The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘He looks sad,’ said Miriam.

  ‘But he looks nice, too,’ decided Flavia.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘He’s being escorted back to Mount Olympus. Here’s how it happened.

  ‘One day Thetis left her underwater grotto to attend a dinner party on Mount Olympus. She wore a beautiful necklace of silver and sapphires, which Vulcan had made for her. Juno admired this necklace and asked where she could get one.

  ‘Thetis became flustered and Juno grew suspicious. At last the queen of the gods discovered the truth: the baby she had once rejected had now grown up to become the most gifted worker in precious metals the world had ever seen.

  ‘Juno was furious and demanded that Vulcan come home. The smith god flatly refused. However, he did send Juno a most beautiful chair. Made of silver and gold, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, it had a seat like a shell and arms like dolphins.

  ‘Juno was delighted when she received it, but the moment she sat down, her weight triggered hidden springs: metal bands sprung forth to hold her fast. The more she shrieked and struggled, the more firmly the mechanical throne gripped her. The chair was a cleverly designed trap!’

  Lupus gave a triumphant bark of laughter and slapped his thigh.

  ‘Serves her right,’ agreed Jonathan.

  Aristo smiled.

  ‘For three days Juno sat fuming, still trapped in Vulcan’s chair. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t stretch, and she couldn’t eat.’

  ‘Ewww!’ said Jonathan. ‘She couldn’t use the lavatory either.’

  The girls tittered and Lupus guffawed. Aristo gave them a stern look and waited until they were quiet.

  ‘It was Jupiter who finally saved the day. He promised that if Vulcan would return to Mount Olympus and release Juno from the chair, he would give him a wife. And not just any wife, but Venus, the goddess of love and beauty. What man, or god, could resist?’

  Aristo pointed to the big vase. ‘Here he is riding his donkey back to Olympus, where his mother sits trapped on her throne.’

  ‘Where is Venus?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘Probably getting ready for the wedding.’

  ‘Did she love Vulcan?’ asked Miriam.

  Aristo shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But she loved many others too, after all, she is the goddess of love. Later, Vulcan built a smithy under a huge mountain on the island of Sicily. They say that whenever Venus is unfaithful, Vulcan grows angry and beats the red-hot metal with such force that sparks and smoke rise up from the top of the mountain. We call mountains which send forth smoke and fire “volcanoes”, after Vulcan.’

  ‘Not really,’ snorted Jonathan. ‘That’s just a story.’

  ‘Is it? If it’s not the god Vulcan at his forge which causes mountains to send up smoke and flames, then what does?’

  Flavia raised her hand. ‘Pliny says that earthquakes make volcanoes. And earthquakes are caused when the wind is trapped and there is no escape for it.’

  ‘A reasonable explanation,’ said Aristo. ‘Though I think the myth is more romantic.’

  ‘What about Thetis?’ asked Miriam. ‘Didn’t she miss Vulcan after he went back to Olympus?’

  ‘Vulcan never forgot his foster mother,’ answered Aristo. ‘He often visited her underwater grotto and that is why he is a god of sea as well as fire. And later – much later – he made her warrior son Achilles the most beautiful armour in the world. But Juno was Vulcan’s real mother, and it was right and proper that they be reunited.’

  The young Greek leaned back in his chair and smiled at them. ‘Lesson finished! I hope it helps in your search for Vulcan.’

  It was late morning by the time they set out on their quest for Vulcan.

  Flavia and her three friends had settled themselves in the cart along with forty amphoras of wine and a soft layer of sawdust. They had convinced Scuto and the puppies to stay in the cool garden with Miriam. Xanthus drove the cart and the Gemini brothers rode behind.

  As they turned off the farm track onto the main road to Pompeii, they passed a farmer driving his empty cart back from market. He sat beside his young son, and Flavia heard him whisper that Castor and Pollux were in town. The little boy gazed back at the twin riders with his thumb in his mouth and eyes as round as coins.

  ‘Uncle Gaius, why aren’t you married?’ Flavia leaned back against an amphora and gazed up at her uncle as he rode behind.

  Gaius looked down at her in surprise. Then he glanced at his brother.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘When we were younger, we both loved Myrtilla –’

  ‘You loved my mother?’ Flavia sat up straight in the cart.

