Her father nodded. Castor and Pollux, the mythological twins known as the Gemini, had always been linked to the Geminus family.
‘Well then, everyone will know it’s yours. Why don’t you use that ring to finish sealing the documents, and I’ll try to find the stolen one.’
Captain Geminus’s face relaxed and he looked at his daughter fondly.
‘Thank you, my little owl.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘What would I do without you?’
As her father went upstairs to search the chest in his bedroom, Flavia looked around. The study was a small, bright room with red and yellow plaster walls and a cool, marble floor. It was simply furnished with a cedarwood chair, the table which served as a desk, and a bronze standing-lamp. There was also a bust of the Emperor Vespasian on a pink marble column beside the desk.
The study had two doors. One small folding door led into the atrium at the front of the house. On the opposite wall a wide doorway opened directly out onto the inner garden. This could be closed off with a heavy curtain.
Now this curtain was pulled right back, and sunlight from the garden fell directly onto the desk, lighting up the sheets of parchment so that they seemed to glow. A little inkpot blazed silver in the sunshine. It was fixed onto the desk so that it would not go missing. For the same reason, the silver quill pen was attached to the desk by a silver chain. Flavia rolled the chain absently between her thumb and forefinger and observed how it flashed in the direct sunlight.
Suddenly her keen grey eyes noticed something. On one of the sheets of parchment – a list of ships’ provisions – was a faint black mark that was neither a letter nor a number. Without touching anything, Flavia moved her face closer, until her nose was inches from the sheet.
No doubt about it. Someone – or something – had touched the ink while it was still tacky and had made this strange V-shaped mark. As she looked closer, Flavia could make out a straight line between the two leaning lines of the V, like the Greek letter psi:
At that moment, something rustled and flapped in the garden. Flavia glanced up and saw a large black and white bird sitting on a branch of the fig tree: a magpie. The bird turned its head and regarded her with one bright, intelligent eye.
In an instant, Flavia knew she was looking at the thief. She knew magpies loved glittering things. The bird had obviously stepped on the parchment before the ink had dried and then left its footprint.
Now she must discover where its nest was.
Flavia thought quickly. She needed bait; something bright and shiny. Without turning her head or making a sudden movement she surveyed the study. There were various scrolls stored on shelves along the walls, but they were parchment or papyrus, and their dangling labels only leather. The wax tablets on the desk were too big for the bird to carry and the little bronze oil-lamp too heavy.
There was only one thing she could think of to tempt the bird. Slowly she reached up to her throat and undid the clasp of a silver chain. Like every freeborn Roman boy or girl, Flavia wore a special amulet around her neck. One day, when she married, she would dedicate this bulla to the gods of the crossroads.
But for now, the chain it hung on would serve another useful purpose. Slipping the bulla into the coin purse which hung from her belt, she carefully set the chain in a pool of sunlight. It sparkled temptingly.
Slowly, Flavia backed out of the study and squeezed past the folding door into the cool, dim atrium. As soon as she was out of the magpie’s sight, she crept along the short corridor which led back to the garden.
Peeping round the corner, she was just in time to see the magpie fly down into the study. Flavia held her breath and prayed her father would not come back and disturb the bird.
A moment later the magpie flew back up onto a branch, the chain dangling from its beak like a glittering worm. It remained there for a moment looking around, then flew away over the red-tiled roof to the south, towards the graveyard.
Flavia ran through the garden and opened the small back door. For an instant she hesitated.
She knew the heavy bolt would fall back into place behind her and she would be locked out. If she went through the doorway she would leave the protection not only of her home, but of Ostia: her house was built into the town wall.
Furthermore, the door led directly into the necropolis, the ‘city of the dead’, with its many tombs and graves scattered among the trees, and her father had warned her never to go there.
But she had promised to find his ring: the ring her mother had given him.
Flavia took a deep breath and stepped out. The door shut behind her and she heard the bolt fall. There was no going back now.
She was just in time to glimpse a flutter of glossy black and white as the bird flew to a tall umbrella pine. She ran quickly and quietly, keeping the trunk of a large cypress tree between herself and the feathered thief.
