‘Dogs not angry,’ said Nubia, gripping Flavia’s arm.
‘What do you mean, the dogs aren’t angry?’ yelled Jonathan. ‘They’re wild, rabid, mad, hydro-phobic killers!’
He pulled his sling from his belt. The slave-girl knew immediately what it was and put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘No throw rock. Make dogs angry,’ she pleaded.
Jonathan hesitated and then looked to Flavia for guidance. The dogs were almost upon them.
‘She’s been right about everything else so far,’ said Flavia. ‘Let’s trust her!’ She paused. ‘And let’s trust Pliny, too. Sit down.’
Flavia sat cross-legged on the sand, pulling the other two down beside her. Jonathan closed his eyes and began muttering something in his native language. Flavia suspected he was praying.
The dogs were now so close that she could see their eyes and pink tongues. The lead dog had something in its mouth. Flavia was afraid to look. She closed her eyes but then opened them a crack to peep through. The thing in the dog’s mouth looked like a child’s arm, or maybe a dirty leg-bone.
She closed her eyes again and waited for the inevitable chomp of jaws on flesh. Now the creatures were so close that she could hear their tongues panting and smell their doggy breath. She stifled a scream as several cold noses prodded and sniffed her, but she felt no pain.
Presently she heard a low growl. The new leader, a brown dog with pointed ears and face, stood before them, his tail wagging. He had dropped the mysterious object on the sand.
Flavia peeked with one eye, then opened the other.
‘A stick!’ she gasped. ‘It’s only a stick!’ And then, as the realisation dawned, ‘They want us to play with them, to throw the stick!’
‘That’s all they’ve ever wanted!’ laughed Jonathan, and Nubia began to laugh, too.
‘And we thought they wanted to kill us!’
With tears of laughter and relief flowing down her face, Flavia knelt and reached for the stick. The leader watched, alert and panting eagerly. Flavia stood, drew back her arm as far as she could and then threw the stick towards the blue line of the sea beyond the dunes.
Like arrows released from a bow, the dogs were after it, barking and yelping with delight.
‘Run!’ laughed Jonathan, scrambling to his feet and helping Nubia up.
The three of them ran as fast as they could away from the dogs, towards the tombs.
But before they had reached the harder ground which bordered the necropolis, the dogs were back again, surrounding them.
Again, the leader dropped the stick. This time, however, Flavia reached for it too quickly. The leader lunged forward snarling, and almost seized her hand.
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia, ‘I startled him!’
‘Let Nubia do it,’ said Nubia softly. She reached for the stick carefully, and threw it hard towards the sea. Again the dogs went one way and the children the other.
Again, they were soon surrounded by the dogs.
‘Now it’s not so funny,’ gasped Flavia, as she threw the stick again. ‘At this rate, it will take us hours to get home.’
‘And the sun will be setting soon,’ added Jonathan, whose asthma was making him wheeze again. ‘Father will murder me when I get back.’
‘Cheer up, maybe the dogs will kill you first,’ joked Flavia, and was relieved to see Jonathan grin back.
Once again they were surrounded by a solid, panting mass of dogs and presented with a wet stick.
It was Jonathan’s turn to throw the stick. He gingerly picked up the sopping piece of driftwood and allowed some of the saliva to drip off it. ‘What does Pliny say about mad dog’s slobber?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose.
The leader growled. The dogs were becoming more and more impatient, more and more demanding. Something had to be done.
‘Nubia has idea,’ ventured the slave-girl, ‘of escape from dogs.’ The others turned and looked at her hopefully.
Just as Lupus was about to slip through the gate of the low wall surrounding the lighthouse, one of the guards playing dice looked up.
‘Hey, you!’ he bellowed, jumping to his feet. ‘Get away from here!’ The other two glanced over. They looked bored.
Lupus grunted in protest and pointed urgently at the lighthouse. Avitus had passed through the gate unchallenged only a moment before. The soldiers had been so intent on their game that they hadn’t noticed him.
‘I said get out!’ The guard lumbered over and thrust his face into Lupus’s. His breath reeked of garlic and his tunic stank of sweat.
