Many people wanted proof—proof that what they believed in was "truth."
Some sailed far away to prove that the earth was round, while others wanted to prove that Heaven and Hell existed. Heaven stood high above, seemingly beyond reach, but at least the entrance to Hell lay beneath people's feet.
Saint Patrick found Hell in Ireland, but before him, in the sixth century, Pope Gregory believed its entrance was in Sicily. Between Messina and Catania stood Mount Etna, still erupting, and legend had it that Campania and Cumae—the entrances to the underworld used by Odysseus and Aeneas—lay along the same volcanic chain.
Farther away was Pompey, a city buried after Mount Vesuvius erupted. Before it was rediscovered through archaeology, people believed it was nothing more than a legend.
Pomona studied the old man in the wheelchair carefully. He sat calmly, without the slightest sign of panic.
She had indeed heard that the Great Mysteries were held underground, with torches raised to reenact Demeter's nine days and nights of searching for her daughter. But no one knew what came next.
"How did you know that name?" Georgiana asked.
"Aren't you curious?" Zoisite asked.
"Curious about what?" she asked.
"Why I did that?" Zoisite patted his legs. "They used to be perfectly healthy."
"I can guess a little," Georgiana said with a smile.
He looked surprised.
"Have you seen Botticelli's Primavera?" she asked with a smile. "The shadow cast by the trees behind Venus forms the shape of a lung. Smoking is harmful to your health, yet people still can't help themselves."
Zoisite laughed. "Then wouldn't Venus be positioned where the heart is?"
"It was a mural painted for a bridal chamber. I saw plenty of arrow-shooting Cupids in France," she said helplessly. "And so many pink roses, as if only that