Lupus, red-eyed with grief and exhaustion, took a long drink of water, climbed onto another couch and instantly fell asleep.
A moment later Admiral Pliny puffed up the steps behind them. He went straight to Tascius, who was staring down at the unconscious blacksmith.
‘Is Rectina here?’ asked Pliny. ‘Has she arrived back from Herculaneum?’
Tascius looked up at him, speechless.
‘She sent word for me to rescue her,’ said the admiral, ‘but I’m afraid there was no way we could reach her. I’m sorry, old friend. I’d hoped . . .’ He stopped to catch his breath and look around.
‘Flavia Gemina! You’re here! And Mordecai ben Ezra, too. Excellent. You can have a look at my sailors, doctor. Many are suffering burns and cuts.’ He turned back to Tascius.
‘My dear Titus. May we make use of your excellent baths before dinner?’
‘A bath? You want a bath?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I’ve very few slaves left,’ stammered Tascius, ‘No one to light the furnace for hot water. There’s always the cold plunge . . .’
‘Excellent.’ The admiral mopped his forehead. ‘Just what’s needed on such a hot and stifling day. Bring your tablet and stylus, Phrixus, we’ll continue to take notes. Would anyone else like to accompany me?’
‘Wait!’ cried Jonathan, his voice slightly muffled behind his napkin. ‘You can’t just go and bathe as if nothing were wrong. There’s a volcano erupting less than five miles away!’
‘Aren’t you going to rescue us?’ Flavia asked.
‘Sailing us away in your bug-boat?’ said Nubia.
‘Out of the question, I’m afraid,’ wheezed the admiral. ‘It’s already growing dark. My men and I need to eat and by the time we’ve dined it will be night. I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep and set off at first light tomorrow morning. It’s really not too bad down here at Stabia, you know. Not compared to Herculaneum and Pompeii.’
The tree-shaped cloud which stood over the volcano was deep red in the light of the sinking sun. Jonathan, Flavia and Nubia stood watching it.
‘If we had walked south along the coastal road,’ Jonathan said, ‘we would be miles away by now.’ His voice was muffled behind his napkin.
‘I think it’s easing off,’ said Flavia.
‘What?’
Flavia lifted her own napkin away from her mouth. ‘I said I think the volcano is stopping. The noise isn’t as loud as it was before.’
‘The floor is not shivering so much now,’ said Nubia. She wore a napkin, too.
‘I guess so.’ Jonathan slumped against one of the columns. ‘I just wish we were far away from here. I wish we were back home in Ostia.’
Flavia tried to cheer Jonathan.
‘This was a good idea of yours, wearing napkins.’
After a hasty dinner of ash-coated bread and cheese, everyone had followed Jonathan’s example and tied moistened napkins over nose and mouth to keep the fine ash out. Admiral Pliny, still damp from his bath, agreed that it helped his breathlessness. His sailors, playing dice on the floor, all wore napkins. Even Vulcan, eyes closed and face pale against the black silk cushions, had a cloth draped over the lower half of his face.
‘That can’t be a good omen,’ said Jonathan, looking back into the dining-room.
A combination of the sun’s horizontal rays and the fine ash created a thick red light which filled the dining-room.
‘It looks as if the room is full of blood,’ said Jonathan. ‘And everyone looks like robbers. Robbers in a room full of blood. Or am I seeing things again?’
‘You’re not seeing things,’ said Flavia. With napkins tied over the lower halves of their faces, they did look like masked bandits.
Flavia looked at the others. For the first time she really saw people’s eyes and eyebrows. She had never noticed how pale and rumpled Pliny’s eyebrows were, or how beautifully Miriam’s dark ones set off her eyes. Mordecai and Jonathan had handsome brows, whereas Vulcan and Tascius each seemed to have one heavy, straight eyebrow that met above the nose.
Suddenly Flavia gasped as she had a flash of pure revelation. Taking a deep breath she turned to Pliny.
