Contents
Also by Lindsey Davis
Title Page
Copyright
ROME: the Circus of Gaius and Nero in the Transtiberina - August AD 89
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by Lindsey Davis
The Course of Honour
Rebels and Traitors
Master and God
The Falco Series
The Silver Pigs
Shadows in Bronze
Venus in Copper
The Iron Hand of Mars
Poseidon’s Gold
Last Act in Palmyra
Time to Depart
A Dying Light in Corduba
Three Hands in the Fountain
Two for the Lions
One Virgin too Many
Ode to a Banker
A Body in the Bath House
The Jupiter Myth
The Accusers
Scandal Takes a Holiday
See Delphi and Die
Saturnalia
Alexandria
Nemesis
The Flavia Albia Series
The Ides of April
Enemies at Home
Deadly Election (publishing 9 April 2015)
Falco: The Official Companion
THE SPOOK WHO SPOKE AGAIN
A Flavia Albia Short Story
Lindsey Davis
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2015 by
Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Lindsey Davis 2015
The right of Lindsey Davis to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 473 61700 1
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
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ROME: the Circus of Gaius and Nero in the Transtiberina
August AD 89
1
As soon as I got there, my mother said, ‘We must put on a revival of Falco’s old play to celebrate.’
It sounded as if she was trying to make me feel at home, but now I had no home. She had come and removed me from where I lived with my other mother and Falco, and taken me to Nero’s Circus, where her troupe of entertainers had arrived to work for a season. I think it is wrong that a very intelligent boy should have to live in a tent. Especially if he must share it with his mother and a large snake.
My change of circumstance came as no surprise. I had met her, the mother who bore me, because she came to our house every few years to have a look at me. She was very tall, with bulging muscles. She never wore respectable dress, only theatrical costumes. She must have decided what size to wear years many ago when she was smaller, so I could see parts of her that I had never been able to inspect closely on other women, even on statues, squeezing out of her tiny costumes. The clothes were bright coloured and trimmed in exotic ways. I keep lists of interesting things and after several visits I had written down: glass spangles, feathers, fur, braid, gold cord, silver beads, and leather fringing. The feathers were from peacocks, ostriches and parrots, all birds she had owned herself in her menagerie, though some had pined away and had their feathers plucked after they died, she said.
According to her, she visited my family out of affection for me, to see how I was getting on. My other mother, the one who brought me up, let out a snort as she said that affection had nothing to do with it. Thalia, my mother, wanted to see if I was useful yet. I was twelve now, or so she claimed, although my other mother muttered that I was probably eleven because Thalia fudged my date of birth as part of her daft scheming to disguise who my father was.
I am not supposed to know about that. Why does my father need to be disguised? Is he a god who visited earth one day? That would make me a demi-god, like Hercules.
I am good at listening so I have discovered three definite things. Number one: I am Marcus Didius Alexander Postumus, son of Marcus Didius Falco, yet Falco is not my real father, he adopted me. When I question him, it sounds as if he did not want to do that, yet I have to admit he treats me the same as the others, except of course I am a boy so I have special rights. According to Falco, who is a rather dry person, my special rights as a Roman are to be bullied by my female relatives and to eat porridge, the dish of our ancestors. We never have porridge at our house so this cannot be right.
If my father had the kind of son he likes, it would be someone boisterous who makes a lot of friends, and who is pally with his father all the time. They would go fishing off the Probus Bridge and wrestle each other around the house, damaging vases, while my mother asked them to please grow up. This is not me.
The second and third things I have found out are as follows. Number two: my mother who bore me always says that my father was Didius Favonius, the auctioneer who founded our family business. I mean the business in my adopted family. Favonius, who was also known as Geminus because he liked to cause confusion, died before I was born. He was Falco’s father so this is why an obligation to take care of me was imposed on Falco. But when Falco and my other mother speak together in private, which they often do although I can find a way to listen if I want to, sometimes they allude to a man in Alexandria. He is Number three. I do not know his name because they just say ‘the man in Alexandria’ in hinting voices. They appear to consider he occupies a position of importance, though they also call him a zoo-keeper. That is interesting, though not something to be proud of. I do not know how I can go to Alexandria to ask him anything, so I generally pay him no attention. Being my father is a demanding honour which cannot be left to someone in Egypt whose social rank and occupation seem mysterious.
If I ever find out he really is a person of importance, I shall hasten to him in order to take up my rightful place. ‘Don’t do that,’ says my sister Albia; ‘I met him, Postumus; he is a philanderer, despite being married. Like most of the bastards.’ My sister is an embittered woman, even though she denies it. But she has an unusual past so can therefore expound on many subjects in a firm tone of voice.
