The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  She was just coming back out of the kitchen when she heard a noise – the sound of footsteps and the garden gate.

  It must be Miriam’s secret admirer leaving another token of his love!

  The sky above the garden was charcoal grey, with one or two stars still burning faintly in the west. The chill breeze that often heralded sunrise touched her face and bare arms. Flavia crept silently along the columned walkway, the luminous white chips in the mosaic floor guiding her way.

  When she reached the gate, she carefully undid the latch and opened it. Peering through the predawn gloom across the farmyard, she was just in time to see a figure disappear into the stables. Quietly Flavia eased open the gate and stepped out.

  Suddenly she remembered Ferox and froze. But he was nowhere in sight. Someone must have locked him in his kennel.

  Flavia crept across the farmyard, the powdery dust cool between her toes. As she drew closer, she heard voices. A light flared and then burned dimly from the small stable window.

  Peering through the window, she could just make out a figure standing beside the donkey’s stall.

  It was Mordecai.

  An oil-lamp hung from a hook on the rafters above him and lit an open scroll in his hands. His eyes were closed and he was rocking forwards and backwards with little movements, chanting. A few other oil-lamps created globes of light in the dim space and Flavia caught a whiff of frankincense.

  The others, facing Mordecai with their backs to Flavia, were harder to make out. Flavia could distinguish Miriam by the pale scarf draped over her head. And Jonathan stood next to her. The bent figure was probably the old cook Frustilla, and Flavia thought she saw Xanthus, too.

  Mordecai stopped rocking and chanting. He briefly bowed his head and kissed the scroll. Then he stood to one side as another figure limped towards him.

  It was Vulcan.

  The smith stood at the front and began to sing in a light, clear voice. The others joined him, lifting their hands in the air. They were worshipping something.

  Flavia knew that Jonathan and his family were Christians. She remembered Jonathan telling her about a shepherd god, but she saw no image. She squinted to find the altar or statue they were praying to. But the only thing they were facing – apart from Vulcan and Mordecai – was the donkey Modestus, dozing peacefully in his stall.

  Suddenly she understood.

  One of their gods must be a donkey.

  They were worshipping a jackass!

  Flavia intended to ask Jonathan about the donkey-god later that morning, but before she could, an argument broke out between them.

  Their lessons were over and Flavia had explained her plan for reuniting Vulcan and his parents.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘It’s a bad idea. And what if we’re wrong?’

  ‘But if we’re right, he’ll be so grateful that he’ll forgive me for calling him a jackass and he’ll tell us about the treasure.’

  ‘Then you should tell him about his parents today,’ said Jonathan. ‘Why wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Because tomorrow is the Vulcanalia,’ said Flavia. ‘It will be perfect – just like the picture on the vase. What do you think, Lupus?’

  Lupus scowled at Flavia.

  ‘He doesn’t like your plan because we can’t tell Clio.’

  ‘That’s because she’s always chattering. She wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. Besides, Rectina’s her own mother and she didn’t even notice the resemblance. Clio should have seen it for herself like I did.’

  ‘You didn’t figure it out,’ said Jonathan. ‘Lupus did!’

  ‘I knew Rectina looked familiar,’ said Flavia hotly. ‘I was about to figure it out.’

  ‘No you weren’t!’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Yes I was!’

  ‘Weren’t!’

  ‘Was!’

  ‘You don’t care about people’s feelings,’ said Jonathan. ‘All you care about is that stupid treasure.’ He stood abruptly. ‘I’m going hunting. Come on Lupus!’

  ‘I’m doing my plan whether you like it or not!’ Flavia shouted after them.

  ‘Fine! But don’t expect us to help you!’ The garden gate slammed behind the boys.

  ‘Fine!’ yelled Flavia, and brushed hot tears from her eyes.

  The omens for the Vulcanalia were not good. Jonathan overslept and woke with a headache. Flavia and Nubia had apparently gone on ahead and the others were already leaving, so Jonathan grabbed Tigris and hurried after them through the vineyards.

  It was a cool, grey morning with a sullen wind. As they crossed the coastal road and came over a rise, Jonathan saw that Titus Tascius Pomponianus and most of the inhabitants of Stabia had already gathered on the beach for the ceremony.

