The Lost Throne [antikvár]

Prologue Christmas Day, 1890 Piaf^^^a della Santa Carita Naples, Italy The greatest secret of Ancient Greece was silenced by a death in Italy. Not a shooting or a stabbing or a murder of any kind - although dozens of those would occur later -but a good old-fashioned death. One minute the man was strolling across the Piazza della Santa Carita, pondering the significance of his discovery; the next he was sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the cold square. People rushed to his side, hoping to help him to his feet, but one look at his gaunt face told them that he needed medical attention. Two policemen on horseback were flagged down, and they rushed him to the closest hospital where he slipped in and out of consciousness for the next hour. They asked him his name, but he couldn't answer. His condition had stolen his ability to speak. The man wore a fancy suit and overcoat, both of which revealed his stams. His hair was thin and grey, suggesting a man in his sixties. A bushy moustache covered his upper lip.