The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘I also heard that a killer whale was spotted in the harbour yesterday. You wrote a book about natural history. So that would explain why you were out in a small boat with your tablet and stylus.’ Most of this was occurring to Flavia as she spoke, but the old man’s shining eyes encouraged her.

  ‘Furthermore,’ she proclaimed dramatically, ‘I think the killer whale surfaced near your boat and . . . and capsized it with his tail.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’ cried Pliny, clapping his hands. ‘What a superb mind you have for deductions. However, I am afraid you are incorrect about the cause of my accident. We never saw the killer whale. Rather, my stupid slave panicked when a wasp flew too near. He stood up and flapped his arms about, with the inevitable results. I’m afraid he has paid dearly for his fear of being stung. I shouldn’t have taken a mere household slave.’

  ‘You mean your slave is dead?’ gulped Jonathan, jogging on the other side of the litter.

  ‘Yes, indeed. I’m afraid he now lies at the bottom of the Tyrrhenian Sea. But who are you, young man, and where are you taking me?’

  ‘I’m Jonathan ben Mordecai. My father is a doctor. He’ll help you recover.’

  ‘Ah!’ said the admiral. ‘A Jew! Jews make extraordinarily good doctors. I look forward to meeting him. However, I don’t think there is anything wrong with me that a cup of wine and a piece of cheese won’t cure. I’ve been floating in that water since two hours past dawn. I’m as wrinkled as a raisin and ravenously hungry.’

  ‘I’m sure my father has some wine,’ said Jonathan, and then added, ‘I’ve read some of your book, too.’

  ‘How gratifying! I am surrounded by fans. Do you also enjoy my writings, young lady?’ This last was addressed to Nubia, who smiled shyly and then looked rather frightened.

  ‘Nubia has only been here in Italy for two months,’ Flavia explained, ‘She’s learning to speak Latin but can’t read it yet.’

  ‘And you, young man, the brave and aquatic hero who rescued my precious tablets and notes. What is your name?’

  ‘His name is Lupus,’ answered Jonathan. ‘He is an orphan and can’t speak. His tongue was cut out.’

  ‘Poor boy!’ said Pliny, ‘How did it happen?’

  Lupus’s grin instantly faded and his green eyes stared coldly into the admiral’s. Pliny’s cheerful gaze faltered and he looked uncertainly at Flavia.

  ‘We don’t know how Lupus lost his tongue,’ she whispered. ‘He lives with Jonathan now, and has lessons with us. We hope one day he’ll be able to tell us in writing. But he doesn’t like people talking about it.’

  They had just passed through the cool shade of the Marina Gate. Now the litter emerged into the bright, hot sunshine and turned right onto Marina Street, just inside the city walls. Although many people were making their way home or to taverns in order to eat the midday meal, it was still crowded.

  Lupus’s face brightened again and he beamed around at the lesser mortals who had to walk on foot. Suddenly he startled them all by crowing like a rooster at two scruffy boys loitering in front of a snack bar. The boys saw him and whooped back.

  ‘Lupus in a litter!’ cried one of them.

  ‘Are you rich, now?’ yelled the other.

  Lupus nodded smugly and stuck his nose in the air in a parody of a rich man. One of the boys picked up a rotten lettuce from the gutter and threw it at the litter. The soggy green missile struck Jonathan on the back.

  ‘Hey!’ Jonathan turned around, but the boys had darted out of sight.

  ‘Perhaps we should close the curtains now,’ Pliny said to Flavia.

  Lupus clutched Pliny’s ankle and shook his head imploringly.

  ‘Very well,’ said Pliny. ‘But if you ride in a litter you must behave with decorum and not bellow out at your comrades.’

  Lupus nodded meekly and behaved himself for the rest of the journey home.

  ‘Well, that was delicious,’ said Pliny, patting his ample stomach. ‘I owe you all a great debt – you saved my life. But even more importantly, you fed me. I hate missing my midday meal.’

  They were all in the cool triclinium of Flavia’s house: the adults reclining on couches against the wall, Flavia and her friends sitting round a table in the centre. The dining-room opened out onto a bright inner garden with a fig tree, fountain and scented shrubs.