  The most important people sat on a low wooden stage. In addition to Rectina and Tascius, who had paid for the ceremony, there were two local magistrates, a senator from Rome and Admiral Pliny. A painted wooden statue of the god Vulcan smiled down on a long brick altar covered with hot coals. Near the altar were several oak barrels. Jonathan wondered what they were for.

  He looked for Flavia but couldn’t see her anywhere. Then he saw Clio waving at them. She was standing with her sisters beside the platform, dressed in her favourite orange tunic. As they hurried to join her, a hush fell over the crowd. Tascius had risen and covered his head with a fold of his toga. The ceremony was about to begin. Everyone pushed closer to watch.

  ‘Great Vulcan, god of fish and fire, anvil and anchor,’ pronounced Tascius in his loudest military voice, ‘be merciful this year. Protect us against the twin dangers of flame and water. And keep the grain in our warehouses from fire and damp.’ The wind moaned and he raised his voice even more to be heard above it.

  ‘Merciful Vulcan, we offer you these creatures as a living sacrifice, as substitutes for our own lives. Please accept their lives for ours. Grant that we may live another year in peace and prosperity.’ Tascius paused and looked around at the crowd. Rectina smiled up at her husband and Pliny scribbled notes on his wax tablet. The crowd on the beach murmured with excitement as everyone craned for a view.

  His head still covered with his toga, Tascius approached one of the oak barrels beside the platform.

  ‘If father drops the fish, it’s bad luck!’ Clio whispered to Lupus and Jonathan. ‘He was practising all yesterday afternoon.’

  Tascius pushed the folds of his toga up over his shoulder, leaving his entire right arm bare. With a dramatic flourish he lifted his arm in the air for all to see, then plunged it into the oak cask. The crowd grew silent again. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind snapping togas and cloaks. Finally, Tascius held a live, dripping fish in the air.

  ‘This life for my life, Great Vulcan!’ he cried, and threw the fish onto the coals. The crowd cheered.

  The fish, a medium-sized mackerel, thrashed for several moments and then sizzled on the red-hot coals, one eye staring glassily up at the grey sky. Jonathan stared in horrified fascination and beside him Miriam screamed and covered her eyes. Jonathan saw the fish give a few more convulsive shudders before it died.

  Tascius shot Miriam a glare. Then he pulled the toga back from his head, stepped away from the barrel and turned to the crowd.

  ‘Let us each offer a fish as substitute for our lives!’ he cried. ‘And let us celebrate with grain, grape and fish!’

  Immediately the people on the beach surged forward and crowded round the barrels. Jonathan had to scoop up Tigris to keep him from being trampled.

  Soon fish were flying through the air and dropping onto the coals. Above, seagulls circled and swooped. One bird caught a small mackerel mid-air and flew away with its prize, to the great delight of the crowd.

  Some of the fish flipped out of slippery hands and fell thrashing onto the beach, only to be scooped up and thrown onto the coals, sand and all. For the sacrifice to be effective, the fish had to be alive.

  Clio had just thrown her fish and now Lupus was up to his armpi
t in one barrel. He finally extracted a mackerel as long as his forearm. Although he could not say the words, he uttered an enthusiastic grunt as he threw the dripping creature.

  ‘Aren’t you going to sacrifice a fish, Jonathan?’ laughed Clio, wiping her hands on her tunic. ‘It’s fun! And we get to eat them in a few minutes!’

  Jonathan cradled Tigris protectively. He shook his head. ‘I’m not really hungry.’

  Suddenly Clio pointed up the beach.

  ‘Here come the entertainers!’ she squealed.

  A fire-eater dressed in a scarlet tunic was first. He was followed by five midgets who formed a pyramid. The most popular performer was a young man dressed as the sea-nymph Thetis. He juggled four live fish while singing in a falsetto voice.

  Then Jonathan heard the crowd chanting.

  ‘Vulcan! Vul-can! Vul-can!’

  Jonathan turned towards the coastal road. Over the dunes came a figure on a donkey. It was Vulcan the blacksmith, and on either side of him walked Flavia and Nubia.