Lupus lowered his arm, and then opening his eyes wide as if in surprise, he pointed again. At last the guard turned to look, but Avitus had just disappeared into the lower entrance of the tower.
Lupus let his shoulders slump and turned as if to go. Then he whirled around and darted through the gate while the soldier’s guard was down.
Lupus was quick, but the soldier was quicker, and Lupus felt the air knocked out of him as the soldier grabbed his belt from behind. The other two guards rose to their feet and sauntered over.
‘Look, you!’ said Garlic-breath, holding Lupus aloft by his belt. ‘I’m going to count to ten and when I finish I don’t want to see your snotty little face anywhere around here. Or else I’ll throw you in the harbour. Do you understand? He dropped Lupus onto the hard concrete of the breakwater.
On his hands and knees, Lupus nodded, and glanced quickly up at the lighthouse. There must be slaves at the top to feed the fire, but he couldn’t see anyone. A great plume of black smoke was being fanned towards the town by the stiffening offshore breeze. From this close, the top seemed an immense height above him.
At that moment, Lupus saw Avitus appear on the second level. He seemed very high up.
Lupus scrambled to his feet and tried pointing again, but the soldier had already begun counting in a loud voice: ‘six, seven, eight –.’
‘Wait, Grumex!’ said one of the other soldiers. ‘I think I just saw someone up there.’
Garlic-breath whirled round, but Avitus had disappeared again. They all squinted up at the red brick tower, looking for movement. Apart from the smoke billowing far above them and a few gliding seagulls, there was nothing. In the silence, Lupus could hear the waves slapping against the breakwater and he felt a fine spray on the side of his face.
‘You’re crazy!’ said Grumex after a few moments, but he sounded doubtful. ‘Better go and check anyway . . .’ he added after a moment. Then, noticing Lupus, he snarled,
‘Go on! Get out of here!’
Lupus was backing off when suddenly, behind him, a woman carrying a fishing net screamed. At the edge of the highest tier of the lighthouse, a figure stood silhouetted against the sky.
‘A man!’ the woman shrieked, dropping her net and pointing. ‘There’s a man on the lighthouse and I think he’s going to jump!’
The dogs’ leader growled low in his throat. Jonathan dropped the slimy stick and looked at Nubia.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘What’s your idea?’
The slave-girl closed her eyes.
She began to hum: softly at first, then louder. Then she took a deep breath and started to sing a strange, tuneless song. It made the fine hairs at the back of Flavia’s neck stand up. The dogs began to whimper. Presently one or two of them sat.
Nubia was singing a song her father had taught her: the Dog-Song. She sang the story of how dogs had once been like jackals, wolves and desert foxes, hunting in the cold night. She reminded the dogs of how their ancestors used to howl at the moon from loneliness and hunger and a yearning for something they had never known.
The dogs began to howl with Nubia. Jonathan and Flavia exchanged wide-eyed looks, then turned back to watch her in fascination.
Gradually Nubia’s song changed. She began to croon the story-song, relating how dogs discovered man and fire and warmth and safety. How they no longer had to roam cold and hungry at night, but could curl up beside the fire with a full belly and someone to
scratch them behind their ears.
The dogs had stopped howling now, and were settling down. One or two were actually lying on the ground panting, their eyes half closed. The others were sitting. The leader whined and half stood, as if he felt his power fading.
But now Nubia was singing of warmth and love and loyalty and devotion, and finally he too settled down, rested his sharp, brown muzzle on his paws, and listened.
Bathed in the red light of the setting sun, the sea was the colour of purple wine. Lupus knew his friends would have been expecting him for some time now, but he could not leave the great curving breakwater on which the lighthouse stood.
Quite a crowd had gathered by now. The lighthouse was a dark shape against the blood-red sun, and the great plume of smoke from the bonfire at its top was as black as ink.
A hundred feet above them stood two tiny figures, silhouetted against the fading sky. One was poised at the very edge of the platform. The other figure, a soldier, stood on the same level, but further away. Every time he started to move, the man on the edge swayed forward as if to jump, and the crowd gasped.
