

immortal Greek philosophers, burned and destroyed.

Much of the collection was thought to have been secretly saved and

spirited away. What became of it, or where it was hidden, remains a

mystery sixteen centuries later.

THE PRECURSORS

July 15, A.D. 391

A land unknown A small, flickering light danced eerily through the black

of the tunneled passageway. A man dressed in a woolen tunic that

dropped below his knees paused and raised an oil lamp above his head.

The dim glow illuminated a human figure inside a gold-and-crystal casket

while casting a grotesque, wavering shadow against the smoothly cut wall

behind. The man in the tunic stared into the sightless eyes for a few

moments, and then he lowered the lamp and turned away.

He studied the long line of stationary forms that stood in deathlike

silence, so great in number they seemed to trail off into infinity

before vanishing in the darkness of the long cavern.

Junius Venator moved on, his strap sandals scraping over the uneven

floor with a bare whisper of sound. Gradually, the tunnel widened into

a vast gallery. Soaring to a height of nearly thirty feet, the domed

ceiling was divided by a series of arches to give it structural

strength. Gutters carved in the limestone spiraled down the walls so

water seepage could run into deep drainage basins. The walls were laced

with cavities filled with thousands of strange-looking circular

containers made of bronze. Except for the large wooden crates stacked

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

a greeting and spoke in a voice that was surprisingly high-pitched.

"Is all in readiness?" he asked.

Venator nodded. "The tally is finished. You can seal off the

entrance."

"Consider it done."

"What is the disturbance in camp?"

Macer glanced at the soldiers, peering through black, cold eyes, and

spat on the ground. "Stupid legionaries became restless and raided a

village five leagues north of here. The massacre was senseless. At

least forty barbarians were killed. Only ten were men, the rest women

and children. And for no good reason. No gold, no booty worth mule

dung. Returned with a few ugly women to gamble over. Little else."

Venator's face tensed. "Were there any other survivors?"

"I was told two of the men escaped into the brush,"

"They will sound the alarm in other villages. I fear Severus has kicked

a hornet's nest."

"Severus!" Macer spat the word in unison with another salvo of saliva.

"That damned centurion and his lot do nothing but steep and drink our

wine supply. A pain in the buttocks to bring the lazy baggage along, in

my judgment."

"They were hired to protect us," Venator reminded him.

"from what?" Macer demanded. "Primitive heathen who eat insects and

reptiles?"

"Gather the slaves and seal off the tunnel quickly. And make a good job

of it. The barbarians must not be able to dig through after we leave."

"Little fear of that. from what I've seen, no one around this cursed

land has mastered the art of metalworking." Macer paused and pointed to

the massive heap of excavated takings poised above the entrance to the

shaft, precariously held in place by a giant crib of logs. "Once that

falls, you can stop worrying about your precious antiquities. No

barbarian will ever get to them. Not by scratching with his bare

hands."

Reassured, Venator dismissed the overseer and strode angrily toward the

tent of Domitius Severus. He passed the personal emblem of the military

detachment, a silver symbol of Taurus the bull atop a lance, and brushed

aside the sentry who attempted to block his passage.

He found the centurion seated in a camp chair, contemplating a naked,

unwashed barbarian woman, who sat on her haunches, uttering a chorus of

strange vowel sounds. She was young, no more than fourteen. Severus

was wearing a brief red tunic clasp over his left shoulder. His bare

arms were ornamented with two bronze bands fastened around his biceps.

They were the muscled arms of a soldier, trained for the sword and

shield. Severus did not bother to look up at Venator's sudden

appearance.

"This is how you pass your time, Domitius?" snapped Venator, his voice

coldly sarcastic. "Scorning God's will by raping a heathen child?"

Severus slowly turned his hard gray eyes to Venator. "The day is too

warm to listen to your Christian tripe. My god is more tolerant than

your god."

"True, but you worship a pagan."

"Purely a matter of preference. Neither of us has met our gods face to

face. Who is to say who is right?"

"Christ was the son of the true God!"

Severus gave Venator a look of exasperation. "You have invaded my

privacy. State your case and leave."

"So you can ravage this poor heathen?"

Severus did not answer. He rose, grabbed the chanting girl by the arm

and threw her roughly on his camp cot.

"Would you care to join me, Junius? You may go first,"

Venator stared at the centurion. A chill of fear ran through him. The

Roman centurion who led an infantry unit was expected to be a hard

master. This man was merciless, a savage.

"Our mission here is finished," said Venator. "Macer and the slaves are

preparing to seal off the storage cave. We can strike camp and return

to the ships."