The magpie flew off again and Flavia ran to the pine tree. Peeping out from behind it, she saw nothing; no movement anywhere. Her heart sank.
Then she saw it. In an old oak near a large tomb something flashed. Something flashed black and white. It was the magpie. It had popped up from the trunk of the oak like a cork ball in a pond, and its beak was empty!
For a few minutes the magpie preened itself smugly, no doubt pleased at its afternoon’s haul. Presently it hopped onto a higher branch, cocked its head for a moment and flew back towards the north, probably to see if there was any treasure left in her house.
Flavia dodged among the tombs and trees and reached the old oak in no time. The bark was rough and scratched her hands but its roughness helped her to get a good grip. She went up it with little difficulty.
When she reached the place where the trunk forked into branches, her eyes opened in amazement: a small treasure trove of bright objects glittered there. Her chain lay on top. And there was her father’s signet-ring! With a silent prayer of thanks to Castor and Pollux, she slipped the ring and chain into her drawstring coin purse.
Digging deeper, she found three silver bangles and a gold earring. Flavia put these in her purse as well, but decided to leave an assortment of cheap copper chains and earrings; they had gone green with age. With her fingertip she gingerly pushed aside some glittery shards of Alexandrian glass. Beneath them, right at the bottom, lay another earring, which was still bright and yellow. Heavy, too: it was gold. It had three tiny gold chains with a pearl dangling at the end of each, and it was set with a large emerald. Flavia marvelled at its beauty before slipping this earring into her coin purse, too.
Now she must go quickly, before the big magpie returned. She was just about to ease herself down when a noise made her hesitate. It was an odd, panting sound.
She looked nervously at the large tomb a few yards to her right. It was shaped like a small house, with a little arched roof and door. She reckoned it might hold as many as twenty funeral urns, filled with the ashes of the dead.
But the panting did not come from the tomb. It came from directly below her.
Flavia looked down, and her heart skipped a beat. At the foot of the tree were at least half a dozen wild dogs, all staring hungrily up at her!
Flavia’s knees began to tremble uncontrollably. She held onto the tree so tightly her knuckles went white. She must be calm. She must think. Glancing down at the wild dogs again she decided there was only one rational thing to do.
Flavia Gemina screamed.
Although her hands were shaking, she managed to pull herself back up onto a branch. Below her the dogs whined and growled.
‘HELP!’ she yelled. ‘Help me, someone!’
The only response was the rhythmic chirring of cicadas in the afternoon heat.
‘Help me!’ she shouted, and then, in case someone heard her but didn’t think to look up, ‘I’m in a tree!’
Most of the dogs were now sitting at the base of the trunk, panting and gazing up at her. They seemed to be smiling at her predicament. There were seven of them, most of them mangy and thin and yellow. T
he leader was a huge black hound – a mastiff – with evil red eyes and saliva dripping down his hairy chin.
‘Stupid dogs!’ Flavia muttered under her breath. The leader growled, almost as if he had understood her thoughts.
Suddenly, one of the yellow dogs yelped and leapt to his feet, as if stung by a bee. Then the leader snarled and writhed in pain. A stone had struck him! Flavia saw the next stone fly through the air, and then another, striking with amazing accuracy. The dogs whimpered and yelped and slunk off into the woods.
‘Quickly!’ a voice called from below. ‘Come down quickly before they come back!’
Flavia didn’t think twice. She closed her eyes and jumped out of the tree.
‘Ouch! My ankle!’ Flavia started to run, but a stab of pain shot through her leg and almost made her sick. A boy about her own age ran out from behind a tree. He put his arm awkwardly around her waist and pulled her forward.
‘Come on!’ he urged, and she could see that his dark eyes were full of fear. ‘Quickly!’
With each step the pain eased a bit, but they were not moving quickly. They had almost reached the umbrella pine when the boy looked back, stopped, and reached towards his belt.
