‘Flavia? Flavia, are you all right?’
A familiar accented voice sounded in Flavia’s ear. She kept her eyes closed for a minute, considering the red-brown light beyond her eyelids. Was it morning? It still felt like night. Then she smelled oil-lamps and cinnamon and mint tea, and Flavia knew she was safe in Jonathan’s house.
She opened her eyes to see Mordecai standing over her with a gentle smile. His hair hung loose and long about his shoulders.
‘What happened?’ Flavia asked him.
‘You fainted,’ the doctor explained.
‘Then it wasn’t a dream?’
‘I’m afraid not. The thing you saw was real.’ Mordecai held out a cup of steaming mint tea and urged, ‘Drink this.’
Flavia sipped the hot, sweet drink and looked around. She was in Mordecai’s study on the striped divan, propped up by cushions. The room was blazing with light. She guessed he had lit every candle and lamp in the house.
Nubia was sitting on the floor with Scuto, hugging an orange blanket around them both. Jonathan stood nearby, looking pale and concerned. Alma perched on the edge of the divan. She, too, was wrapped in a thick blanket and sipping mint tea.
‘That’s right, drink the tea,’ said Mordecai gently to Flavia. It occurred to her that mint tea was Mordecai’s cure-all. It would be easy to be a doctor: you just had to know how to brew mint tea. She smiled at the thought.
‘That’s better.’ Mordecai helped Flavia sit up a bit more.
‘Where’s Lupus?’ she asked suddenly.
Jonathan and his father exchanged quick looks. Mordecai answered softly:
‘Alma told us what happened: how you found him stealing the gold . . .’
‘He’s gone!’ Jonathan blurted out. ‘He just ran out into the night after we came to see what had happened.’
‘Did you see Cerberus? I mean the thing?’ Flavia couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘Yes,’ said Jonathan, swallowing and looking sick. ‘Alma told us how she heard a moan outside her window, and when she looked out . . . Some fiend had stuck Bobas’s head, and Ruber’s and the missing head from the graveyard, on a trident.’ He shivered in the flickering candlelight.
‘Caudex is taking the . . . three heads through the house to put outside in the graveyard,’ said Mordecai. ‘He’ll bury them tomorrow.’
‘I thought I had gone to the land of the dead. Or that it was some horrible nightmare,’ Flavia whispered.
‘It wasn’t a nightmare!’ said Alma suddenly, putting her cup down decisively and rising to her feet. ‘It was real and it was an omen of death!’ There was a note of hysteria in her voice. ‘Tomorrow we are leaving this town until your father returns!’
‘No!’ cried Flavia, sitting forward. ‘That’s exactly what the killer wants. He wants to frighten us away so that he can get at the gold.’ She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘But we must pretend to go away. Yes! That’s it! We’ll set a trap for the thief.’ She took a gulp of the sweet tea.
‘Tomorrow we’ll all pack and make a big show of leaving. But we’ll leave the back door unbolted. We’ll go out of the city gate, then double back through the graveyard and keep watch. Then, when he comes, we pounce!’
Caudex came in, looking slightly queasy and wiping his hands on his tunic.
‘Who will we pounce on?’ he asked thickly.
‘The thief, of course,’ said Flavia. ‘But we need some way of proving his guilt. Something which will prove beyond a doubt he was after the money . . .’ Suddenly she remembered the magpie’s inky footprint on her father’s parchment.
‘Doctor Mordecai,’ she said excitedly, ‘do you have a medicine or potion which would stain someone’s hands?’
Mordecai thought for a moment and then his face lit up.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have just the thing to catch your thief . . .’
‘But who is the thief?’ asked Jonathan, bursting with curiosity.
‘Yes, who?’ they all echoed.
‘Do you mean you haven’t guessed yet?’ asked Flavia, and the sparkle returned to her eyes.
The next day around noon, a two-horse carraca clattered up Green Fountain Street and stopped in front of the house of Marcus Flavius Geminus. The blue door of the house swung open, and the door of the neighbouring house, too, and for the next half hour people moved noisily in and out of the two houses, packing the carriage with chests and travel bags.