My other mother is Helena Justina. She nearly had a son of her own, but her baby died when he was born, so she had to have me instead, because I had been dumped on Falco to be taken care of. Helena and Falco had adopted Albia before, but that was from choice because they found her running wild in horrible Britain and she looked intriguing. Sometimes I feel that Helena does not like me as much as her daughters, but she hides it well. Most people do not take to me, I know, which was why I valued Ferret.
When my real mother cam
e to fetch me from home, my other parents sat down for a council and gave me the choice of whether to go. Legally I belong to them, but morally Thalia has a claim on me. Falco and Helena asked very kindly if freedom to decide for myself worried me, but I set their minds at ease. I decided the experience would be one of value to someone with an enquiring mind, as I have.
My other mother sternly told Thalia that if I went with her, there were conditions. Helena Justina is good at conditions. Falco says it is her natural gift, yet he still loves her.
Helena’s conditions about me are cleverly thought out, which is what she is like: first, if I ever want to return home, I must be allowed to do it straightaway. Second, Thalia is not ever to take me outside Rome. Third, I must be sent over the river to have dinner at Falco’s house once a week. I suppose then they will quiz me about whether I am happy living in a tent with circus performers and animals, or do I want to be a boy in a respectable home again. Their concern is unnecessary because if I want to go back I shall just do it of my own accord, using a map I have drawn to avoid asking directions from any strangers who might be unreliable. Fourth, I can have my ferret.
The fourth condition was breached on the first day.
What I am writing down here is the conversation that I would have had with Ferret, if I could still talk to him, about my life with the entertainment company. In the time that I owned him, which was one year, seven months and three weeks, we had many exchanges in private. Talking to Ferret helped me explore my ideas about the world. I found him an excellent companion, who never made a fuss about listening to me. He did not try to put forward ideas of his own. When you talk to other people, unfortunately they are prone to joining in, as if they think you want to hear an alternative to your own theories, but their ideas are mostly inferior to mine so I don’t.
You are wondering why I could not speak to him now. I regret to report, Ferret was no longer available to be my companion. A huge snake called Jason had eaten him.
My mother Thalia, who is Jason’s owner, claimed I was mistaken and Ferret would turn up. I knew she was lying.
I was extremely annoyed about this. If nobody else cared about knowing what happened, which they obviously didn’t, it was up to me to investigate, as my father and my eldest sister do in their work as informers. I have watched how they go about it so I know what to do. When I had proved who was to blame, I must then impose justice. Father and Albia have explained this. Murder is a capital offence. The cruel person who commits murder has to die. This is the law. Superior-quality murderers are told to commit suicide with their own swords in order to save state expense, says Falco, while inferior ones are sent to the arena lions and gobbled up. That provides public entertainment and a warm sense of well-being in criminals who have managed not to get caught, says Albia.
Being devoured as a punishment would be appropriate for the python after he ate my ferret, but I was not sure how to arrange it. I have never heard of a snake being condemned to the arena. Or even put on trial first. Of course, if my father was a god and I was a demi-god, there would be no problem. Hercules strangled two snakes in his cradle, so I should be able to manage one python.
Jason behaved as if he thought himself superior quality, but I doubted whether he would commit suicide on my orders. He didn’t own a sword. Thalia says he is easy to train, but only by her because he is used to her. If I wasn’t a demigod, I might not manage to execute him myself, because I could see he is too strong. When Thalia does her rude dance with him, even though she is large she can barely carry his weight on her big shoulders. However, those of us who investigate guilty acts must go beyond the mere explanation of what happened, my other mother, Helena, says. We have to ensure justice on behalf of victims, to help their grieving relatives and friends. Also, there has to be social order.
So I decided Thalia was to blame because she owns this snake, and she kept him loose in her tent. If Ferret was to be properly avenged, I must apply the penalty. I would have to execute my mother.
2
The first thing you have to do when you investigate is make notes about the crime scene. This depends on being able to gain access, because the guilty parties or other annoying occupants may try to keep you out. Inspecting the scene of my ferret’s death was no problem, however, because I was living there. And so I can easily describe it.
My father has told me how to write up an enquiry. I don’t have a paying client to report to, but I still have to be specific, to help any poor barbarians who might read my account one day. So pay attention, hairy barbarians: the death of my ferret took place in the year of the consuls Titus Aurelius Fulvus and Marcus Asinius Atrantinus. Do not ask me who they are. Nonentities who won’t annoy the Emperor, says Falco. Ones who like risk, adds Albia. It happened in the city of Rome in Italy, Europe, the World. It was August and scorchingly hot.
