Julia Firma went to her husband and put her arms round him. ‘Of course it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. You must forgive yourself, Publius.’
Avitus and his wife wept in each other’s arms and Flavia felt her own eyes prickle with tears. Lupus cleared his throat to attract her attention and made a tiny movement with his head towards the stairs.
Flavia nodded, and the two of them squeezed past the weeping couple and hurried quietly downstairs. They passed through the narrow garden and dark atrium, stepping carefully over the toddlers, and let themselves out.
As the door closed behind them, Flavia shivered and stood silently for a moment in the hot street, soaking up the intense warmth of the afternoon sun.
The next moment they heard the sound of feet pounding the pavement and looked up to see Nubia and Jonathan running towards them.
‘Head gone!’ said Nubia who reached them first.
And when Jonathan stood before them – wheezing and unable to speak – she said again, ‘Dog’s head is gone!’
The four friends stood in the graveyard and looked at the bodies of the two dead dogs under the tree. The corpses had already been picked at by crows. Now ants were doing their work, too. Flavia instinctively averted her eyes and then forced herself to look back. There were two bodies, a brown one and a black one, but only one head: the mastiff’s big head had disappeared.
‘Perhaps a crow carried it off,’ Jonathan suggested.
Flavia gave him a sceptical look. ‘Too heavy. It’s more likely that your father took it to the magistrate for some reason.’
‘I don’t think so. Remember, he said even the blood might be dangerous.’
‘Perhaps one of the dogs from the pack carried it off.’
‘Perhaps.’ Jonathan sounded doubtful.
Lupus cautiously searched the dry weeds around the leader’s headless body. Then he crouched down and sniffed.
‘Any clues, Lupus?’ Flavia asked him.
He shook his head.
‘Better get away from those corpses,’ said a deep voice.
The four of them jumped. Behind them two soldiers stood leaning on shovels and perspiring heavily in the heat.
‘We’re to dispose of them as soon as possible,’ said the taller of the two. ‘Orders of the magistrate.’ He thrust his shovel into the dry ground.
‘Did you take the black dog’s head?’ Flavia asked when she had recovered from her surprise.
‘No, sweetheart! Why should we do that?’ His shovel sliced into the ground again.
‘Well, it’s not here and I just wondered –’
‘She’s right, Rufus!’ said the short one, who was leaning on his spade. ‘There’s a missing head.’
‘You’ll be missing a head, too, if you don’t start helping me dig!’
‘What did you find out at Avita’s?’ whispered Jonathan as they stood in the shade of a pine, watching the soldiers work.
‘Nothing much. Her parents both miss her, but her mother believes she’s gone to some wonderful garden with a shepherd.’
Jonathan gave Flavia an odd look. She added,
‘Avitus came in when we were in her room and got very angry. He does have a bad temper . . .’
‘We already know that,’ murmured Jonathan, and then added thoughtfully, ‘we must find out more about him. If only we could follow him.’
Lupus tugged hopefully at Jonathan’s tunic and pointed eagerly at himself.
‘Thanks for offering to follow him, Lupus, but I think he’d recognise you now that he’s seen you.’
Lupus’s response was to bend down, pick up a handful of twigs and dust, and smear them over his face.
‘Oh, Lupus!’ cried Flavia. ‘Just after we got you cleaned up!’
‘He’s right!’ cried Jonathan. ‘Everybody knows the beggar-boy at the junk man’s stall. And no one ever takes any notice of him. Dressed like a beggar, Lupus is as good as invisible.’ He slapped Lupus on the back and said, ‘Better take off those sandals and my bulla and put on your own tunic again.’
When Lupus had been restored to his former filthy state, they left him sitting in the shade of a mulberry tree within sight of Avitus’s front door. Flavia gave him his last instructions.
‘When Avitus comes out of his house – if he comes out – follow him at a distance and look for any suspicious behaviour. If he leaves, use this piece of chalk to make an arrow on the tree trunk to show which way you’ve gone. Here’s some bread and cheese in case you get hungry. Better put them out of sight.’
Lupus slipped them into a little cloth pouch tied to the belt of his tunic.