  Flavia and Nubia had hidden in the tree fort until the others left, then found Vulcan at his furnace in the tool-shed. He had mentioned earlier that he would not attend the Vulcanalia, but when Flavia told him that his long-lost parents might be on the beach, he saddled his donkey at once.

  But Flavia felt uneasy.

  She had envisaged a bright, sunny morning like all the other mornings so far. Vulcan and his parents would fall joyfully into each others’ arms. It would be just like Vulcan’s return to Mount Olympus. Then, in gratitude, he would tell her about the treasure.

  Instead, the day was grey and heavy, with a peevish offshore breeze that blew fine grit and sand into their faces.

  It was not a good omen.

  The smell of charcoal-grilled fish and the sound of laughter reached them before they topped the sandy rise that led down to the beach.

  Things seemed to improve as Vulcan came into sight. The crowd was already extremely merry due to the free wine. One or two people knew the smith’s name and cried it out. Soon everyone took up the chant:

  ‘Vulcan! Vul-can! Vul-can!’

  As the people crowded round him, cheering and chanting his name, Vulcan smiled and looked up hopefully. Flavia’s heart was pounding and she knew his must be, too. She pointed to the stage and shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  ‘On the stage. The woman in dark blue and the man with short grey hair. No, not the stout one; that’s Pliny. The tall one in the toga. Titus Tascius –’

  ‘Pomponianus.’ Vulcan’s dark eyes were shining as he urged the donkey on towards the stage.

  Flavia saw the crowd part before him. The faces around them were laughing and chanting Vulcan’s name. Some people rose to their feet, others seemed more interested in their grilled fish.

  Vulcan halted his donkey a few feet from the stage and dismounted awkwardly with the help of his staff.

  Rectina had been watching his approach. When she saw the young man limping towards her, she rose unsteadily to her feet.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, looking from his face to his foot and back.

  But before Vulcan could answer, she fainted into her husband’s arms.

  ‘Oops,’ said Flavia under her breath. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  Tascius, kneeling on the stage with his wife in his arms, looked up in confusion at Vulcan. ‘What have you done to her? Who are you?’

  ‘By Jove!’ cried Admiral Pliny, stepping forward and peering at the blacksmith. ‘It is him. It must be. Don’t you realise who this is, Titus? It’s your long-lost son!’

  Tascius looked at Pliny and then back at Vulcan. A strange look passed across his face.

  ‘My long-lost son? No, it’s some sort of monstrous joke,’ he said through clenched wooden teeth. ‘Get him away! Get him away before she sees him again!’

  The festival of Vulcan did not end well.

  Everyone saw Tascius take his wife away in a curtained litter. Their daughters hurried after them on foot. Someone said Rectina had been taken ill and soon the rumour spread that she had eaten bad fish. The senator and magistrates made hasty exits, leaving Pliny to conclude the ceremony on his own.

  As the admiral attempted to read out the final invocation from his notes, the crowd grew angry.

  ‘Where’s our money?’

  Flavia saw Pliny consult his notes nervously and heard him ask Phrixus, ‘What money? What do they want?’

  ‘He always gives us coppers!’ shrieked a woman.

  ‘Throw coins to the crowd!’ yelled another helpfully.

  ‘By Jove,’ Pliny muttered, ‘I don’t have any . . . I mean . . . Phrixus, do you see a bag of coppers around here?’

  One of the revellers had drunk too much free wine and he vomited noisily beside the platform.

  ‘He’s been poisoned, too!’

  ‘It’s bad luck!’ someone shouted.

  ‘Bad luck and bad fish,’ said a fisherman, and spat on the sand.

  ‘Where’s our money?’

  ‘Come on, Phrixus,’ Pliny wheezed to his scribe. ‘Let’s get back to the ship, back to Misenum. Quickly . . .’

  Flavia looked at the angry crowd and turned to Nubia. ‘We’d better go, too. It might get nasty. Where’s Vulcan?’

  ‘He left just now, riding fastly his jackass.’

  ‘You were right, Jonathan. I should have listened to you. Now I’ve ruined everything!’