‘Admiral Pliny,’ she began, her heart pounding, ‘what was the real reason you asked us to find Vulcan?’
Though the sun had not set, the red light in the dining-room had become a thick purple gloom. One of Tascius’s three remaining slaves, the spotty messenger boy named Gutta, began to light the oil-lamps in the villa and the torches in the garden.
‘Why did I ask you to find Vulcan?’ said Pliny. ‘Why do you think?’
‘I think you knew he was the long-lost son of Rectina, my uncle’s neighbour, and I think you hoped that we would lead Vulcan to her.’
‘Very astute, my dear. You’re almost right. I wasn’t sure he was Rectina’s long-lost son, but I suspected it.’ Pliny’s black eyes were bright above his napkin. ‘The first time I saw him I knew he looked familiar. A few days later I realised who he reminded me of: Rectina! I felt sure he must be the kidnapped child of Rectina and Tascius. I went back to see him again but –’
‘Liar!’ Tascius’s voice was muffled behind his cloth, but the anger in it was audible.
‘What?’ the admiral’s eyes grew wider.
‘Vulcan isn’t my son, is he?’ Tascius had risen to his feet.
‘What do you mean?’
Tascius was trembling. ‘He’s yours!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Pliny sounded genuinely surprised.
‘I know that you and Rectina were lovers! This cripple is the result of your betrayal!’
Pliny stood and pulled the napkin away from his nose and mouth.
‘How dare you say such a thing? Who gave you such an idea?’
‘You weren’t content to steal my father’s affections. You had to take those of my wife as well.’
A look of genuine dismay replaced the anger on Pliny’s face. ‘My dear Titus,’ he said gravely. ‘You are very much mistaken. Rectina and I have great affection and respect for one another, but we were never lovers.’
‘Liar!’ said Tascius, tearing his own cloth away from his face and throwing it onto the ground. ‘This cripple is your son, not mine.’ Tascius marched over to Vulcan’s couch and wrenched the boot from his right foot. ‘Look! Here is proof of the gods’ displeasure!’
Everyone stared in horror at Vulcan’s twisted foot. It was red and rounded like a clenched fist. Miriam stifled a sob and hid her face in her father’s robes. On his couch, Vulcan stirred and groaned. His long eyelashes fluttered.
Mordecai stepped forward, his dark eyes angry between turban and napkin. ‘You can’t possibly take this as proof that he isn’t your son.’ He picked up the blacksmith’s boot and struggled to replace it.
‘But he isn’t. He’s not my son.’
Flavia turned towards Tascius.
‘Yes he is!’ she cried. ‘Can’t you see the resemblance between you? Look at his eyebrows! If he has Rectina’s mouth and nose and eyes, well, Vulcan has your eyebrows!’
‘Eyebrows!’ snorted Tascius. ‘Eyebrows, indeed!’
‘She’s right, father.’ Vulcan opened his eyes. ‘Mother told me the truth. I am your son, your only son, whom you abandoned.’
Admiral Pliny stared at Tascius. ‘You? You are the one who abandoned him?’
Tascius hung his head.
‘You abandoned him because you thought he was mine?’
Tascius nodded.
‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ said Pliny. ‘You abandoned your own child, lived a lie for seventeen years, and ultimately drove your wife and daughters away, probably to their deaths.’
Tascius lifted his head and stared at Pliny stupidly, like a boxer who has received too many blows.
‘Rectina never loved anyone but you,’ said Pliny steadily. ‘She was always faithful to you, just as a Roman matron should be.’ He gestured towards Vulcan. ‘And
this young man . . . Titus. Listen to me. This is one of the most courageous young men I have ever known. He is your son, Titus, your own flesh and blood. And you should be proud of him. As proud of him as your own father was of you.’
Everyone stared at Tascius as he slowly turned to look at Vulcan. In the flickering lamplight his eyes were shadowed.