‘You’re sure you don’t mind just sitting here and waiting?’ asked Jonathan.
Lupus shook his head.
‘We’ll try to find out more about Avitus, too,’ Flavia told Lupus. ‘We’ll all meet back at my house an hour before sunset to discuss our findings. Agreed?’
Lupus nodded. Flavia, Nubia and Jonathan set off back down the road. As they passed their house Nubia said to Flavia, ‘Take Scuto?’
Flavia hesitated. Someone was killing dogs and she didn’t want anything to happen to him. Her father had always told her never to venture into the city without Scuto, but surely if there were three of them they wouldn’t come to any danger.
‘I think he’s safer at home with Caudex and Alma,’ she decided.
‘Shouldn’t you tell them where you’re going?’ suggested Jonathan.
‘If I do, they’ll never let us go!’ said Flavia. ‘Come on!’
Lupus sat under the shade of the mulberry tree and looked up and down the street. It was the hottest part of the day. Most people would be napping in their cool gardens or relaxing at the baths. The street shimmered with heat as Lupus watched the others disappear round the bend in the road.
A flash of movement caught his eye as a slave emptied a chamber pot from an upstairs window. A splash and the squeak of wooden shutters being shut again, and then silence, apart from the chirring of the cicadas.
Lupus thought about Flavia and her friends for a while. Then he thought of all the food he’d eaten in the past few hours.
He usually hated food. He couldn’t taste it, it was difficult to chew, and every bite threatened to choke him if he didn’t swallow carefully. But when he had been presented with grapes and bread and honey and buttermilk, his body had craved it so badly that he had eaten in spite of the danger.
Now his belly was full and content. He felt sleepy, too. The slow rhythmic creaking of the cicadas in the hot summer afternoon made him feel drowsy. His eyelids grew heavy and almost shut. He shook himself awake angrily.
That was one advantage to being hungry all the time: it gave you an edge, an alertness. His sense of smell was always sharper if he hadn’t eaten for a day or two. His eyesight was keener, too.
Was this how ordinary people felt most of the time, full and content and muzzy? He had smeared his face with dust and dirt but under his dirty old tunic his skin felt soft and clean, his muscles loose and relaxed. He could still smell the sandalwood oil they had massaged him with. It made him feel soft and vulnerable. The itching of vermin always used to help him stay alert and awake. But now there were no lice in his clothing and no nits in his hair.
He reached up and stroked his head and felt the soft stubble. It felt nice. How good it would be to live in a beautiful house like Flavia’s and always have a full belly and clean clothes and to be able to nap during the hottest part of the afternoon in a cool garden by a splashing fountain. Or go to the baths whenever you wanted and swim in pools of crystal clear water with mosaics of sea nymphs at the bottom, and have all your aches massaged away.
How wonderful never to have to worry about where your next meal would come from. Never to have to worry about people who wanted to hurt you. Never to have to worry about being lonely. Lupus’s eyes closed and for a moment he began to slip into the delicious oblivion of sleep.
Suddenly he started awake. Something had moved i
n the hot, deserted street. The red door was opening. A man closed it behind him and turned to go north towards the Roman Gate. It was Avitus and he was alone.
Where are you taking us?’ Jonathan hesitated as they reached the green fountain that marked the end of their street.
‘To the marina forum. The harbourmaster is my father’s friend. He might know more about Avitus.’
‘But I promised my father we wouldn’t leave the street.’ Jonathan shifted uneasily on the hot pavement.
‘Come on, Jonathan,’ Flavia said in her most persuasive voice. ‘Don’t you want to find out who killed Bobas?’
‘Of course I do. But father trusts me.’
‘He trusts you to help him,’ Flavia said softly. ‘It won’t take long. I promise.’
Nubia looked from one to the other. After a moment Jonathan said abruptly:
‘All right. Let’s get this over with.’ He set off down Fullers Street at a quick pace, and the girls hurried after him.
Apart from one or two slaves running errands for their masters, the whole town had gone indoors to seek refuge from the heat. Flavia and her friends were damp with sweat by the time they reached the Marina Gate. Through the marble arch, brilliant white against the azure sky, they could see the darker cobalt blue of the sea.
