The Sacrifice Stone by Elizabeth Harris Read Free Book Online

start.’
    She wondered how many main sights there were; perhaps it was better not to know. ‘Fine!’ she said. ‘Where shall we begin?’
    ‘There’s a graveyard which was used first by the Romans, and later in medieval times. It’s on the map ...’ He stopped to look. ‘Yes. Les Alyscamps. Down across our Place de la Redoute, and it’s there.’ He pointed.
    ‘It doesn’t look far.’
    He put his map away. ‘Nothing’s far. The advantage of an ancient city — very compact!’
    The graveyard was far enough outside the walls for them to have to cross two busy roads; French drivers, Beth noticed, had no respect whatsoever for pedestrian crossings. It was a relief to walk through the iron gates and into the shade of the thick trees in the cemetery.
    A small group of tourists had finished their visit and were just leaving; emerging from the ticket booth, Joe and Beth had the place to themselves.
    ‘It’s like a road,’ Beth said softly; she was reluctant to break the silence.
    ‘It is a road, or it was. It’s the Via Aurelia, the Romans’ main route from Italy to Provincia and Spain.’
    She digested that. Then: ‘Why are there stone coffins all along it?’
    ‘It was strictly against Roman law to bury the dead where people lived, so cemeteries were always well outside the city walls. They often situated them along main roads.’
    ‘How practical to get the populus to stick their sarcophagi along the roadside, and save yourself the cost of kerbstones.’
    ‘Nothing if not practical, the Romans.’ He walked over to one of the great coffins. ‘Here lies Marcus Ulpius Cerialis.’
    ‘Is that what it says?’
    ‘Not in so many words. It says he was an official of the town, and that his wife Claudia caused this monument to be made. Roman names are fascinating — in their full, formal version they had six elements, and told you the origins of a man’s family, where he came from, his voting district, and ...’
    She stopped listening. Somehow Joe’s voice was distracting; the ancient graveyard clamoured for her full attention.
    She strolled on up the dead-straight road, glancing at the stone sarcophagi on either side. After a hundred yards or so the road opened out, passing either side of a hollow in which were several more coffins. I wonder if there’s anything in them? Unlikely, lots of them are damaged — the bones would have been removed and disposed of long ago, I should think.
    There were buildings beyond the hollow, an arched entrance and a small chapel; it looked as though the hollow might once have formed the crypt of an older, larger church.
    She wandered under the arch, emerging into an overgrown courtyard. A sign on the chapel door said: Chapel de St Honoré . Fermé .
    On her left, another door led into a small side-chapel. She stepped over the raised threshold.
    The high walls were unadorned, but a shaft of sunlight picked out the plain stone altar. Walking forward to examine it more closely, she heard a movement behind her.
    For a split second she was terrified. The sound, breaking the utter stillness, was so unexpected that, nerving herself to turn and look, she was imagining unnamed horrors ...
    In the relative darkness of the far corner stood a young man. Although he didn’t speak, she sensed he was reassuring her. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. He was tall, fair-haired, and dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt.
    Wondering quite what she’d expected, she gave a nervous smile. ‘You made me jump,’ she said, instantly thinking she should have tried to say it in French: ‘Vous m’avez fait sauter ’? She wanted to laugh.
    But he replied in English. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t hear you approach, and by the time you were inside, there was no way of letting you know I was here without making you jump.’
    He was English; with relief, she said, ‘It’s all right. I wouldn’t have reacted, only it’s so quiet here, you can almost hear the ghosts breathing.’
    He stared at