Cloacal Adventures

For a while, we lived quietly after our first journey into the tunnels of the ancients. Our money has been hard-earned, and I spent mine upon a new set of clothes and some better equipment - a kettle-hat and a steel buckler along with a few other bits and pieces. All too soon, my pouch was empty once more, with only a few soldi rattling around at the bottom. So we toiled through the summer heat doing little tasks for Cola to keep some food on our little table.

One day, Rocco came back with a real find. While boating in what little remains of the Tiber this August he had chanced upon something. Hidden amongst some bushes, below the normal river level was a rectangular opening to what seemed a tunnel leading deep within the earth - possibly a lost entrance to the tunnels of the ancients, far below the streets of the Eternal City.

Friar Giovanni had taken himself off on a beggar's pilgrimage to some shrine or other, so it was just Rocco, myself, Astore and Father Arturo who signed the contract Cola had drawn up for an exploration. He provided a sturdy boat, two boatmen, and some extra equipment for a sixth part in any treasure recovered, and ownership of inscriptions recovered. I say a sixth part, as he added one more to our company - Signore Bartolo Gaddi , who was a slim young man with delicate hands marked by ink and pigment. Apparently he was skilled at drawing and would record any inscriptions we found for Cola. So we had in all two soldiers, a sailor, a priest and an artist to explore the darkness and dangers of the underworld.

We set off just after dawn, in the coolest part of the day, and soon came to Rocco's secret tunnel. The boatmen proved to be two brothers who argued without much pause the whole way, and in the way that only brothers could without coming to blows. We left them to their bickering as we lit our lanterns and passed into the tunnel. Apart from a few pebbles the tunnel was clean and fresh; for a sewer you might say it was spotless. Soon we would find out what was keeping it so....

Astore led the way with Rocco close by, followed by Father Arturo and Bartolo and myself as rear-guard. Astore heard a faint sucking sound, like a thick stew boiling slowly over the fire, and out of the gloom came a great quivering blob which filled the passage. It had no arms or head, or even legs to carry it, but still the great transluscent bulk oozed forward slowly, remorselessly. Rocco lit a torch, but although it recoiled from the flame, it sought ever to get past it, and would not be halted. It was clear from the first that swords were of no use here. Father Arturo prayed hard for the Saints to aid us, but even he could only make it pause for a moment, before it continued onwards. We retreated back to the light of day, which it could not bear, confirming its nature as some form of Cloacal Demon. Then it retraced its course and vanished into the darkness. We followed it past two side passages and several small openings in the tunnel roof; as we pondered further exploration we saw it return, and so we retreated once more to the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon it became clear that this demon had been set here ages ago to clean the sewers, and still clung to its mission of endlessly sweeping back and forth cleaning, scouring and...absorbing. Its steady and regular pace allowed bold men time to explore the side passages before its return...so we gathered our courage and did so.

Astore and Rocco climbed the steep slope of the first side-passage, and I followed quickly after. Within was a horrible sight - an ancient corpse chained to the wall which strove to catch and claw the living. We struck it hard with cold steel - both with blades and my heavy axe - but still it slashed and thrashed at the end of its chain. Father Arturo prayed with all his might, and called for the unquiet spirit to be brought to eternal rest. It seemed to me that he might have prayed rather too much, for the thing crumbled into a little pile of ashes and dust right enough, but he was so exhausted by his exhortation to Heaven that he could do little but carry a lantern thereafter.

We passed on, through several more chambers and a rockfall, until we came to a door in a passage guarded by two ancient skeletons bearing shields and spears, and wearing fragments of armour. By now we had learned that Bartolo could do more than just draw, but was also a man of some learning and arcane knowledge. By his arts he could tell there was some magic keeping these ancient guards in necromantic bondage, ever faithful, even beyond death. Undaunted Astore, Rocco and I set our steel against theirs but we found these guards to be skilled and immune to pain, for they had no longer flesh to cut or blood to bleed. After Rocco and Astore had taken several hard knocks, we decided that discretion was the finer part of valour and I held off the spear-points with my buckler while the others squeezed past the rockfall back to safety of the chamber beyond. Never has a florin been better spent, for without my buckler I would surely have been sorely wounded before we all escaped. So still they guard the door, in that eternal darkness, endlessly on duty.