Up and down the street shutters squeaked open as curious neighbours satisfied themselves that nothing was amiss. A family was just going on a trip. Those who peeped out saw an oriental-looking man in a black turban directing a large slave in the loading of a cart. They heard the voices of children and the snorting and stamping of horses. Presently the neighbours closed their shutters again and returned to their midday siestas.
When the luggage was stowed in the carraca, a rather plump female climbed up beside the driver and sat sobbing noisily into a handkerchief. Three children and a sheep-like dog scrambled up onto the carriage behind the chests. Presently the carruca moved off slowly towards the marina. The big slave and the man with the turban followed on foot.
The clop of the horses’ hooves and the grating of the iron-rimmed wheels grew fainter and soon the afternoon throbbed again with heat and the cries of cicadas. Once more Green Fountain Street was quiet and peaceful.
The carruca rattled away from Flavia’s house towards the marina. As it passed the Laurentum Gate, Flavia and Jonathan slipped off the back of the carriage and landed lightly on the street.
‘Look after Scuto, Nubia,’ whispered Flavia.
‘Look after Nubia, Scuto,’ grinned Jonathan.
The cart clattered and creaked on its way. Caudex continued to walk behind it, but Mordecai joined Flavia and Jonathan as they hurried towards the brick arch of the gate.
‘Where is he?’ muttered Flavia, looking around nervously.
‘Here I am.’ A figure stepped out from behind one of the columns which flanked the arch. It was the magistrate they had seen the previous afternoon. His pale eyes looked them over.
‘Marcus Artorius Bato,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘I received your message. Your charge is a serious one.’
‘Yes, we know,’ replied Mordecai, ‘and we pray that we are not wasting your time.’
‘So do I,’ said the young man drily. ‘Lead on.’
‘This way!’ said Flavia, and led them out of the gate and back along the outside of the city wall. They moved quickly, pushing through the dry grasses and thistles, startling dozens of tiny brown grasshoppers. They soon crossed the dusty road which led back into the city through Fountain Gate and stood at Flavia’s back door.
Bato shook his head disapprovingly.
‘There’s a regulation against building into the city walls, you know. This door should be blocked up.’
‘We’re not the only ones.’ Flavia gestured towards Jonathan’s door.
‘Thanks, Flavia.’ Jonathan glared at her.
‘We’ll block up our doors if necessary,’ said Mordecai politely, ‘but just now we have a thief to catch!’
Bato gave a curt nod.
Flavia had left the back door wedged open with a twist of old papyrus. Now she put her eye to a gap about the width of her little finger. Between the columns surrounding her garden she could just see the storeroom door.
Jonathan crouched down below her to look, too. He wobbled a little and put out his hand to steady himself.
‘Careful!’ hissed Flavia. ‘If you push the door shut we’ll be locked out and we’ll never catch him!’
‘Sorry!’ Jonathan grinned sheepishly.
‘It may be a long wait,’ said Flavia, glancing up at the young magistrate.
‘As if I have nothing better to do,’ Bato remarked sarcastically, mopping his forehead with a cloth. It was like an oven in the midday sun.
‘I suggest that Marcus Artorius Bato and I wait in the shade of that pine,’ whispered Mordecai. ‘You t
wo can take turns keeping watch . . .’
‘No, wait!’ breathed Flavia, putting up her hand. ‘He’s there!’ She gazed up at them in wonder: her trap had worked!
‘What’s he doing?’ mouthed Jonathan.
Flavia put her eye to the crack again.
‘He’s in the study . . . looking behind scrolls, under the desk . . . He’s being very careful: trying not to disturb anything . . .’ She was silent for several moments, moving her head slightly to get the best view.
‘What?’ cried Jonathan. ‘What’s he doing now?’
Flavia stood and faced them. Her heart was thumping and her knees trembling. ‘He’s just gone into the storeroom,’ she breathed. ‘This is it!’
Quietly, inch by inch, Flavia began to pull open the back door. Suddenly one of the hinges gave a squeak. Flavia froze. Then she continued opening the door as carefully as she could. Tiny drops of sweat beaded her upper lip and a trickle of it ran down the back of her neck.