A centurion was moving through the crowd asking if anyone knew who the man on the lighthouse was. Lupus considered trying to catch his eye, but even if he managed to communicate with him, what would he say? That the man’s name was Avitus? That he was consumed with grief for his dead daughter and had been drinking wine all afternoon? What good would that do?
Lupus hung his head as the officer pushed past. But he needn’t have bothered: the centurion didn’t even glance at him.
The crowd suddenly gasped again and Lupus looked up. High above them, the soldier was finally approaching Avitus with his hand extended.
It was at that moment that the tiny black figure swaying on the edge silently pitched forward and fell through space. There was a cry from the onlookers as the figure struck the edge of the first tier, bounced and tumbled like a rag doll down to the concrete below.
Humming softly, Nubia stepped carefully around the dogs. Flavia and Jonathan followed her. Resisting the urge to run, the three friends made their way through the necropolis, now full of long, purple shadows. Behind them, the dogs sat or lay, almost as if they had been drugged. One, a heavily pregnant bitch, followed them for a while and then turned back with a wistful whine.
Flavia suddenly realised she was so thirsty she could hardly swallow. She tried not to think how wonderful a cup of cool water would taste. She would even drink the water at the green fountain, though it always tasted slightly mouldy.
Up the dusty road the three of them went, past trees whose leaves glowed like emeralds in the light of the setting sun, past the cooling glade where Avita was buried, past the tomb of fighting gladiators, and on through Fountain Gate.
As soon as they had passed beneath its arch, they knew they were safe. Without a word, they ran to the green-tiled fountain in the centre of the crossroads and plunged their dusty faces into the cold water. Then, each chose a spout and drank deeply. Flavia had never tasted anything as delicious as that water, even with its slight taint.
At last they turned their tired feet for home, dreading the reception they would get.
Rounding the corner, they were surprised to find a group of soldiers standing outside Cordius’s house. An official-looking person, a magistrate, was deep in discussion with Libertus himself. Several passers-by had stopped to watch. Among them Flavia noticed the fat merchant in the grubby toga whom she’d seen laughing with Venalicius at the slave market.
Suddenly Libertus glanced up and saw Flavia.
‘Those are the children I was telling you about!’ she heard him say to the official. The young freedman smiled and beckoned them over.
‘Their dog was killed, too,’ Libertus was telling the magistrate, ‘and beheaded! Just like Ruber!’ He turned his dark blue eyes on Flavia. ‘Avitus has just killed Ruber!’
‘Ruber? Who’s Ruber?’ asked Flavia. But at that moment Cordius’s front door opened and two soldiers emerged. Between them walked the sour doorkeeper who had let the girls in earlier that morning. Tears streamed down his hollow cheeks and in his arms he carried the headless body of a red hound.
‘These children know who killed the dogs!’ Libertus repeated to the magistrate. ‘They know the man who knocked my porter unconscious and killed my watchdog. They know his name and even have a portrait of him on a wax tablet.’
‘But –’ said Flavia.
‘Your dog was killed as well?’ asked the magistrate. ‘And you think you know who did it?’ He was a short man with thinning hair and pale, intelligent eyes.
‘Well . . .’ began Flavia, thinking of Avitus sobbing in his wife’s arms and writing poetry about dolphins. ‘We’re not positive –’
‘I still think he did it,’ said Jonathan.
‘And so do I!’ agreed Libertus. ‘I saw him running away from this boy’s house yesterday, and it must be the same man who killed my dog. There can’t be two dog-killers on the same street!’ He turned to Flavia. ‘Do you still have the drawing?’
Flavia pulled the wax tablet from her belt and showed the magistrate Lupus’s sketch.
‘He lives just up the road and his name is Publius Avitus Proculus,’ said Jonathan firmly. ‘His daughter was killed by a mad dog several weeks ago.’
‘Well,’ said the magistrate to the captain of the soldiers, ‘I think we’d better interview this Avitus. Can you take us to his house, young man?’
‘Yes, I can,’ said Jonathan importantly, and led the way up the road to the house with the red door. Then he stood back while the magistrate pounded the knocker. Gradually the small crowd grew silent, and fixed their eyes on the door, waiting for someone – perhaps even the dog-killer himself – to answer.