We shall need some future stratagem to overcome them, as the soldiers of the ancients know their business in arms. We pondered several schemes while we caught our breath again back in the first chamber above the main passage, but having no Pavise, or War-Wagon in a kit of parts, we decided to press on and explore the second side-passage as we had come to a dead end in this part of the underground.

Now the second side-chamber was much further down the main tunnel and we found that the great jelly would return after only a few minutes once it oozed onwards into the darkness beyond. Once more Astore and Rocco led the way, but the slope of this chamber ended in a very tight squeeze and by the time they had passed within the Cloacal demon oozed forth again, and the rest of us were forced to retreat before it all the way back to the light of day.

By the time we returned to this spot, many minutes had passed and we feared for our companions. I followed them upwards and after much exertion squeezed through a gap in the stonework to join them, followed by Father Arturo and shouts of alarm from below. Arturo had made it by the skin of his...backside, as the thing had oozed after him as he struggled to pass through. Bartolo had been forced to retreat alone in the dark, and it was just as well he could conjure his own light.

In the meantime we found that we had climbed through some place of easement, carved of stone and surrounded by wondrous frescos on the walls. Everything was as fresh as if painted yesterday, and Astore swore that a spirit had offered him a cup of wine before vanishing through the wall. It seemed hard to believe, but those who tried the wine from the silver flagon said it was the finest they had ever tasted. I declined to try it, having heard too many children's stories. It seems I missed a chance, as no harm came to my companions.

After a while Bartolo rejoined us, complaining in no uncertain terms that Father Arturo had not been a model of Christian virtue when the ooze had menaced them both in the tunnel. The good father forbore to argue with him, which tells its own story. Seeing so many wonderful frescos Bartolo readily forgot his complaint, but instead marvelled at them. And there was much more to marvel at, for beyond the place of easement were other chambers - a bedroom and a library, all filled with wonderful things from the ancient world, still fresh and clean as though set out yesterday.

By now we had lost all track of time, so we waited for the great ooze to pass once more before retreating to the outside world again. We took with us two scrolls, lettered in ancient Greek signs, and a pair of silk slippers sewn with many tiny pearls. We found our two boatmen snoozing in the heat of the day, awaiting our return before the last hour of daylight. While taking a short break to eat and drink, we found the weight of time had fallen swiftly upon our booty for the slippers were crumbling rags and the scrolls now fragile and faded.

So we passed swiftly back to those chambers where some glamour of the ancients held back the decay of time, so they might be copied before they became dust and lost forever. While Bartolo took on the task of translation, Father Arturo struggled with some Latin scroll, while the rest of us searched everywhere for a hidden door to these chambers. None could be found. We decided not to use my pry-bar or despoil the chambers lest the glamour be destroyed and the great library of scrolls pass beyond mortal ken.

That took great determination, for there were many things of value there and we remain poor men. But we passed the test, and returned outside before darkness fell to be conveyed back to Cola the way we had come. He was amazed to hear that such ancient things might persist undamaged and delighted by what we had found, but stuck firmly to the letter of the contract we had all signed. So much for our day of hard work - we had seen many wonderful things, but were no richer for it.

But mayhap, if the river is low enough, we may return to glean the knowledge and treasure which remains there....

Gangsters and Necrofagi

For a season I did whatever was needed as a guard, or helped with the unloading of carts and waggons. Meanwhile Rocco worked a boat on the Tiber to support the family of an injured boatman, and the Friar worked as as scribe copying out affairs of business for Cola. And so our little band of brothers formed and survived.