‘Is it true?’ he said. ‘Are you . . .?’
Vulcan turned his head away and closed his eyes. He was weeping. To the north the volcano rumbled ominously.
Tascius took a faltering step towards the couch.
‘Vulcan?’
The grey-haired soldier stood over the dining couch and took the young man’s battered hands in his own. He studied them, then kissed them gently and pressed them to his face. His shoulders shook and soon Vulcan’s hands were wet with his father’s tears.
Presently, Tascius pulled the signet ring from the third finger of his hand and held it up for all to see.
‘Great Jove!’ he began, but his voice broke and he had to start again. ‘Great Jove! I declare in front of all these witnesses that this young man is my true son and heir.’ He gently pushed the ring onto the little finger of Vulcan’s left hand. ‘From this moment on, all that I have is his, and he shall no longer be known as Vulcan, but by his given name: Publius Tascius Pomponianus.’
‘I can’t think of him as “Publius”,’ whispered Flavia to Jonathan and Nubia. ‘He’ll always be Vulcan.’
‘I know,’ agreed Jonathan, and Nubia nodded, too.
It was long past sundown and outside it was pitch black, except for where the torches burned.
Admiral Pliny had gone to bed, but none of the rest of them could sleep. No one wanted to be far from the lamplight, and no one wanted to be alone.
Gutta was sweeping ash from the floor and some of Pliny’s sailors were still playing dice at a low table.
Tascius had pulled a chair up beside his son’s couch and for a long time the two of them had been deep in quiet conversation. Every so often Tascius raised a cup of well-watered wine to the young man’s lips and helped him to drink. Sometimes they wept together. Presently they called Mordecai over and Flavia heard the three men discussing the meaning of the donkey riddle.
She approached them almost shyly.
Vulcan looked up at her and smiled.
‘Hello, Flavia Gemina,’ he said. ‘I must thank you.’
‘For what?’ said Flavia. ‘I didn’t think about your feelings. All I cared about was the treasure.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ smiled the blacksmith. ‘I think you are a girl who seeks the truth. And your desire for knowledge helped me find my parents: my mother . . .’ he swallowed, ‘and my father.’
Tascius gripped his son’s hand so hard that the knuckles grew white.
‘How can I thank you?’ whispered the young man.
‘Will you tell me what the riddle really means, and what the treasure is?’
Lupus had finally woken from his deep sleep. Although the night was stifling and hot, he pulled a linen cover round his shoulders and came to sit with Flavia, Jonathan, and Nubia on the floor beside Vulcan’s couch.
‘So. You want to know the meaning of the riddle and what the treasure is?’ The young blacksmith tried to sit forward and then sank back weakly against his cushions.
‘Careful, Publius,’ said Tascius, and patted his son’s shoulder.
‘I think I know what some of it means,’ said Flavia. ‘I think “jackass” is a password for Christians, because you worship the donkey.’
There was a pause. Then Jonathan yelped, ‘What?’
‘I saw you worshipping the donkey in the stables,’ explained Flavia.
‘We don’t worship a donkey!’ Jonathan cried. ‘Our God is invisible.’
‘Oh,’ said Flavia.
‘But you were right to think it’s a password,’ said Vulcan. ‘Our faith is illegal so we must be careful. The donkey is just one of many codewords, which show us aspects of our God.’
‘So your invisible God is a bit like a shepherd and a bit like a donkey?’ said Flavia.
‘And he’s a bit like a dolphin and an anchor and an eagle and a warrior,’ said Jonathan. ‘That’s my favourite: the warrior.’
‘But how is he like a jackass?’
‘You tell me,’ said Vulcan.
‘Gentle and patient and humble?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And with big ears and soft fur?’ said Nubia gravely.
Then she giggled.
‘Hey! Nubia’s first joke!’ cried Jonathan, and slapped the African girl on the back.