‘Hang on to the tree!’ he commanded, pushing Flavia forward. He pulled out his sling, and reached into a leather pouch which hung from his belt. Fitting a sharp stone into the sling he moved a few feet away and swung it quickly round his head. Flavia gripped the tree and closed her eyes. She heard the sling buzz like an angry wasp. Then a dog’s yelp and a satisfied ‘Got him!’ from the boy.
‘Come on!’ he urged. ‘The leader’s down but I don’t think I killed him. They’ll probably be after us in a minute!’
Flavia took a deep breath and moved as quickly as she could. Dry thistles scratched her legs and the boy’s strong grip hurt her as he half lifted, half pulled her forward.
Suddenly the boy cried out in a language Flavia had never heard before.
They were nearly at her back door. But the boy was leading her away from it, to the right.
‘No! My house is there!’ she protested.
The boy ignored her and called out again in his harsh language. He was pulling her to the back door of the house next to hers. He glanced back and muttered something in Latin which Flavia understood perfectly. It was not a polite word.
She heard the dogs barking behind her. The boy pulled her more urgently and she could hear him gasping for breath. The door was closer; now she could see its rough surface beneath the peeling green paint. But by the sound of it, the pack was nearly upon them. At any moment she expected to feel sharp teeth sink into her calf.
Suddenly, the green door swung open. A tall, black-robed figure emerged, pointed at the dogs and bellowed something in an unknown language.
For an instant the dogs stopped dead in their tracks. That instant was enough for the tall figure to grab them both, pull them through the open door and slam it in the dogs’ startled faces.
Flavia sobbed with relief. Strong arms held her tight and the rough cloth against her nose smelled spicy and comforting.
Abruptly a dog’s cold nose pressed into her armpit. Flavia screamed again and jumped back. A pretty white dog with brown eyes grinned up at her, its entire rear end wagging with delight.
‘Bobas! Down! Go away! Bad dog!’ said the man in black sternly. Bobas took no notice and gave Flavia a long, slobbery kiss.
At this Flavia began to giggle through her tears. This was the dog she had heard barking for the past week, since the mysterious family had moved in to old Festus’s house. She sniffed and wiped her runny nose with her arm. Then she stepped back to have a good look at her rescuer.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ said the man in a pleasantly accented voice. ‘My name is Mordecai ben Ezra and this is my son Jonathan.’ He gave a very slight bow. ‘Peace be with you.’
Flavia looked at the boy who had saved her life.
Jonathan was bent over, resting his hands on his knees and breathing hard. He had a rather square face and masses of curly hair. He looked up at her, grinned and also nodded, but seemed unable to speak.
‘Miriam!’ the boy’s father called. ‘Bring the oil of marjoram quickly!’ And almost apologetically to Flavia: ‘My son is somewhat asthmatic.’
Jonathan’s father had a sharp nose and a short grizzled beard. Two long grey ringlets of hair emerged from a black turban wound around his head. He looked very exotic and even odd, but his heavy-lidded eyes were kind.
A beautiful girl of about thirteen ran up with a tiny clay jar. She uncorked it and held it under Jonathan’s nose.
‘This is my daughter Miriam,’ said Mordecai proudly. ‘Miriam, this is . . .’
They all looked at her.
‘Flavia. Flavia Gemina, daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain,’ she said, and added: ‘Your next door neighbour.’
‘Flavia Gemina, will you come into the garden and have a drink and tell us how you came to be pursued by a pack of angry dogs?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia, but as she stepped forward, she gasped with pain.
‘Your ankle.’ Mordecai bent and probed Flavia’s swollen right ankle. She winced again, though his fingers were cool and gentle.
‘Come. I’m a doctor.’ And before she could protest, he had lifted her off her feet and was carrying her in his arms. Jonathan followed, breathing easier now but still holding the oil of marjoram under his nose.
The doctor carried Flavia through a leafy inner garden towards the study. Although the house was laid out exactly like hers, it was a different world. Every surface was covered with multi-coloured carpets and cushions. In the study, instead of a desk and chair, there was a long striped divan going right round the walls. Mordecai set her on this long couch against several embroidered cushions which smelled faintly of some exotic spice: cinnamon, perhaps.