As they waited, Flavia felt a touch on her arm. Nubia was pointing to the mulberry tree. On its trunk was scrawled a faint chalk arrow: it pointed north, towards the Roman Gate.
‘That means Lupus did follow Avitus,’ whispered Flavia. ‘I wonder if he’s back yet?’
‘You wonder if who’s back yet?’ said a man’s voice behind her.
Flavia jumped, then relaxed to see it was only Mordecai.
‘Peace be with you.’ He gave his little bow. ‘Where is Jonathan?’ he asked, ‘and what is going on?’
‘He’s right there, by those soldiers.’ Flavia pointed. ‘He’s helping the magistrate. Cordius’s watchdog has just been killed and beheaded.’
At that moment the red door opened and the crowd held their collective breath. In the darkening twilight, Flavia could just make out Julia, Avitus’s wife, at the door. They all saw her shake her head.
It was becoming too dark for any further investigation. Slaves were lighting lamps in the houses nearby. The magistrate and the soldiers marched past them back to their barracks.
Mordecai glowered at them as they passed.
‘I spent nearly one whole day in a clerk’s office only to be told nothing could be done,’ he grumbled. ‘But when a rich man’s watchdog is killed the crime is under investigation within minutes!’
‘Father!’ cried Jonathan, running up. Mordecai was surprised to find his son’s arms around him. ‘Father, don’t be angry!’
Flavia secretly gave Jonathan’s arm a pinch. ‘Your father has only just now returned,’ she said with a significant look. She didn’t want him to tell Mordecai they had broken their promise.
‘Why should I be angry?’ asked the doctor.
‘Er, no reason,’ Jonathan said. ‘It’s just that our house key is still at Flavia’s!’ Mordecai looked sharply at Jonathan, so Flavia said quickly,
‘What did you find out from the magistrate?’
‘Well,’ said the doctor, as they began to walk back down the street, ‘he told me the dogs here in Ostia aren’t truly wild. Most of them used to be tame, but their masters either died or abandoned them. They became feral, that is half-wild, and they began to run together in a pack. One clerk I spoke with said they weren’t really
dangerous, but just a nuisance.
‘He also told me that dogs with hydrophobia, or mad dogs, always run alone. Because, you see, even the other dogs are afraid of them.’
The street had emptied and total darkness had descended by the time they reached Flavia’s house. The double doors of Cordius’s house opposite had been shut and bolted. Two blazing torches had been set on either side. They lit up the porch as if it were day.
‘Should we light our torches, too?’ said Flavia, almost to herself.
‘No need,’ said Mordecai, ‘Cordius no longer has a watchdog, but you still do.’
An awful thought suddenly struck Flavia and Nubia at the same time and they looked at each other fearfully.
‘I hope we still have a watchdog!’ cried Flavia, and pounded hard on her door.
Flavia banged the bronze figure of Castor hard against the bronze Pollux again and again, frantically calling Caudex.
‘Listen!’ said Nubia suddenly, putting her hand on Flavia’s arm.
From deep inside the house they heard the wonderful sound of Scuto’s bark.
A moment later Caudex slid open the peephole and blinked sleepily at them. Now they could hear Scuto’s claws scrabbling on the inside of the door.
‘Open up, Caudex!’ cried Flavia. ‘We’re hungry and tired and, oh hurry!’
At last the door swung open and Scuto joyfully greeted everyone, licking and pawing and wagging his tail. Even Mordecai got a sloppy wet kiss. As they all moved into the atrium Alma bustled up, scolding them for being so late.
‘What do you mean, staying out after dark?’ she cried, hugging Flavia hard. ‘I nearly died of worry.’ She gave Nubia a squeeze and complained, ‘Caudex was beside himself, too. Weren’t you, Caudex?’
The slave yawned and nodded.
I’ve made enough dinner for you all,’ Alma announced. ‘Come and eat it before it gets cold.’
Jonathan was hanging back, hoping to avoid Alma’s enthusiastic welcome, but she caught sight of him and enveloped him in a squishy embrace.
‘And where’s Wolfie?’ she asked, looking hopefully past Mordecai and out through the open door.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 10