‘Let’s help the boy,’ cried Jonathan, and ran downstairs with the girls close behind him.
Mordecai followed them down the stairs.
‘Wait!’ he cried. ‘Don’t go out! The dogs aren’t dead yet. They may still be dangerous.’
‘But we have to help the boy,’ protested Jonathan.
‘Yes, I know,’ his father reassured him, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘That’s why I brought this . . .’
They all looked at the object Mordecai held in his hand. It was a large, curved sword. The blade was polished to mirror brightness and its edge was sharp as a razor.
The back of the house had no windows at ground level, so the three of them ran back upstairs to the yellow bedroom in order to watch. In the twilight, they saw Jonathan’s father emerge cautiously from the back door beneath them. The white oval of his turban gleamed in the dusk. Below it they could see his blue shoulders and the flash of the sword.
He moved slowly towards the pine tree, occasionally glancing up at the boy, but keeping a closer eye on the wounded dogs. The leader lay panting quietly, pinned to the ground by an arrow in his leg. The other – a bitch – writhed in agony with an arrow in her belly. The blade flashed as Mordecai cut the she-dog’s throat with a single stroke, putting her out of her misery.
But his action caused the leader to twist with alarm, and in doing so the huge black mastiff freed himself from the ground. The wounded beast faced Mordecai and crouched. His lip curled back to reveal sharp, pale fangs dripping with saliva. The broken shaft protruded from his hind leg.
Mordecai murmured something soothing, though they could not make out the words, but the wounded hound was not pacified.
With an ugly snarl, he leapt directly at Mordecai’s face.
Jonathan’s father reacted by instinct. The bloody sword flashed again and the dog’s head and body fell in two separate places.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Flavia and her friends raced downstairs and out of the back door.
When they reached Mordecai, he was standing in the same spot, looking down at the two dead dogs and trembling.
‘Let me have the sword, father,’ said Jonathan quietly.
Mordecai shook his head emphatically. ‘No! If these dogs are rabid, even the blood from the sword might be dangerous.’ He moved over to a clump of horse-grass and began wiping the blade clean.
Flavia felt a tug at her arm. Nubia was pointing up at the tree. The boy, instead of coming down and thanking them for saving his life, was shimmying higher up the tree.
‘Come down,’ called Flavia, ‘the dogs are dead. It’s safe –’
‘They can’t hurt you now,’ Jonathan added.
But the boy had reached the larger limbs and was inching his way along one. His bare feet gripped the branch almost as tightly as his hands. They watched in fascination as he slowly stood up on it, remained still for a moment and then leapt six feet towards another umbrella pine nearby. He caught hold of a branch with one arm, but it was a small one and began to bend alarmingly. They gasped but the boy had already moved on, using his momentum, and swung to the next branch.
There was an even larger gap between the tree he was in and the next one, which led to the woods beyond.
‘He’ll never make it,’ gasped Flavia in horror, as the boy swung from the pine branch, preparing to jump.
‘He just might,’ breathed Jonathan.
The boy leapt.
He seemed suspended in air for a moment and the four faces watching him seemed frozen, too.
Then, impossibly, he had grasped one of the pine’s outermost branches and was swinging for the next, sturdier limb. But as he swung forward they all heard an ominous crack. The branch – and the boy with it – plummeted to the earth below.
‘It’s a miracle, but it seems no bones are broken,’ murmured Mordecai as he examined the boy. ‘Jonathan, could you bring the lamp-stand a bit nearer?’
They were all standing round the boy, who lay on a couch in the mustard-yellow bedroom. The boy’s eyes were closed and his face was very pale, but he was breathing. Jonathan pulled a standing lamp closer to the bed, carefully, so that the hot oil wouldn’t spill.
The light now shone full on the boy’s face, and they could see he was exceedingly grubby. Smears of dirt streaked his face and his tangled hair was full of dust and twigs. His tattered tunic smelled curiously of sour wine and pine resin.
Abruptly the boy opened his eyes. They glittered sea-green in the lamplight and for a moment they registered fear. But only for a moment. Then they grew alert and wary.
‘Peace be with you,’ said Mordecai with a little bow, and added, ‘every stranger is an uninvited guest.’