A famous fact is that Rome is built on seven hills, but I know there are more. I have been making a list in my geography notebook and so far I have counted twelve hills, if you include the Oppian, Janiculan, Vatican, Cispian and Velian. While Mons Testaceus is a hill too, it consists of broken potsherds so I have decided that it doesn’t count. I believe the real ones are called: the Capitoline, Palatine, Aventine, Esquiline, Quirinal, Caelian and Viminal. As you can see, the hills of Rome are very badly organised. If I have identified the real Seven Hills correctly, they are all on the other side of the river from where Ferret was killed. They are in the main part of the city, where I grew up.
The river I mentioned is the famous River Tiber. It is the most important river in Italy, though it is full of brown mud and its flow is often sluggish. Don’t fall in or jump in because you may catch horrible diseases. It goes right past our house (where I used to live before Thalia collected me), which is on the Marble Embankment, a favourable position where you can look out and watch ships. Before the embankment was properly built, the house flooded every year. I have never seen that happen, I am sorry to say, but our downstairs rooms all have strange patches on their plaster and in winter they smell peculiar.
From our roof, which my father has cluttered up with flowerpots, you can look over the river at the Janiculan Hill. That is one of the extra hills of Rome that have been incorrectly added in by people who are not methodical. Lying below the Janiculan ridge is the Transtiberina district where many colourful foreigners live. It is the only official district of Rome on that side of the river. I was brought up on this side in the Aventine District, which is number thirteen. Thalia had taken me across to the Transtiberina, number fourteen, which is where Ferret was going to have his fatal meeting with the python. It was the first time Ferret and I visited the Transtiberina properly because I am not allowed to cross any of the bridges on my own.
Sometimes rules like that are imposed on me by Falco or Helena, who say it is for my safety. Usually I just pretend I have forgotten them telling me, and then I do what I want anyway. The rule about the bridges had managed to be followed correctly, mainly because I had not yet examined the lifestyles and character of any foreigners, a subject I was saving up until I could study them properly. I believe there are rather a lot of them and it will take a long time to place them all in categories.
I was interested to be taken across the river now, though as we made the journey many of the people we passed stared at us, which I found unpleasant. Thalia had clearly never heard my father’s rule, which he endlessly tells us, of do not draw attention to yourself. Her tiny clothes and the way she bulged out of them caused much excitement. She could never have gone on surveillance anywhere, if she suddenly spotted a villain who needed watching. The villain would notice her at once. She was in front, riding a donkey and carrying my luggage, so I lagged behind as much as possible hoping that nobody thought I was with her. Some whistled. Some called out rude words. I tried to remember the words, to add to a collection I keep.
From other occasions when Thalia had visited Rome, I had worked out why she set up camp in the Transtiberina. A lot of the pe
ople who worked for her and all of the animals were foreign, so they fitted in over there. Another reason was that the entertainments they gave to the public generally happened in that location. At the far end of the Janiculan Hill, the north end, the Emperor Nero had built a Circus, when he wanted to race in chariots with people watching and cheering his expertise. It’s called the Circus of Gaius and Nero because the earlier emperor Gaius began it, only he was killed for being a crazy madman. He sounds an interesting subject for study. Later, Nero thought it would make a good place for chariots. He was also a crazy madman so went well with Gaius. I could say like someone else we know, but I had better not in case our emperor kills me. He is fond of executions.
Close by is another arena that was built by the first Emperor, Augustus, who was horribly sane, a building which is called the Naumachia because it can be flooded with water in order to be used for mock naval battles. Once a year, Thalia and her people put on shows in Gaius and Nero’s Circus and in the Naumachia, though not when it is full of water.
When we got there I found that the entertainers were living next to the Circus. They had created a village of tents, alongside which were cages and pens for their menagerie. I could hear barking and roaring from some distance away. The tents were all sizes and made of different materials, such as skins, felt, leather and hemp. Most had fancy swags or banners hung on them so the effect was untidy but cheerful. On average, the tents had long ridge poles and straight sides, like temples, but some were round with pointed or domed roofs, like the famous Hut of Romulus on the Palatine Hill to which I had once been taken as an educational visit. It is made of sticks and smells bad inside.
Thalia had the largest tent, a long dark red one that I saw at once was luxurious compared to the others, so this showed that she was the most important person here. I was glad that I was not expected to live in an inferior tent.
The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story Page 1