  Reclining on Pliny’s right was Flavia’s father. Marcus Flavius Geminus was tall and tanned, with light brown hair and the same clear grey eyes as his daughter. His hand trembled nervously as he refilled the admiral’s wine cup. He could scarcely believe he was entertaining the Commander-in-Chief of the Roman imperial fleet.

  Admiral Pliny nodded his thanks and then turned to Jonathan’s father Mordecai, who reclined on his left.

  ‘Thank you for looking after me, doctor.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ Mordecai bowed his turbaned head. ‘I merely prescribed mint tea and a light lunch to revive you.’

  ‘And it has. Particularly this delightful wine.’ Pliny lifted his cup towards Captain Geminus. ‘Is it from the Vesuvius region?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Flavia’s father looked impressed. ‘My brother Gaius has an estate near Pompeii. This wine is from his vineyards.’

  ‘I know the region well. In fact, I am going down to Misenum in less than a week, as soon as the festivals have finished.’ Pliny folded his napkin and smiled at them all. ‘And now, much as I’d like to stay and chat, I must be getting back. My household will begin to worry and I am a busy man. However, I would like to invite you four children to dine with me at my Laurentum villa tomorrow evening. Will you come?’

  ‘We’d love to come,’ Flavia said, flushing with pleasure.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the admiral. ‘I’ll send my carriage for you at the ninth hour. You see, I’ve already thanked your bodyguard for rescuing me, but I’d like to give each of you a small reward, too.’

  The following afternoon, soon after the four friends returned from the baths, a two-horse carruca pulled up outside Flavia’s house.

  It was only a few miles from Ostia to Laurentum, a pleasant drive along the coastal road. The carriage crunched up the gravel drive of Pliny’s seaside villa less than half an hour after they had left Ostia. A door-slave in a red tunic met them on the steps of the butter-coloured villa and led them through cool rooms and sunny courtyards to a breezy dining-room.

  Flavia and her friends gazed around in amazement.

  The room they stood in was surrounded on three sides by water. Only a low wall and spiral columns separated them from the blue Mediterranean. Jonathan and Lupus immediately went to the marble parapet and leaned over.

  ‘Careful!’ wheezed Admiral Pliny, shuffling into the room. ‘We’re right above the sea.’

  ‘Salve!’ they all said, and he returned their greeting.

  ‘These halls are fair,’ said Nubia.

  ‘It is a rather fine triclinium, isn’t it?’ Pliny was wearing a faded purple tunic and leather slippers. He held a wax tablet in one hand. ‘When the wind’s from the south-west you can actually feel the spray from the breakers.’

  ‘And look at that view!’ Flavia pointed back the way they had just come. A slave had opened the double front doors and they could see all the way back through the house to the gravel drive and green woods beyond.

  ‘It’s the most beautiful villa I’ve ever seen,’ said Jonathan.

  Lupus nodded vigorously.

  Pliny smiled.

  ‘My only complaint,’ he said, ‘is that there is no aqueduct to supply us with running water. It makes a bit more work for the bath-slaves. But there are several wells and springs on the property.’

  ‘You have your own private baths?’ Jonathan’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Oh yes. Steam room, cold plunge, heated swimming pool . . . I simply can’t do without my bath.’

  A handsome slave in a red tunic hurried into the room. Around his neck hung a scribe’s inkpot on a chain.

  ‘Ah, Phrixus! Just in time.’

>   Admiral Pliny turned to Flavia and her friends.

  ‘Please be seated.’ He gestured towards a table set with five places. ‘I prefer to sit for my meals rather than recline. I usually have a slave read to me while I eat and it’s easier to take notes sitting down.’

  Two female slaves in blue entered the sunny dining-room on bare feet, holding silver basins and linen napkins to wash the diners’ hands. Nearby, in the shadow of a column, a fair-haired boy in a red tunic played soft music on pan pipes.

  The food was simple but delicious: hardboiled eggs to start, chicken and salad for the main course and sweet red apples for dessert. The two serving-girls kept the cups filled with well-watered wine and passed out rolls made from the finest white flour.

  As they ate, Pliny told them amusing stories about the Emperor Vespasian, who had been his friend. Occasionally the admiral turned to his scribe and dictated a few lines. The young slave had smooth, tanned skin and dark curly hair. He reminded Flavia of her tutor, though Aristo’s hair was lighter.