  ‘Yes,’ said her uncle Gaius. ‘Yes, I did. But she preferred your father.’

  ‘It’s not quite that simple,’ said Flavia’s father. ‘When pater died, Gaius inherited the farm because he was the eldest. That didn’t bother me. I wanted to sail the world.’

  ‘But I prefer plants and animals. I could never dream of making my life on board ship,’ said Flavia’s uncle. ‘I get seasick just watching ships in the harbour.’

  ‘And I’d be a terrible farmer. Your uncle was very generous. He sold some antique vases, and he gave me enough money to buy my ship.’

  ‘I thought if I got Marcus out of the way, I’d have a better chance with Myrtilla,’ admitted Gaius with a grin.

  ‘What he didn’t realise,’ said Flavia’s father, ‘was that your mother was an adventurer like me. I named my ship after her, and promised to show her the world if she’d marry me.’

  Gaius sighed. ‘I offered her life on a farm in the most beautiful bay in the world. But . . .’ he shrugged.

  ‘And that’s why you never married?’

  Her uncle nodded and Flavia felt the odd sensation she sometimes got when she really focused on him. He looked so much like her father.

  Flavia settled back against her amphora again, and considered that had fate been different, Gaius might have been her father. Her name might have been Julia or Helena. Perhaps she’d be older or younger, with darker hair or different-coloured eyes. But then would she still be Flavia? It made her head hurt just to think about it.

  Abruptly, another thought occurred to her: if her mother had married Gaius instead of her father, maybe she wouldn’t have died in childbirth. Maybe her mother would still be alive.

  There were no festive strollers in the port of Pompeii that morning; it was a busy market day. The Myrtilla’s crew and Xanthus loaded the wine aboard the ship, while Flavia’s father sacrificed a dove at the harbour shrine of Castor and Pollux. By the time Flavia and her friends had waved the Myrtilla out of the harbour, it was almost noon. The sky above was a hard blue, and the heat like a furnace.

  Carts were not allowed into Pompeii via the Sea Gate, so Gaius instructed Xanthus to meet them outside the Stabian Gate in an hour.

  As they walked from the harbour up the steep incline to the Sea Gate, they had to make way for groups of men in white togas going to the marine baths, just outside the town walls.

  ‘The law courts have probably just finished for the day,’ said Gaius, mopping his brow. ‘Everything will be closing for lunch soon, so we’ll have to hurry. I just want to show you the forum.’

  The shade under the arch of the Sea Gate was blessedly cool, and Flavia noticed that the paving stones were wet.

  ‘This town’s built on a hill and the fountains constantly overflow,’ her uncle explained. ‘That’s why Pompeii has the cleanest streets in the Roman empire.’

  As they emerged from the shadows into the brilliant light of midday, the heat struck Flavia like a blow. Crowds of sweaty men and perfumed women pushed past her on their way home or to the baths.

  She tried to keep up with her uncle, but he was used to walking quickly, and already he was disappearing from sight. Flavia grabbed Nubia’s hand and looked round for the boys. Lupus was lingering behind, pointing out rude graffiti to Jonathan. At the entrance to the forum, they had to step over a beggar who showed
them his diseased leg. Flavia caught a glimpse of red, open sores and her stomach clenched.

  Suddenly they were in the forum, a bright open space surrounded by temples and porticoes.

  ‘There’s the Temple of Jupiter.’ Her uncle gestured towards the north. ‘A beautiful sight, isn’t it, still decorated for the festival and with Vesuvius rising up behind it . . . Flavia, are you all right? You’re as white as a candidate’s toga!’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Gaius. I’m just thirsty.’

  ‘Well, come on, then. There are public fountains on the other side of the forum. Follow me.’

  Animals were not allowed into the forum and there were barriers to prevent carts from entering. This meant that many people left their horses and donkeys just outside the entrances, causing an almost permanent bottleneck. As the four friends hurried after Gaius, Flavia found herself squashed between a group of bankers in togas and two half-naked slaves carrying the bankers’ tables.

  ‘The Stabian baths are to the left there,’ Flavia heard her uncle say, but all she could see was a big plank of wood and the folds of togas.

  ‘Absolutely magnificent, but since the big earthquake they still haven’t completed all the repairs. Can you imagine? After seventeen years?’