At last the door was open enough for each of them to squeeze through. Flavia went last, carefully easing the door shut behind her.
The others waited in the shade of the peristyle, each one standing behind a pillar. It was blessedly cool there and Flavia breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she pressed her cheek to one of the cool, plaster-covered columns. Then, heart pounding, she began to tiptoe towards the atrium.
‘Quick!’ she mouthed to the others. ‘Through the study to the atrium. We don’t want him to get away! Jonathan, you stay here and guard the back door.’
Jonathan nodded and pressed himself behind the column closest to the back door.
Quickly and quietly, the two men followed Flavia past the dining room and into the study. As they moved past the desk, Bato accidentally jogged the pink marble column which held the marble bust of the Emperor. They all froze as the bust slowly wobbled one way and the column the other. Then Bato reached out and caught the heavy sculpture just as it was about to crash to the marble floor. He set it carefully back on its pedestal and let out a sigh of relief. The stone Vespasian seemed to scowl as the magistrate mopped his forehead again.
They tiptoed forward through the folding doors and into the atrium. At that moment, they heard the storeroom door open and then close. The three of them pressed themselves against the atrium wall. Footsteps moved along the corridor towards them and then, just as they expected the culprit to round the corner, the footsteps stopped.
‘By Hercules!’ said a man’s voice, in a tone of mild surprise.
Bato stepped forward, followed by Mordecai and Flavia.
In the shadow of the corridor stood a man in a yellow tunic, with a heavy leather bag slung round one shoulder. The thief was staring at his hands, which were stained a vivid reddish purple colour. As the three appeared, he raised his head and looked at them with dark blue eyes. It was Libertus.
‘Titus Cordius Libertus,’ said the magistrate in a loud official voice, ‘I arrest you in the name of the Emperor Vespasian, for attempted theft and for destruction of private property.’
Libertus smiled ruefully and gazed at his hands.
‘It seems you’ve caught me red-handed!’ he confessed. He slipped off the bag and eased it to the floor. It settled heavily, the clink of many gold coins muffled by the leather. Flavia and Mordecai glanced at each other.
‘Hold out your hands,’ commanded Bato.
‘What is this?’ Libertus asked calmly, referring to the stain on his hands.
‘Just a vegetable dye,’ replied Mordecai as Bato put stiff leather manacles round the freedman’s wrists. ‘It will wear off in a few days.’
Jonathan came up behind Libertus. The freedman glanced round at him and gave a puzzled half-smile.
Bato pulled the heavy leather bag from the shadow of the peristyle into the sunny garden and squatted beside it. He opened the leather flap and cautiously poked at the gold with his finger. In the brilliant light they could see that some of the coins were thinly coated with red dye.
‘Why did you do it?’ Flavia blurted out. The sight of Libertus standing meekly, so handsome and vulnerable, made tears sting her eyes.
‘I needed money badly,’ he replied quietly. ‘And my life depended on getting it quickly.’
‘Gambling debts?’ Flavia asked, suddenly remembering the dice.
He nodded.
‘Why didn’t you throw yourself on the mercy of your patron Cordius?’ asked Mordecai.
‘That stingy old miser wouldn’t have given me anything,’ snarled Libertus, and for a moment the bitterness made his face looked ugly. ‘That’s why he moved all his money over here. So no one could touch it.’
A tear rolled down Flavia’s cheek. She swiped at it angrily. Libertus saw her concern and his face relaxed.
‘I didn’t want to hurt anyone,’ he said earnestly. ‘I just needed some cash.’
Bato looked up sharply. ‘The gold in this bag is worth nearly a million sestercii,’ he commented dryly.
‘And you did hurt somebody!’ said Jonathan angrily. ‘You killed two dogs and nearly frightened us to death.’
‘It seemed the best way at the time.’ Libertus shrugged. ‘I needed to make sure this house was empty long enough for me to search it and to silence that noisy dog next door.’
‘Why didn’t you just give him a drugged dog biscuit, like the woman in the fresco?’ asked Flavia.