‘The harbourmaster’s name is Lucius Cartilius Poplicola,’ said Flavia as they all paused for a moment in the cool shade beneath the arch. Flavia pointed to the left.
‘I think he works there.’
The marina forum was an open square surrounded on three sides by a covered, column-lined walkway.
In the mornings and late afternoons, stalls set up in the shade of this colonnade did brisk business selling select goods fresh off the ships: fish, exotic fruit, jewellery, perfume, wine and fabrics.
Now most of the stalls were closed for the long afternoon lunch. Only one or two remained open. Somewhere a flute warbled and nearby a fishmonger was calling, ‘Fresh squid! Last of the catch! Fresh squid!’ in a sleepy voice. At the far end of the square stood an imposing brick and marble building.
‘His office is in there?’ asked Jonathan.
‘I think so,’ replied Flavia, her confidence faltering. The door was guarded by a soldier on either side.
‘Well, come on, then,’ said Jonathan, and headed for the building.
As the three friends hurried under the shady colonnade past mostly empty stalls, the sound of the flute grew louder. Suddenly, Flavia felt Nubia grip her hand.
‘Look!’ Nubia whispered.
Behind one of the stalls stood a tall, handsome African. His skin was deep brown, like Nubia’s, and he had the same neat ears and amber eyes. He was blowing into a little flute made of dark wood.
The three friends stopped before his stall. On a large piece of peacock-blue silk lay flutes of many different shapes, sizes and colours. When the flautist saw them he put down his instrument and smiled with perfect white teeth. He addressed Nubia in a soft, fluid language.
Nubia’s face lit up and she replied in the same tongue. As she and the young man conversed, Flavia and Jonathan looked at her in amazement. Speaking her own language, she seemed completely different: confident and proud.
Nubia and the young man spoke together for a few minutes and then the slave-girl pointed to a small flute, like the one he had been playing. The man smiled apologetically and said something to her. Then he turned to Flavia and Jonathan:
‘The one she is asking about is made of lotus wood from my country. Very expensive. One gold piece. One hundred sestercii.’
Flavia gasped. One hundred sestercii was a soldier’s monthly wage.
‘Come on, Nubia,’ she said, ‘you can come back and talk to him another day soon.’
Nubia followed the others towards the harbour master’s office. She only looked back once.
‘Avitus?’ bawled out the captain of the Triton to Flavia and her friends an hour later. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Very moody, though. Always writing poetry. About dolphins and waves and sea nymphs. Laughing one minute, crying the next. Doted on that little girl of his, though. I’ve never seen anyone so affected by the death of a child.’
Flavia, Jonathan and Nubia were standing on one of the small piers of the marina watching a ship called the Triton undergo repairs. They hadn’t been able to see Poplicola, but an ancient porter in the harbour offices had told them the name of Avitus’s ship and even where it was berthed. Captain Alga was halfway up the mast of his ship but his voice was so loud that they could hear him even over the jingle of tackle, the slap of waves against the pier and the shouts and hammering of the sailors.
‘Have you seen him recently?’ shouted Flavia.
‘Avitus?’ Captain Alga yelled back. ‘No, he’s on leave until tomorrow. Then we’re off to Sicily again. We’ve been stuck here for two weeks trying to get our mast refitted. The old one was shattered in a storm. Most amazing storm I’ve ever experienced. Really thought we were going to Neptune’s palace, if you know what I mean. All of us thanking whatever gods we believe in that we’re alive and no sooner does he step off the ship than he’s greeted with the news of his daughter’s death. Told me he wished he had drowned in the storm and had never known what happened to her. Poor little thing –’
The captain would have bellowed on, but Flavia hastily shouted her thanks and led the others back up the pier.
‘Well, he didn’t seem to think Avitus was dangerous,’ mused Flavia. ‘But Libertus saw Avitus running with a bag, and . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she considered the problem.
A fishing boat had just docked and the fishermen were unloading the day’s catch. Two lean young men, naked apart from loincloths and as brown as chestnuts, were carrying baskets of gleaming fish down a wobbly boarding plank. One of them nearly slipped and fell, but he regained his balance and leapt lightly onto the pier while the other cursed him good-naturedly.