  Jonathan could see that Flavia felt miserable. They had left the angry crowd on the beach and hurried back to the farm. Now they sat at the wrought-iron table in the garden. The day was still grey and overcast, with a vicious wind that whined petulantly and rattled the leaves of the trees and shrubs.

  ‘When a mother sees the son she thought was dead . . .’ Jonathan said quietly.

  ‘And now Vulcan’s run away.’

  ‘And you’ll never find the treasure?’

  ‘Oh Jonathan! I don’t really care about the treasure. I just wanted to be able to solve the mystery for Admiral Pliny. But now he’s sailed back across the bay and Vulcan has gone, too.’ The moaning wind rose in volume for a moment, sounding almost angry. It whipped stinging strands of hair across Flavia’s face.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll see Pliny again,’ said Jonathan, patting her on the back. ‘Now let’s go and try to find Vulcan.’

  In the middle of the night the sound of dogs barking woke Flavia from a deep sleep. She sat up, puzzled and disoriented. Then she remembered. Her plan had gone wrong. Vulcan had disappeared and they hadn’t been able to find him.

  Scuto’s reassuring bulk was missing from the foot of her bed and Nubia’s bed was empty. Flavia rose and stumbled groggily towards the sound.

  She found her dog in the moon-washed farmyard. Scuto, the puppies and Ferox stood barking, their noses to the sky. The other members of the household were coming into the farmyard, holding lamps and rubbing sleep from their eyes.

  The strange wind was still moaning. It blew low, fast-moving clouds across the sky towards the mountain, and the moon kept appearing and disappearing.

  ‘You understand animals, Nubia,’ whispered Flavia. ‘Why are they barking?’

  ‘The moon is not being full. I don’t know.’

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Flavia saw a small figure shuffle out of the garden and into the farmyard. It was Frustilla. Muttering to herself, the ancient cook hobbled forward and hurled an entire bucket of cold water over the dogs.

  It did the trick.

  Ferox stopped barking and retreated hastily to his kennel. The other three dogs whimpered and shook themselves. Scuto trotted over to Flavia.

  ‘What on earth has got into you, Scuto?’ Flavia squatted down and ruffled the damp fur of his neck. He rolled his eyes and looked embarrassed.

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed Jonathan. Everyone was quiet.

  Above moaning wind they all heard it. Faintly but unmistakably, from all the neighbouring farms and villas, the sound of dogs barking.

>   ‘Great Jupiter’s eyebrows,’ whispered Gaius.

  And there was another sound.

  ‘I hear squeakings,’ whispered Nubia, picking up Nipur and clutching him tightly.

  Lupus uttered a strangled yelp and pointed to the open garden gate. Flavia squinted. And gasped.

  Emerging from beneath the myrtle and quince bushes, pattering across the mosaic walkways, skittering down the dusty paths came dozens of tiny dark shapes. There were mice, rats and even a snake.

  Everyone stared as the creatures emerged from their hiding places in house and garden, and made their way out of the garden gate and through the vineyards towards the sea.

  ‘I had the dream again last night.’ Jonathan’s face was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes. It was a heavy, colourless dawn, the second day of the Vulcanalia. The previous day’s wind had died and there was a faint, unpleasant smell in the air.

  ‘I think the dogs must have had bad dreams, too,’ said Flavia.

  The puppies and Scuto lay dejectedly under a quince bush, chins on paws.

  ‘At least they’re not barking any more,’ said Jonathan.

  Mordecai emerged from the kitchen with a tall brass pot and seven cups on a tray. ‘The well was dry this morning so I’ve made mint tea with yesterday’s water.’

  Jonathan slumped at the table.

  ‘Have dates.’ Nubia held out a plate.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Aristo. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’

  Jonathan shook his head and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again, horrified.

  ‘Now I see it even when I close my eyes.’

  ‘What do you see, my son?’ Mordecai poured hot water onto the mint leaves.

  Jonathan closed his eyes and shivered. ‘I see a city on a hill, with a huge golden wall and towers. And there are legions and legions of soldiers, Roman soldiers, coming to camp around it.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘Something terrible is going to happen. I know it.’

  ‘How many times have you had this dream?’ asked Mordecai, gripping the back of an empty chair. In the white light of dawn his eyes seemed as black as the turban above them.