An ancient Apollo statue landed in Cleveland and touched off an international outcry

"This debate has nothing to do with scholarship and real curatorial work," says Harvard's Mitten. "It's just political aggrandizement."

Art writer Guy Weill Goudchaux concurs: "Greek nationalism is now threatening the freedom of exhibition curators. This is surely intolerable. It is time that the great museums of Europe and America made a united stand against cultural blackmail."

But the Louvre bowed out. With apologies to Cleveland, the Praxiteles show commenced without the only work believed to have been rendered by Praxiteles' hands.

The defeat still causes Bennett to seethe. So when the Italians also came calling, asking for dozens of pieces back, Cleveland was in no mood for concessions.

The Carabinieri's Tutela Patrimonio Cuturale, the Italian police force charged with prosecuting art theft, were also playing hardball, using legal pressure, ultimatums, and threats of blacklisting against American museums.

"The Italians wanted to make it very clear that [curators] have totally ignored their professional responsibilities," says Gill, who supports Italy's quest. "They decided to take actions that reminded [museums] quite forcibly that there's been wrongdoings, that they hadn't been diligent in the way they acquired archaeological objects."

Others called it by a different name: bullying.

"Italy found a very advantageous strategy of intimidation," says Harvard's Mitten, who believes American curators acquiesced too readily. "They buffaloed and blackmailed museums for things they had no title to. The only way to deal with these people is to play hardball with them."

Even as the Tutela Patrimonio Cuturale, known as the TPC, went after the major players, there'd been rumblings that Cleveland was on its short list of targeted museums. During the trial of dealer Robert Hecht, the Italians cited eight pieces Hecht had sold to Cleveland. And after the Metropolitan Museum agreed to return six works, Maurizio Fiorilli, an Italian prosecutor, noted that his country's focus was moving toward larger museums in Ohio.

But while Princeton, Boston, and Virginia rushed to make conciliatory announcements, Cleveland was largely silent. "I think the whole issue with the Apollo might have something to do with how they're choosing to deal with this," says one insider with close ties to the Cleveland museum.

The art world could only guess which pieces the Italians might have in their sights. Topping the list was the Medea calyx krater, a vase created in the fourth century B.C., one of the few works to have survived the period.

Up until 1990, the vase was part of the private collection of brothers Nelson and William Hunt, whose family made its fortune in oil. In the 1980s, they'd been caught violating securities laws by trying to corner the silver market. Each was fined $10 million.

To help cover the bill, the brothers put the Medea up for sale. Cleveland jumped, allegedly paying $400,000. The problem, however, was that the Hunts had acquired the work through Bob Hecht.

Cleveland had also bought a fourth century B.C. oil flask from Hecht. The piece features the Greek god Pan presenting a hare to an elegantly dressed woman. During Hecht's trial, the Italians alleged that the flask was one of 94 pieces the dealer had illegally trafficked.

But Cleveland officials refused to publicly discuss Italy's inquiries. Then late last year, Suzan Mazur, an investigative journalist who first reported the Medea's suspect provenance, produced a list of the items the TPC wanted returned from Cleveland. It covered more than 27 works — including a marble bust of Emperor Balbinus from the third century A.D. and a bronze statue of an Etruscan warrior from around 500 B.C.

Also on the list was the Apollo. It seems the Italians believed that the statue was rightfully theirs, claiming that it had been recovered from its national waters.

If the list was accurate, it meant the TPC were hoping to secure millions worth of art from Cleveland, gutting the museum's modest Roman collection.

Cleveland refuses to comment, other than to say it's held discussions with Italy. "It's supposed to be a confidential document," says spokesman James Kopniske. "I don't even know what's on it."

But talking to Bennett, one gets the sense that the museum won't be quick to wave a white flag. "Our policy is really straightforward," he says. "Anyone at anytime" can protest an item's status. And "If someone has information that proves [the piece was illegally purchased], the museum has an obligation to look at that evidence . . . The Cleveland Museum of Art wants to know as much as possible about the items in our exhibits."