"Look, father-in-law, up ahead! It looks like a temple of some sort…"

So it was. Abruptly we left the maze of boulders. The stream curved away to our left. The stone cliff to our right opened in a great semicircular curve, like a vast limestone amphitheater. A thin waterfall trickled from the overhanging summit. The wall was riven with springs. Ferns and moss grew out of the stone.

The ground before us was flat. At some time long ago the space had been cleared and made into a vineyard. Tottering posts marked regular rows spaced well apart, but the vines, thick with leaves and heavy with dark grapes, were now madly overgrown in a wild tangle.

Surrounding this vineyard was a peculiar-looking fence. As we drew closer, I saw that it was made of bones-not animal bones but the bones of men, arm bones and leg bones nailed together and driven into the earth. Some of the bones had rotted and crumbled, turning dark brown or almost black. Others were bleached white and perfectly intact. Two limestone pylons marked a gateway in the fence. The pylons were carved with reliefs depicting battle scenes. The victors wore armor and crested helmets in the style of Greek seafarers; the vanquished were Gauls in leather britches and winged helmets. Beyond the gateway, broken paving stones choked with weeds led to a small, round temple with a domed roof at the center of the vineyard. I was transfixed by the strangeness of our surroundings. The gloom around us lifted a bit. The little temple seemed faintly to glow, as if the pale marble blushed in the twilight.

Behind me Davus sucked in a breath. "Father-in-law, I know this place!"

"How, Davus? From a dream?"

"No, from the tavern last night. This must be the place he sang about!"

"Who?"

"The traveling singer. After you went to sleep, I stayed up to listen. He sang about this place."