‘Miriam, please bring some water, some clean strips of linen and some balm – the Syrian, not the Greek . . .’
‘Yes, father,’ the girl replied, and then said something in the strange language.
‘Please speak Latin in front of our guest,’ Mordecai chided gently.
‘Yes, father,’ she said again, and went out of the room.
‘Jonathan,’ said the doctor, ‘would you prepare some mint tea?’
‘Yes, father,’ said the boy, breathing easier.
Flavia continued to look round in wonder. There were only three or four shelves of scrolls in her father’s study. Here the walls above the divan were covered with them. Nearby, on a carved wooden stand, was the most beautiful open scroll Flavia had ever seen. It was made of creamy, thick parchment and covered with strange black and red letters. Beneath it lay a richly embroidered silk cover of scarlet, blue, gold and black.
Mordecai followed her gaze, then moved over to the scroll.
‘We are Jews and this is our holy book,’ he said softly. He kissed his fingertips and touched them to the scroll. ‘The Torah. I was reading it when I heard my son call.’ He rolled it up and reverently slipped it into its silk cover.
Miriam reappeared with a bowl and pitcher, and to Flavia’s embarrassment began to wash her feet. Jonathan’s sister had dark curls like her brother, but her skin was pale and her violet eyes were grave.
While Miriam was drying Flavia’s feet, Jonathan came in with four steaming cups on a tray. He handed one to Flavia, who sniffed its minty aroma and gratefully sipped the strong, sweet brew.
Meanwhile, Mordecai applied ointment to her inflamed ankle and began to bind it securely with strips of linen.
‘Tell us your story, please,’ he said as he worked.
‘Well, I was up in the tree when the dogs came and I knew I could never get past them but your son scared them away and . . and I think he saved my life.’ Flavia felt as if she were going to cry again so she took a large gulp of mint tea.
‘And may I ask what a Roman girl of good birth was doing up a tree in the middle of a graveyard?’ asked Mordecai as
he tied off the last strip of linen and patted Flavia’s ankle.
‘I was looking for the magpie’s nest. And I found treasure! I found two gold earrings, and three silver bangles, and got my chain back, and of course my father’s . . .’ Flavia stopped short. ‘Oh no! My father will be worried sick! He has probably sent Caudex out to look for me by now! Oh, I must go home straight away!’ She set her cup on a low table.
‘Of course,’ smiled Mordecai. ‘Your ankle was only twisted. It should be fine in a day or two. Jonathan, have you recovered sufficiently to escort this young lady next door?’
‘Yes, father,’ replied Jonathan.
Together they eased Flavia off the couch and helped her hobble through the atrium. Miriam followed behind. At the front door Flavia turned.
‘Goodbye! And thank you! I’m sorry I didn’t finish the tea. It was delicious!’
‘Peace be with you,’ said Mordecai and Miriam together. Each gave a little bow as Jonathan helped Flavia out of the door and along the pavement to her house.
Lifting the familiar bronze knocker of Castor and Pollux, Flavia rapped sharply several times. From deep within she heard Scuto barking and after what seemed like ages the peephole opened and she saw Caudex’s bleary eyes staring out. It was a full minute before the sleepy doorkeeper managed to slide the bolt back and pull the door open.
‘Pater! Pater!’ Flavia cried. Jonathan followed curiously as she pushed past Caudex and her bouncing dog. ‘Where are you, pater!’ she called.
‘Here in the study, my dear.’ Her father did not sound very worried.
‘Pater! I’m here! I’ve found the ring and I’m safe!’ She limped through the folding door, coming up to her father from behind.
Marcus sat bent over the desk, carefully dripping wax on a document.
‘And why shouldn’t you be safe?’ he asked absently, pressing a ring into the hot wax.
‘PATER!’
Her father turned round and then jumped to his feet.
‘Great Neptune’s beard!’ he cried. ‘What’s happened to you? Look at yourself! Your arms are scratched, your hair full of twigs, your tunic torn and dirty, and – and your ankle is bandaged! Whatever happened?’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 2