  Flavia jumped up and down a few times. When she was up, she could just see Gaius’s light brown hair above the other heads in the crowd.

  Someone took her right hand. Jonathan. He shouldered one of the bankers aside and moved in front of Flavia, to protect her from jostling.

  She could still hear Uncle Gaius up ahead;

  ‘I remember that earthquake well. I was about thirteen, a little older than you. I’ll never forget the smell of the sulphur. Like rotten eggs. Up near Misenum a whole flock of sheep was killed by sulphur fumes. Imagine. Five or six hundred sheep, all killed by a smell.’

  ‘I think I’m about to be killed by a smell,’ muttered Jonathan.

  Flavia swallowed and tried to smile. The stench of sweat was overpowering and the blazing sun made it worse. Her heart pounded and her stomach clenched.

  Suddenly there was a scuffle somewhere up ahead.

  A woman screamed.

  The crowd parted to reveal a man wearing a dark turban and robe. He stood in the street looking around with mad eyes. The woman screamed again as the man grasped one of the bankers and shook him by the shoulders.

  ‘God’s judgement!’ he cried in a hoarse voice. ‘It’s coming upon us all! The abomination that causes desolation!’

  He released the startled banker and clutched at a slave’s wrist.

  ‘Doom! Death! Desolation!’ he rasped. The slave shook him off with an oath, but the madman persisted. He looked round as the crowd shrank back, then stared straight at Flavia and her friends.

  ‘You!’ He pointed towards them. ‘You know it, too!’

  Please not me, Flavia prayed.

  He flung his arms wide in a sweep of black robes ands swooped down on them. His face came nearer and nearer. And stopped inches from Jonathan’s.

  Flavia saw his red-rimmed eyes stare into Jonathan’s and when he opened his mouth to prophesy doom, she smelled garlic and fish on his breath. ‘You know it, too!’ he said to Jonathan.

  Flavia knew she was going to faint.

  Suddenly a fist shot out. The madman’s chin flew up and back, carrying him with it.

  Lupus had knocked him flat.

  Lupus winced and blew on his smarting knuckles.

  ‘Thanks, Lupus,’ said Jonathan.

  Lupus shrugged and grinned. One of the things he had learned on the streets of Ostia was the effect of a swift blow where chin met neck.

  The turbaned man lay in the wet street, staring up at the blue sky and moaning: ‘Doom. Death. Desolation.’

  ‘Jupiter’s eyebrows!’ Flavia’s uncle rushed up to them. ‘Are you all right? Did that madman hurt you?’

  ‘It’s all right, Uncle Gaius. We’re fine.’ Flavia clutched her uncle’s arm and leaned on it gratefully.

  ‘He must be some kind of soothsayer,’ said Gaius. He made the sign against evil and guided them around the turbaned man to a nearby fountain.

  Lupus plunged his hand into the overflowing fountain basin while the others took turns at the spout. He drank last and as he raised his dripping mouth he heard a woman’s voice.

  ‘That man’s a Christian. I’m sure of it!’

  Lupus wiped his mouth and glanced at Jonathan, who was watching two soldiers push their way through the crowd.

  ‘The soothsayer’s a Christian!’ someone else cried out.

  ‘Always prophesying doom!’ said the first woman.

  The soldiers bent down and the metal strips of their armour flashed as they lifted the turbaned man and dragged him back towards the forum.

  ‘You know the punishment for practising an illegal faith!’ called the banker angrily. ‘The amphitheatre!’

  ‘Lunch for a hungry lion!’ someone else quipped. There was laughter as the crowd began to disperse.

  ‘I think we need some lunch,’ said Gaius, looking around. ‘Ah! That corner snack bar does wonderful chick-pea pancakes. How about it?’

  Lupus was hungry, but he wanted to find the blacksmith too, and he knew the shops would be closing soon. He caught Flavia’s eye. She nodded to show she understood.

  ‘Uncle Gaius, we’re all hungry, but if we don’t hurry we might miss Vulcan.’

  ‘All right. Let’s find your blacksmith and then we’ll eat.’

  Even as he finished speaking the gongs began clanging noon; it was time for shops to close and the baths to open.