Nubia stared at the gangplank and shivered. It reminded her of the first time she had been forced to board a ship, at Alexandria. Venalicius had cracked his whip and forced them towards a narrow piece of wood which bridged the land and the boat. The gangplank rose and fell as if it were breathing and Shanakda – a girl from her clan – had screamed hysterically and refused to go up it, alarming all the others. Without warning, Venalicius had furiously unlocked her collar and pushed her into the water, though her hands had still been tied.
Nubia would never forget the sight of bitter seawater filling Shanakda’s screaming mouth and silencing her forever. They had all been quiet after that. Quiet and cowed for the whole voyage to Italy.
Nubia shivered again and felt Flavia’s arm around her shoulders.
‘I know you don’t like boats, Nubia,’ whispered Flavia. ‘We’ll go home right now . . .’
But as they turned left and started back towards the Marina Gate, Nubia saw a sight which made her heart pound. Three large men were sauntering straight towards them. Nubia knew them immediately. Their faces appeared often in her nightmares. They were Venalicius’s henchmen, from the slave ship.
Nubia stopped short and looked frantically round, squinting against the glare of the sun on the water. The slave ship Vespa was berthed in the marina! She would know that hateful black and yellow striped sail anywhere. And there was Venalicius himself, leering at her from the deck with his one good eye.
‘Run for your lives!’ cried Nubia. She gripped Flavia’s arm tightly, ‘Venalicius has seen us and sent his men to capture us!’
‘What? What about Venalicius?’ Flavia frowned at her.
Nubia suddenly realised she had been speaking in her native language. Now she tried to remember the Latin for ‘run’ but her mind had gone blank.
The men were getting closer. One of them was looking directly at her and smiling an evil smile.
In desperation, Nubia pointed towards the men, and then towards Venalicius.
Flavia saw the slave-dealer watching them from his ship and understood at once.
&n
bsp; ‘Run, Jonathan! Run!’ She grabbed his arm and pulled.
They turned and began to run back along the waterfront away from the Marina Gate: Flavia first, then Nubia, then Jonathan.
‘Why are we running?’ shouted Jonathan, leaping over a rolled up fishnet.
‘Venalicius’s men are after us!’ Flavia dodged a sailor.
‘Who’s Venalicius?’
‘Slave-dealer!’ shouted Flavia. ‘If he catches us, he’ll sell us on the far side of the world, where nobody will ever find us.’
She led them round a half-loaded cart, under an unmanned customs stall, and past the building site of the new marina baths.
‘Are they still after us?’ Flavia called over her shoulder.
‘Yes!’ gasped Jonathan.
Fiavia’s ankle started to ache and she realised Jonathan was wheezing. She had to find them some way of escape quickly. The marina piers were on the right. They’d be trapped if they went down one of those. There were some brick warehouses on the left, but again, if they went into one of those there might be no way out. The beach lay ahead of them, but there was no shelter there.
Suddenly Jonathan cried:
‘I know where we can hide! Follow me!’
He turned and raced up the narrow alley between the last two warehouses on the waterfront. The alley was narrow and dark. It smelled of urine and vomit and worse. The ground was slippery with rotting fish scales and garbage.
Flavia hoped Jonathan knew what he was doing.
If he didn’t, and if Venalicius’s men caught them, she knew the three of them would be tied up in the hold of the slave-ship Vespa by that evening.
Slipping from shadow to shadow, Lupus silently followed Avitus to Ropemakers Street. Red brick tenement houses three and four storeys high rose on either side of the street. Their ground floors were all taken up by one-roomed workshops which sold rope, nets, canvas and basketry. These shops were shuttered up, for the shopkeepers had retired to their apartments to rest until the day grew cooler.
Squeezed between two workshops at the end of the street nearest the theatre, was a narrow doorway. A wooden bead curtain hung in this doorway, and above it someone had painted an Egyptian eye. At least a dozen cats, half-starved and half-wild, napped in the bright sun beside the doorway. The timid creatures scattered as Avitus approached this doorway and pushed through the curtain.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 8