The boy started to rise but Mordecai pushed him gently back against the striped cushions piled on his bed.
‘Careful, my boy,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve taken a nasty fall. It’s a miracle you’ve no broken bones.’
The boy settled back on the pillows and looked round at them, almost as if judging his chances of escape.
‘Jonathan, the bread please . . .’ said Mordecai.
Jonathan handed his father a plate with a flat, round loaf of bread on it. Mordecai tore a piece from the loaf and handed it to the boy.
The boy didn’t hesitate. He reached a hand out from under the covers, took the piece of bread, sniffed it quickly and swallowed it almost whole. Flavia noticed that his fingernails were cracked and filthy.
Mordecai set the plate carefully on the couch. The boy took another hunk of bread and devoured it. He ate like a dog, chomping once or twice with his molars and then throwing his head back and swallowing the half-chewed bread in one gulp. Between bites he looked constantly round at them: warily, suspiciously, as if at any moment one of them might suddenly lunge forward to steal his food.
When he had finished the loaf, and drained a beaker of cold water, he wiped his mouth with his bare arm and pushed back the cover as if to go.
‘No, no,’ Mordecai said gently, pressing him back on the bed. ‘You can’t leave now. It’s already dark outside. Let me get word to your family that you are all right. What is your name, and where do you live?’
The boy looked at him silently, his mouth firmly closed.
‘We have shared bread together,’ explained Mordecai solemnly. ‘You are now under our protection. Please tell us your name.’ He smiled encouragingly.
The boy said nothing.
‘He doesn’t understand us,’ said Jonathan.
The boy shot him a furious look.
‘Oh, but I think he does,’ said Mordecai. ‘Young man,’ he said gently, ‘please open your mouth for me.’
The boy glared at him.
‘Please,’ said Mordecai softly.
The boy opened his mouth slowly. Mordecai carefully held the boy’s chin between thumb and forefinger and lowered it even more. Then he looked into the boy’s mouth.
After a moment he closed it again and looked gravely at the three of them.
‘He understands well enough,’ said the doctor, ‘but he is unable to reply. You see, someone has cut out his tongue.’
There was a stunned silence as they looked in horror at the boy. He glared defiantly back at them and Flavia saw angry tears fill his eyes. She realised his pride must be injured, and thought quickly.
‘I’ve seen you near the forum, haven’t I?’ she asked in a conversational tone. ‘You often sit by the junk man’s stall . . .’ She didn’t add that she had seen him begging.
The boy looked at her suspiciously for a moment and then gave a small nod. Jonathan followed Flavia’s lead.
‘How did you learn to climb trees so well?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Could you teach me?’
The beggar-boy looked pleased, in spite of himself, and shrugged.
Then Nubia spoke:
‘What name?’ she asked and then corrected herself: ‘What your name?’
The others looked at her in horror. Didn’t
she realise the boy couldn’t speak to tell his name?
The boy looked at Nubia for a moment and then growled and snarled like a fierce dog.
‘Sorry!’ Flavia apologised to the boy.
‘We didn’t mean to upset you,’ added Jonathan hastily.
‘Dog?’ said Nubia.
Ignoring Flavia and Jonathan, the boy beckoned Nubia on with one hand: she understood what he was trying to say.
‘Lion?’ she asked.
The boy shook his head, but his gleaming eyes urged her on.
Flavia and Jonathan finally caught on.
‘Tiger?’ asked Flavia. ‘Is Tiger your name?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Horse?’ suggested Jonathan. The boy looked at him, rolled his eyes heavenward and snarled again, curling his lip back from his teeth.
‘Oh, I know!’ cried Flavia. ‘Wolf!’
The boy gave an emphatic nod of assent.
‘Lupus? Is that your name?’ asked Flavia. The boy nodded again, folded his arms and sat back on the cushions.
Nubia turned to Flavia.
‘What is Lupus?’
‘Wolf,’ said Flavia, ‘like a fierce wild dog.’ Then she remembered the word in Greek: ‘Lykos!’
‘Ah! Lupus!’ said Nubia, and gave the boy a radiant smile. The boy raised his eyebrows questioningly, and pointed back at them.