  They followed Gaius as he hurried past several more fountains to the Stabian Way. As soon as they turned onto it, Lupus saw the gate at the bottom. Keeping to the cool shadows beneath overhanging roofs, he ran ahead, past townhouses on the left and the theatre on his right.

  Just before the gate, on the left, were three shops in a row. In the window of the middle shop, above the counter, hung a dazzling selection of pots, pans, lamps and bath scrapers, all bronze, all flashing in the sunlight.

  Hearing Lupus’s footsteps, a dwarf in a sea-green tunic emerged from the doorway and clanked a string of bronze cowbells.

  ‘Best pans here!’ he called out cheerfully. ‘Please come in!’

  ‘We’re looking for a blacksmith named Vulcan,’ cried Flavia, running up.

  Lupus grunted at her urgently and pointed to the shop next to it. It did not have a window or a counter, just an open door. But above this doorway someone had painted a scene from Greek mythology: a young man, riding a donkey and carrying his tools. It was the god of blacksmiths: Vulcan.

  ‘Hello?’ Flavia peered into the dark smithy. ‘Is anyone there?’

  ‘We’re closing for the day!’ came a gruff voice from inside.

  Flavia stepped in, so that she could see better. Nubia and Jonathan stayed behind her, but Lupus squeezed through and slipped into the shop. It was as hot and dark as Hades. The only light came from the doorway behind them and from coals glowing redly on an open hearth.

  ‘We’re looking for Vulcan,’ she called, feeling foolish even as she said it.

  A figure moved out of the darkness – a huge muscular man in a leather apron. He was totally bald and the red coal-light gleamed off his shiny scalp and shoulders.

  ‘Vulcan, is it?’ said the gigantic blacksmith in a low growl.

  ‘Yes, please,’ replied Flavia politely and took an involuntary step backwards onto Nubia’s foot.

  ‘Are you one of them?’

  ‘What?’ said Flavia.

  ‘Do you know the way?’ The smith bent forward to peer at the three of them. They backed hastily towards the door and into Gaius who stood solidly behind them.

  The big smith lifted his head to see Gaius filling the doorway. He straightened himself and for a moment he studied their faces. Then he folded his arms.

  ‘Vulcan doesn’t work here any more and don’t ask me where he’s gone, because I don’t know.’


  ‘But we have to find him,’ protested Flavia.

  ‘Closing up shop now. You’ll have to go. All of you!’ The big blacksmith glared at Lupus, who was pointing at some graffiti on the smithy wall. Flavia squinted at it. In the dim red coal-light she could just make out the first two lines: ‘My first letter grieves, my second commands . . .’

  Suddenly, Flavia knew the answer to the riddle.

  Heart pounding, she turned back to the giant, took a deep breath and said:

  ‘Asine! You jackass!’

  ‘Asine,’ Flavia repeated loudly. ‘Jackass!’

  ‘Flavia!’ she heard her uncle’s horrified voice behind her. ‘Apologise at once!’

  But the giant’s scowling face had already relaxed into a gap-toothed grin.

  ‘Shhh!’ he placed a meaty finger against his lips. ‘We can’t be too careful, you know.’ He glanced around and bent nearer. ‘I wasn’t lying when I told you Vulcan doesn’t work here any more. But he does stop in from time to time. You see, he’s a travelling smith these days. I could give him a message next time he passes by.’

  ‘A message . . .’ said Flavia. ‘Yes! We have an important message for him. If you see him, tell him to come to the Geminus Farm on the road to Stabia. We have work for him, don’t we, Uncle Gaius? Important work.’

  ‘So the answer to the riddle was asine, “jackass”,’ said Jonathan as they rode home in the cart. ‘How did you solve it?’

  ‘Well,’ said Flavia, popping the last of a chick-pea pancake into her mouth. ‘When we had all the letters but one, I went through the alphabet: Abine, acine, and so forth.’

  ‘I did that, too, but I didn’t get the answer . . .’

  ‘I thought of asine, but it didn’t make any sense,’ said Flavia, ‘until we were in the smithy. Then I remembered the donkey Vulcan rides on, and I knew that must be the word.’

  ‘Of course!’ Jonathan hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘The missing letter is S which sounds like es – “be!”, “My second commands . . .” But what does it mean?’

  ‘It’s obviously a password or codeword of some sort,’ said Flavia. ‘It worked with the big blacksmith!’