***

Giacomino Strozza

Then at last we were trusted enough to be given an action for Cola - to see off a new strongman threatening the best little whorehouse in Trevi. Our crew was joined by Pino, a young lad who knew the streets of Rome well and who was bursting with the ambition of youth. Good Luck, or Fate, or Providence added two more to our roster as we found Father Arturo and Astore, another soldier, at the whorehouse. They were also on hard times and looking for work, and had just rescued the doorman from the violence of vagabonds. It was indeed a splendid brothel, with a private courtyard and bar as well as six fine girls working for Donna Giulia. She explained that Strozza, the would-be-strongman, had given her an ultimatum to pay blackmail within three days or have her best girl taken - for a start. After some thought, we decided to lay in wait for these rascals and let them make their move. Strozza had put his words out, for all the local trade was scared away and the bar almost empty the evening his villians turned up. Three men armed for affray entered and demanded an answer from Donna Giulia, but they got their answer from us in steel instead, with a few roof tiles thrown in for good measure. They looked a sorry sight when we sent them home bleeding, wearing only their shifts, to report that the whorehouse already enjoyed sufficient protection from street thugs. They left a tidy pile of weapons and armour behind, which we put to good use. We stayed for three days - a terrible trial it was waiting in a grateful whorehouse with nothing to do - but Strozza did not have the bottle to take us on, and those in the streets nearby could see that right plainly.

***

The Necrofagi

Soon Pino returned with another job from Cola, and we marched in haste across the city to another district with a problem to solve and no money to pay. The merchants of Piazza Navona had appealed to Cola for aid as people were being abducted on dark nights, never to be seen again, with no trace left behind - until a small piece of cloth was found in some underground tunnels of the ancients. So this was the first underground action for our crew : search and destroy...something...probably unhuman...possibly...demonic. No previous experience required, for fortune favours the brave, and who dares wins. At least that is what they say, in the warmth of an inn with some wine at hand. But our crew now had a holy man in roster, with a spare in case of accidents, so we were like undaunted virgins looking forward to the wedding feast. Like them, we found things that night we did not expect.

Pausing only to pick up three oil lamps and a flask of oil, we proceeded underground with our guide Arminio, and learned that the tunnels of the ancients are far more colossal and more absolutely dark than might be easily imagined. For the light of a house-lamp can hardly illuminate your feet in these places, and anything more than a yard or two away is unseen. After a few minutes underground, passing through six colossal chambers, we were shown a tiny hole which led down into the haunted underworld. At this point our guide left, quite rapidly, after wishing us well. We scrambled down a steeply sloping tunnel and followed a narrow passageway until we came to a larger chamber. Rocco led the way with only a lamp and his dagger, while I followed behind with my boar-spear. Pino and both priests followed behind, with Astore as rear-guard. Out of the darkness they came - pale blasphemies of human form, but with clawed hands and fangs in their bat-like faces. They were avid for our flesh and immediately attacked. These horrors flinched from even the feeble light of our lamps, but their claws carried a strange venom so that even a scratch could generate a numbing coldness which spread into all your limbs. After some hard fighting we pushed out of the tunnel as Rocco collapsed, poisoned and beaten unconcious by the spawn of Satan. In the chamber Astore wielded his blade while I thrust with my spear, and even little Pino stabbed with his dagger. Things became desperate as lamps were dropped and burning oil spilled - the darkness grew around us and I feared that we would need a miracle to return to the light and life far above us.

But the faith of our priests was indeed a light when all other lights go out, for with my own eyes I saw them bring forth a miraculous holy light into the void, which these demons could not bear. Now it was they who quailed and we who rallied, and one by one they were cut down, mewling and snarling. The last was skewered by Astore as it clawed at my camail and tried to bite my throat out as we wrestled on the floor of the chamber. Silence fell for a few moments before the dreadful father of these ambominations came forth from another chamber deeper within. He was much larger than a large man and far stronger than his children. Nonetheless, he burned and smoked in the holy light and shielded his eyes from its truth as Astore engaged him with cold steel. Meanwhile I caught my wind and garbbed up a flask of oil to refuel and relight our spilled lamp against the darkness, as the fight raged on. It was well I did, for our miracle passed just as night follows day, and by its last fading glow the demon was struck down. Now there was just the light I held, while another guttered feebly in the corner burning its last few drops of oil.