‘I’m Flavia.’
‘Jonathan.’
‘My name is Nubia,’ said the slave-girl. And automatically added, ‘How may I please you?’
Lupus dropped his jaw at her in mock astonishment, and the others burst out laughing, even Nubia.
After another hour of questioning, with much nodding and shaking of Lupus’s head, they had discovered several facts about him.
Lupus was an orphan. He had no family. He had no home. He spent much of his day searching in the rubbish tips behind the tombs. The junk man occasionally gave him small coins for what he found. With those coins, together with any he received from begging, he bought food. During the summer, when the nights were warm, he slept outside, often among the tombs. In the winter, when it was cold or damp, he slept beside the furnace of the Baths of Thetis. He thought he was about eight years old, but did not know for certain.
None of them dared to ask how he had lost his tongue.
Throughout their exchange, Mordecai had been sitting quietly in a shadowy corner, watching and listening. They had almost forgotten his presence, and when he stood up and came into the circle of lamplight, Flavia jumped.
‘Children, it is well past sundown,’ he gently reminded them, ‘and time for you all to go to bed. Flavia, you and Nubia should go home now, or your nurse will worry. Lupus, you are welcome to spend the night here. Would you like that?’
Lupus considered this proposal for a moment and then nodded.
‘Good,’ smiled Mordecai.
He pinched out all but one of the wicks on the lamp stand and left the room. Jonathan and Nubia said goodnight to Lupus and went out. Flavia trailed behind on purpose, and as she reached the door, she turned and whispered to the boy:
‘Lupus, Jonathan’s dog was beheaded this morning. We are trying to find out who killed it. Will you help us solve the mystery?’
Lupus’s green eyes glinted in the dim lamplight and she saw him nod.
‘See you in the morning then,’ said Flavia.
‘We’re just finishing our breakfast,’ said Jonathan the next morning as he led Flavia and Nubia through the atrium and corridor towards the garden.
‘Miriam’s still at my cousin’s house and father went to the forum early to report the crime to the magistrates, and also to tell them about the pack of wild dogs. He says soldiers will probably deal with them. Father told us not to go anywhere until he comes back,’ Jonathan added as they stepped into the garden.
It was only an hour after dawn and the garden was still in shadow, though the sky above was clear blue. Lupus was sitting cross-legged on a faded red and blue carpet spread on the garden path. Although the low table before him was loaded with food, he wasn’t eating. He was sipping a thick, creamy liquid from a clay beaker.
‘It’s buttermilk,’ explained Jonathan. ‘He had some bread and honey, but this is easier for him to eat.’
‘Good morning, Lupus,’ said Flavia. ‘Are you feeling better this morning?’ The mute boy greeted Flavia and Nubia with a half smile and nodded. Jonathan and the girls sat around the table on the carpet.
Flavia pulled a wax tablet and stylus from her belt. ‘Let’s make a plan for today. Jonathan, have you told Lupus everything?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Jonathan. ‘Everything I could remember. How we all went to the harbour with you, leaving Bobas here alone and how we found him when we got back . . .’ His voice caught and Flavia asked quickly,
‘How do you think the killer got in?’
‘Father rarely locks the door,’ Jonathan admitted. ‘We have no door-slave and in our old community, no one ever locked their doors.’ He paused and added softly, ‘We’ll never make that mistake again.’
‘Who lives on the other side of this house, Jonathan?’
‘A banker and his family, I think, but they shut it up last week and went to Herculaneum for the summer.’
‘Hmmm.’ Flavia made a few notes on her wax tablet. ‘No one heard anything, no-one saw anything – apart from Libertus – and nothing was stolen . . .’
‘The dice!’ cried Jonathan. ‘I forgot about the dice!’
He fished in the pouch tied to his belt and showed Lupus the quartz dice. Lupus blew on it, rolled it on the carpet and scowled as it came up one.
‘The dog throw,’ observed Flavia absently, and then: ‘Wait! When you throw a one it’s called the dog throw! It’s the worst score. Do you think it means something?’
Jonathan shrugged, and Lupus scratched his head.