‘That’s a very good question,’ remarked Bato, closing the bag and rising to his feet. ‘Why did you kill the poor creature? And in such a barbaric manner?’
‘I needed him silenced for more than just a few hours,’ Libertus replied evenly. ‘I removed the head to add an element of fear. Later, when I was investigating the back of this house, I found another dog’s head and that gave me my brilliant idea.’ For a moment he looked pleased with himself, then he frowned.
‘And I almost got away with it.’ Libertus glanced resentfully at Mordecai. ‘If you hadn’t found me out I’d be on my way to Hispania right now, debts paid and with enough money left over to buy a nice little farm . . .’
‘You think I found you out?’ said Mordecai in surprise, and then laughed. ‘No, my dear fellow.’ He gestured.
‘The person who guessed your plan and set the trap was this young lady here: Flavia Gemina!’
It was late morning. A hot June had become an even hotter July.
The week before, the Emperor Vespasian had passed away with the words ‘Oh dear, I think I’m becoming a god.’ His son Titus had succeeded him quietly and without bloodshed, much to the relief of all. Flavia’s father had already commissioned a sculpture of the young Emperor to join the bust of Vespasian in the study.
Flavia and Nubia were sitting in the garden preparing garlands for the evening celebration. The girls bent their heads, one fair and one dark, over their work. A cool breeze touched Flavia’s hair and she brushed a strand from her eyes.
‘Look, Nubia,’ she said softly, ‘you can weave the jasmine into the ivy, and then you put the grape hyacinth in like this. There!’ She put her finished garland beside her on the marble bench and counted on her fingers. ‘Let’s see, how many will we need? One each for me, you, and Jonathan. And Miriam’s back now, so that’s four. One for my father and one for Doctor Mordecai: that’s six. And one for Cordius. Oh, and Aristo! That’s eight. A good number, though nine is the perfect number for a banquet . . .’
‘Lupus?’ asked Nubia quietly.
‘Why do you keep bringing him up?’ Flavia scowled. ‘He ran away the night he stole – all right, tried to steal the gold, and he hasn’t come back since. I’m not going to go chasing after a thief. Oh, Pollux! Now look what I’ve done!’ She put down the ruined garland and stared at it absently.
Scuto, lying at their feet, pricked up his ears, lifted his head from his paws and gazed towards the front of the house. Then he uttered a loud bark.
‘That will be Jonathan,’ said Flavia. She pushed the glossy piles of ivy and jasmine off her lap and followe
d Scuto out of the garden and into the atrium.
Caudex was just opening the door. Flavia ran forward to greet her friend.
‘Hello, Jonathan! Oh, hello Doctor Mordecai!’ Jonathan’s father entered behind his son.
‘Father has something he wants to say to us.’ Jonathan rolled his eyes. ‘He won’t tell me what it is yet . . .’
‘Is Nubia here?’ asked Mordecai pleasantly. He was wearing a pale blue turban and a white robe, and Flavia thought the colours made him look milder than usual.
‘Yes. She’s in the garden. We’re making garlands. Please come through.’ She led the way into the garden and then ran to get two chairs. As she passed the open door of the kitchen she whispered, ‘Alma, could you bring us some peach juice?’
‘Of course, dear,’ her old nurse replied. ‘I’ll be there in a moment.’
Flavia set the chairs by the bench and they all sat down. The three friends looked at Mordecai and he looked back with his heavy-lidded eyes. The fountain splashed and a bird repeated the same clear note high in the fig tree. Nervously, Flavia picked at a strand of ivy.
Mordecai cleared his throat.
‘Miriam and Jonathan and I are very honoured to have been invited to your father’s homecoming dinner this evening,’ he began.
‘Even though he’s been home for three days now,’ broke in Flavia, and then bit her lower lip.
‘Yes,’ smiled Mordecai. He cleared his throat again. ‘However, I was sad to hear from Jonathan that you haven’t invited Lupus.’
Flavia stared at Mordecai with open mouth for a moment before she remembered herself and closed it. Then she shot a glare at Jonathan. But he was gazing bleakly at Scuto, who lay panting at their feet.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 12