"Eleven months tomorrow since we left Egypt. One more day to enjoy the

local pleasures will not matter."

"Our mission was not to pillage. The barbarians will seek revenge. We

are few, they are many,"

"I'll match my legionaries against any horde the barbarians can throw

against us."

"Your men have grown soft as mercenaries."

"They haven't forgotten how to fight," Severus said with a confident

smile.

"But will they die for the honor of Rome?"

"Why should they? Why should any of us? The great years of the

Empire have come and gone. Our once glorious city on the Tiber has

turned into a slum. Little Roman blood runs in our veins. Most of my

men are natives of the provinces. I am a Spaniard and you are Greek,

Junius, In these chaotic days who can feel an ounce of loyalty toward an

emperor who rules far to the east in a city none of us have ever seen?

No, Junius, my soldiers will fight because they are professionals and

because they are paid to fight."

"It may be the barbarians will give them no choice."

"We'll deal with that scum when the time comes."

"Better to avoid conflict. I say we leave before dark-"

Venator was interrupted by a loud rumble that shook the ground. He

rushed from the tent and stared at the cliff wall. The slaves had pulled

the supports from under the crib, releasing a thundering avalanche that

plunged over the cave opening, burying it beneath tons of massive

boulders. A great dust cloud erupted and spilled into the ravine. The

echoing rumble was followed by cheers from the slaves and legionnaires.

"It's done," said Venator, his voice solemn, his face weary. "The wisdom

of the ages is safe."

Severus came and stood beside him. "A pity the same can't be said for

us."

Venator turned. "If God grants us a smooth voyage home, what have we to

fear?"

"Torture and execution," said Severus flatly. "We have defied the

Emperor. Theodosius does not forgive easily. There will be no place

for us to hide in the Empire. Better we find refuge in a foreign land."

"My wife and daughter . . . they were to meet me at our family villa at

Antioch."

"The Emperor's agents have probably intercepted them by now. They are

either dead or sold into slavery."

Venator shook his head disbelievingly. "I have friends in power who

will protect them until my return."

"Friends can be threatened and bought."

Venator's eyes widened in sudden defiance. "No sacrifice is too heavy

for what we have achieved. All would be for nothing if we did not

return with a record and chart of the voyage. "

Severus was about to reply when he observed his second in command,

Artofius Noricus, running up the slight grade toward the tent. The

young legionary's dark face glistened in the noonday heat, and he was

gesturing up at the edge of the low cliffs.

Venator held up a hand to ward off the sun and stared upward. His mouth

pressed into a tight line.

"The barbarians, Severus. They have come to pay back the sack of their

village."

It was as if the hills swarmed with ants. Over a thousand barbarian men

and women stared down at the cruel intruders of their land. They were

armed with bows and arrows, shields of leather hide and spears with

chipped obsidian points. Some gripped clubs of rock tied to short

wooden handles. The men wore only waistcloths.

They stood in stony silence, expressionless, savage, and as ominous as

an approaching storm.

"Another force of barbarians has massed between us and our ships!"

Noricus shouted.

Venator turned, his face ashen. "This is the result of your stupidity,

Severus." His voice was vicious with anger. "You have killed us all."

Then he dropped to his knees and began to pray.

"Your divinity will not Turn the barbarians into sheep, old man,"

Severus said sarcastically. "Only the sword can provide deliverance."

He turned and took Noricus by the arm and began issuing commands. "Order

the bugler to sound battle assembly. Tell Latinius Macer to arm the

slaves. Form the men in a tight fighting square. We'll march in

formation to the river."

"Bugler!"

Noricus threw a taut salute and ran for the center of the camp.

The infantry unit of sixty soldiers quickly formed in a hollow square.

The Syrian archers took their place on the flanks between the armed

slaves, facing outward, while the Romans formed on front and rear.

Screened in the center were Venator and his small staff of Egyptian and

Greek aides and a three man medical unit.

The main infantry weapons of fourth-century Rome were the gladius, a

double-edged pointed sword eighty-two centimeters long, and the pilum, a

two-meter throwing and thrusting spear. for protection and armor, the

soldiers wore an iron helmet with hinged cheek pieces that tied under

the chin with a strap and looked like a jockey cap with the brim turned

backward, a cuirass made up of overlapping metal plates encircling the

body and covering the shoulders, and a guard worn over the shins called

a greave- Their defensive tool was an oval shield made out of laminated

wood.

Instead of rushing in to attack, the barbarians took their time and

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