‘Probably not . . .’ Flavia chewed the end of her stylus. ‘I think the killer was the man crying beside the tomb,’ she said finally. ‘He hates dogs and he fits Libertus’s description. Did you tell Lupus what the man looked like?’
Jonathan started to reply, but suddenly Lupus grabbed Flavia’s wax tablet and stylus and rubbed out her notes with his thumb.
‘Hey!’ said Flavia in protest.
Lupus ignored her and began to make a few quick marks on the tablet. He grinned with delight as the tip of the ivory stylus pushed back the soft beeswax to reveal blackened wood beneath. Flavia was about to snatch it back when she saw that he was drawing something. After a moment, the boy held it up for them to see.
With confident black lines etched in the yellow wax, Lupus had drawn a man. The portrait was simple but clear: a square face, clean-shaven, short hair brushed forward and heavy eyebrows that met above his nose.
‘That’s him!’ exclaimed Flavia with a squeal of excitement. ‘That’s the man we saw at the tomb!’
‘That’s amazing!’ breathed Jonathan, admiring Lupus’s sketch of the man. ‘Who taught you to draw?’
Lupus pushed out his lower lip and shrugged, as if to say it was not difficult.
‘Do you know this man?’ asked Flavia.
Lupus shook his head.
‘Then how could you draw him?’
Lupus jerked his thumb back towards the graveyard. Then he mimicked someone weeping.
‘You’ve seen him crying at his daughter’s grave, too!’
Lupus nodded.
‘When?’ asked Jonathan.
Lupus thought for a moment, flicked up three fingers, then four.
‘Four different times?’
He nodded.
‘My old nurse Alma told us that his name was Publius Avitus Proculus,’ Flavia said to Lupus. ‘He’s a sailor and he lives further up this street.’
‘Why kill dog?’ asked Nubia suddenly.
‘He hates all dogs because his daughter was killed by one,’ explained Jonathan. ‘Hates dogs. Thinks dogs bad.’
‘No, wait,’ said Flavia
. ‘Nubia’s right. Why did he kill Bobas? Bobas was a tame dog, not a wild one. And he was shut up here in the house.’
‘Perhaps Bobas looked like the dog who bit his daughter,’ suggested Jonathan. ‘Or maybe he was passing by, and heard Bobas bark and became mad with grief and killed him . . .’
‘Maybe . . .’ said Flavia. ‘Still, we’ve got to be sure it was him, before we accuse him of such a crime . . .’ They were all silent for a few moments.
‘I know!’ cried Flavia, suddenly. ‘Let’s show your drawing to Libertus across the street, and see if he thinks it’s the same man he saw running away.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Jonathan, and then his face fell. ‘But my father told me to stay inside until he got back. Lupus, too. And I have to do my chores.’
‘Then Nubia and I will go!’ announced Flavia, and seeing Jonathan’s disappointed face, she added, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll come straight back.’
Flavia hesitated for a moment before Cordius’s house and then rapped on the door. The knocker was a fat bronze dolphin whose nose banged loudly on a bronze scallop shell.
‘Knocker,’ said Flavia to Nubia automatically, as they waited for a reply. Then: ‘Dolphin. Shell. Green. Green door. Dog barking. Peephole. Opening . . .
‘Hello!’ she said politely to the beady eyes that appeared in the tiny window. ‘I know your master is away, but may we speak to Libertus please?’ The eyes regarded her suspiciously.
‘My father is your master’s partner,’ added Flavia.
After a moment, the sliding door of the peephole shut and they heard the grate of the bolt sliding back. An extremely thin slave with a sour face opened the door.
Straining against a leash wrapped round his hand was a large red hound who snarled and bared his teeth at them.
Flavia shrank back in alarm, but Nubia slowly extended the back of her hand to the dog and spoke softly in her own language. Immediately, the dog stopped snarling and sniffed her hand. Then he licked it.
The doorkeeper cursed the dog under his breath, and beckoned the girls in. Flavia hesitated on the threshold. On the floor was a mosaic. Tiny pieces of coloured clay and stone showed a fierce black dog against a red background. The mosaic dog was straining against his lead and baring sharp teeth, and below him were the words CAVE CANEM: ‘Beware of the dog!’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 6