Out of the deeper darkness came moans and groans of pain, so we girded our courage once more and advanced into horror. The stench of carrion filled the air, and by our lamps we could just make out a charnel-heap of bones with some bloated sin-mother atop it, spawning forth another child of Satan. Her screams became unearthly, and filled your mind with pain and dispair. But Astore's mind is in his sword-arm, not his head, and his sharp blade ended the torment swiftly. As our scattered wits returned, we counted skulls and reckoned these foul darklings had eaten dozens of souls from the world above. In a corner we found a crawl-space down to yet another chamber, where we found four bodies lying cold and still, yet breathing faintly and slow. Now we had five bodies to recover and were exhausted by the battle. We sent Father Arturo and the boy for aid while we watched our last lamp burn low and gutter out. We waited long in the darkness before help came, imagining claws reaching for us all the while. But our nerve held, as Friar Giovanni prayed, and at last we saw lights and men from the living world again, and could carry our comrade back to the warmth of the sun and rescue those for whom all hope seemed lost. For they were all alive and could be roused in time from their dreadful sleep in the larder of the Necrophagi.

***********

Arrival in Rome

From the Journal of Marco da Pitigliano

I set out this journal so I can practise my letters someday. Friar Giovanni writes them as a penance for refusing the treasure set in our path by Providence on our first day in the Eternal City.

***

It is not a long journey from Pitigliano to Rome, but it might as well be to another world. At home, you can recognise most who live in the town, and know everyone who lives in your quarter. Growing up on the streets it was not hard to learn every corner of every alleyway within the walls. Rome is altogether different - so huge, so busy, so confusing. Things had looked bright while I was growing up, as I learned at my father's forge - until plague took him and most of the rest of my family. It was grow up fast or starve. So I became a soldier to keep body and soul together. At last the winds of war blew me to Rome, with little enough but what I stood up in and the falcata at my belt. Maybe my luck would change in the Eternal City...

***

The road to Rome is full of pilgrims, and refugees from hard times. On that road I fell in with Rocco del Mare and Friar Giovanni, who has taken the vow of poverty and must beg alms for his bread. So feeding him is good for our souls - which is just as well as Rocco and I need all the Grace we can get. For needs must, when the devil drives. Not far from the city walls we gave alms to another mendicant friar, and he took us into the city by an ancient tunnel to avoid the band of robbers who fleeced everyone entering the city that morning. They were dressed in the colours of one of the noble families, but were bandits nonetheless. The mendicant took pity on us and bade us seek out Cola di Rienzo, and say that Fra. Michele sent us, for he said Cola had a good heart and might give us a job. We should have paid him to guide us there, for crossing the city is no easy matter for outsiders. It is so easy to get lost in the confusion and bustle and the alleys are full of vagabonds who would waylay travellers.

Even armed men may not walk in peace by daylight, let alone women and children. Friar Giovanni had to heal a rogue who I left bleeding in the gutter when his gang attacked us. Truly he was a Good Samaritan as they had struck us all blows before calling pax when I showed them the edge of my falcata. Giovanni is a strange fellow - he seems to have turned to his faith from a life on the streets and has much to be forgiven for. But soldiers need not be the first to throw stones, so I will say he is much more holy than I, who has many sins to confess each Sunday. After marching in circles for the whole day we found the inn frequented by Cola, and waited for an appointment the next morning. After a little test of our honesty and resilience, he accepted us as his clients and offered us work enough to keep the wolf from our door.