  Finally, as they munched slices of apple, Pliny leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Now, Flavia Gemina, I believe you recently solved the mystery of Ostia’s dog-killer!’

  ‘You know about that?’ Flavia felt her face grow pink.

  ‘Of course. Research is what I do best.’ The admiral’s eyes twinkled, and he added, ‘I know Ostia’s junior magistrate fairly well. He was very impressed with your detective work. Tell me how you did it.’

  A sea breeze ruffled their hair and garments.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t have done it without my friends.’

  For the first time that evening, Pliny ignored his Greek scribe and gave them his undivided attention. His eyes shone as Flavia and Jonathan took it in turns to tell the story. He laughed at Lupus’s sound-effects and when, after much coaxing, Nubia shyly sang her haunting Dog-Song, the admiral wiped a tear from his eye.

  ‘Extraordinary,’ said Pliny. ‘You are quite remarkable children.’

  He glanced at his scribe and Flavia thought he was going to resume his dictation. Instead, the young man slipped out of the dining-room and returned a moment later with three small pouches and a papyrus scroll.

  ‘Thank you, Phrixus.’ Pliny looked around the table at each of them. ‘I promised you all a reward for rescuing me yesterday and I hope my modest gifts will not disappoint you.

  ‘First, to Lupus, the brave young swimmer who rescued my precious research . . .’ Pliny nodded at Phrixus, who presented Lupus with a small, blue silk pouch.

  Lupus opened it with eager hands and tipped out the contents. A gold ring set with an engraved aquamarine fell into his palm.

  ‘What is it?’ Flavia asked.

  ‘It is a signet ring with a wolf carved upon it,’ said the admiral. ‘Most suitable for someone whose name means “wolf”.’

  Lupus passed it around. They all admired the miniature wolf’s face cut into the gem. Lupus looked at Pliny with bright eyes and nodded his head respectfully.

  ‘You’re most welcome,’ said Pliny in his breathy voice. ‘Next, the dusky Nubia. Unwillingly taken from your desert home, you bravely face the future as a stranger in a strange land.’

  Phrixus presented Nubia with a tiny pouch of orange silk. Inside were two earrings: golden brown gems in gold settings.

  ‘The stone is called “tiger’s-eye”,’ explained the admiral, ‘because the yellow streak looks like a cat’s eye.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Nubia, putting in the earrings. They gleamed in her neat ears, perfectly matching the colour of her eyes.

  ‘Jonathan,’ continued Pliny, ‘I understand you suffer from asthma, as I do.’

  Phrixus handed Jonathan a small leather pouch on a black silken cord.

  ‘In this pouch are exotic and rare herbs for your shortness of breath. Such a bag of herbs has brought me relief on many occasions. Always wear it round your neck. When you feel the tightening in your chest, breathe into it.’

  ‘Thank you, admiral,’ said Jonathan. He gave the sack a tentative sniff.

  ‘And finally, a gift for you, my dear.’ Pliny smiled at Flavia. ‘Something which I hope will appeal to your enquiring mind.’

  Phrixus handed Flavia a papyrus scroll, tied with a blue ribbon. As she untied the ribbon, Pliny explained,

  ‘It’s an unpublished work of mine, written in my own hand when I was younger. It’s a short account of some of the great mysteries of the past. I meant to include it as an appendix to my book The Scholar, but in the end I left it out.’

  Wide-eyed, Flavia unrolled the scroll carefully. Minuscule writing covered the sheet from margin to margin.

  ‘Thank you,’ breathed Flavia. ‘I love mysteries.’

  The admiral nodded. Then he narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘I think I might have a real mystery for you to solve. You say you are travelling to the Pompeii region soon?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Flavia. ‘My uncle Gaius lives between Stabia and Pompeii.’

  ‘Perfect!’ exclaimed the admiral. ‘Phrixus, do you have –’ but the Greek scribe was already holding out a scrap of papyrus.

  ‘What a marvellous servant you are, Phrixus,’ said Pliny with a smile. ‘You anticipate my every wish. Please give it to our young detective.’

  Flavia eagerly took the piece of papyrus and read it. Then she looked up at Pliny, a frown creasing her forehead.

  ‘It’s only a riddle,’ she said. ‘A child’s riddle.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pliny, ‘but it may lead you to a great treasure!’

  ‘Read us the riddle,’ said Jonathan, leaning forward in his chair.

  ‘Littera prima dolet, secunda iubet, tertia mittit, quarta docet, et littera quinta gaudet,’ read Flavia. ‘My first letter grieves, my second commands, my third sends, my fourth teaches, and my fifth letter rejoices.’ Flavia frowned at the piece of papyrus.

  ‘I know this kind of puzzle!’ cried Jonathan. ‘When you guess all the letters, they spell out a word. And I think I know what the first letter is. “My first letter grieves” means the letter A, pronounced “ah!”, because that’s the sound you make when you’re sad. May I see it?’

  ‘Do you know the answer, Admiral Pliny?’ asked Flavia, handing Jonathan the papyrus.

  The admiral shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. The riddle is a bit of graffiti I saw about a month ago, on the wall of a blacksmith’s workshop in Pompeii. The young smith who repaired my cart-wheel saw me studying the riddle. He assured me that the answer would lead me to a most valuable treasure. “A treasure beyond imagining” were his precise words.’

  Pliny took the papyrus scrap from Jonathan and studied it thoughtfully.

  ‘I should very much like to know the answer to the riddle,’ he said, ‘because I believe it is genuine. There was something special about the blacksmith . . . I went back the following week to speak to him, but he wasn’t there. If you should find him, or solve the riddle, send a messenger to me at this address in Misenum. I’m going down after the festival of Jove.’ The admiral handed the riddle to Phrixus, who dipped his pen in the hanging inkpot and wrote the address on the back.

  ‘So you see,’ said the admiral, blowing on the ink and flapping the papyrus, ‘this is a two-part mystery. Solve the riddle. And find the blacksmith.’

  ‘Do you happen to know –’ began Jonathan.

  ‘The blacksmith’s name?’ Pliny rose smiling from his chair. ‘I do indeed – it is Vulcan, a most suitable name for a blacksmith.’

  ‘Vulcan?’ said Nubia.

  ‘The god of blacksmiths and metalworkers,’ said Flavia. ‘Vulcan!’

  Two days later, Flavia and Jonathan lay on their backs on a sun-warmed ship’s deck, gazing up at the blue sky and the taut canvas sail. Beneath them, the merchant ship Myrtilla rose and fell, almost like a living creature.

  A strong breeze had filled the ship’s sail and for two days the Myrtilla had ploughed a creamy path through the sapphir
e sea. On the previous evening, the Myrtilla had anchored in a cove and they had spent the night sleeping on a crescent beach under a million stars.

  There were seven passengers on board: Flavia and her three friends, plus Jonathan’s father Mordecai and sister Miriam, and Flavia’s young Greek tutor Aristo. Flavia’s father, the owner and captain of the ship, sat at the helm with the steering paddle in his right hand. Occasionally he barked a command to his four crew members, the Phoenician brothers Quartus, Quintus and Sextus, and an Ethiopian named Ebenus.

  ‘Nubia seems to have got over her fear of ships,’ Jonathan observed.

  Flavia’s slave-girl was high in the rigging with Lupus. Earlier in the day, the two of them had seen one of the Phoenician brothers go up and had followed him like monkeys. Now Nubia was playing her lotus-wood flute while Lupus drummed a beat on the oak mast. Their music seemed to fill the sail and carry the ship forward.

  Mordecai and Aristo sat chatting in the shade of the cabin, near Scuto and the puppies. For their own safety the dogs had been housed in a wooden cage with a straw-covered floor. They were not enjoying themselves and stared out resentfully at their owners. Miriam stood alone at the front of the ship. The wind whipped her curly dark hair and violet mantle as she leaned over the prow.

  ‘Let’s get back to Pliny’s riddle,’ said Flavia. ‘You say the first letter is A, the sound for sadness. But then what?’ They had been trying to solve the puzzle since the evening of Pliny’s dinner party.

  ‘I was thinking about it last night on the beach,’ said Jonathan. ‘The sound for rejoicing might be the letter E, pronounced “eh!”.’ He punched the air, as if his favourite chariot team had just won.

  ‘So it starts with the letter A and ends with E.’ Flavia thoughtfully picked at one of the gummy ridges of pine pitch which sealed the planks of the deck.

  ‘And I think “my third letter sends” means the letter I, because “i!” means “go!”. If you tell someone to go, you send them away.’