Vulcan smiled, too. ‘Also, each letter of the word jackass – ASINE – has another deeper meaning. If you study them, the letters show you how to journey along the Way.’
‘What way?’
‘The Way to joy and fulfilment in this life, and Paradise in the next.’
‘That’s the treasure beyond imagining?’ said Flavia.
Vulcan nodded.
‘So it’s not real treasure?’ She couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
‘Of course it is, Flavia!’ said Vulcan. ‘You of all people should know that sometimes the greatest treasure is knowledge. Knowing how to meet with God.’ He looked at his father. ‘Knowing how to forgive. Knowing how to find joy in a world of pain, and afterwards the greatest treasure of all. Eternal life. Not in a dark and shadowy underworld, but in a green and sunny Paradise, reunited with those we love. What treasure could be better than that?’
Behind them, Miriam had begun to weep.
Vulcan looked at her with concern.
‘She’s worried about Uncle Gaius,’ explained Flavia.
‘Where is he?’
‘He went to Pompeii and Oplontis to warn the inhabitants about the volcano, remember?’ said Flavia.
‘And he isn’t back yet?’
Flavia shook her head.
‘It’s dark now,’ said Nubia. ‘Miriam worried that dark.’
Vulcan nodded, and looked at Miriam for a long time.
‘And you’re worried about Clio, aren’t you?’ said Jonathan to Lupus.
Lupus nodded.
They were all silent for a few minutes. Then Nubia reached out and touched the finger on which Lupus usually wore his ring: ‘Give wolf-ring to Clio?’ she asked.
Lupus nodded again.
Suddenly, Tigris whimpered and emerged from beneath a couch where he’d been sheltering with Scuto and Nipur. He padded to the steps and sniffed the murky air.
‘What is it, boy?’ asked Jonathan, getting to his feet and following him. ‘What do you see out there?’
The others peered out into the darkness towards the volcano.
Then they saw it too.
Moving straight towards them out of the ash-black night, illuminated by the torches on the lawn, were two gleaming yellow eyes: the eyes of a wounded beast.
Tigris barked and wagged his small tail, but the rest of them stood frozen as the creature moved into the torchlight.
‘Ferox!’ cried Jonathan. ‘It’s Ferox!’
From the other side of the room, Miriam gave a cry and ran to the step that led down into darkness. Then she screamed.
Ferox was bloody and wounded. One ear was torn from his head and his left rear leg hung useless. The foam round his muzzle was flecked with blood and his breath came in wheezing gasps. He looked up at them and whined.
‘Master of the Universe!’ whispered Mordecai and cautiously stepped forward to examine the wounded dog. Ferox whined again and wagged his tail feebly. As Mordecai reached out a hand to touch the matted fur on the dog’s chest, Ferox growled softly and flinched. Mordecai looked down at his fingertips. They were smeared with blood.
‘These wounds were inflicted by man and not by volcanic rock,’ said Mordecai grimly.
‘He must have been protecting Gaius!’ cried Miriam. She clutched her father’s arm.
Ferox turned as if to go back into the night, then looked over
his shoulder at them and whined imploringly.
‘Ferox want to follow,’ said Nubia, turning her amber eyes on Flavia and Jonathan.
‘No way I’m going out there,’ muttered Jonathan.
‘Uncle Gaius out there maybe,’ suggested Nubia.
‘Gaius?’ cried Miriam. ‘Out there? Then I’m going to follow Ferox!’ She hurried down the steps onto the ash-covered lawn and wrenched one of the garden torches from its holder. Then she turned to look back up at them. With the yellow flames flickering on her black curls, and all but her eyes hidden by a cloth, she looked like a beautiful bandit.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Tascius. ‘It’s time I showed half the courage you all have.’
‘We’ll come, too!’ offered two of the sailors. They were gazing at Miriam in awe, and as she moved off into the swirling ash they hurried after her.
Flavia and her friends looked at each other. Without a word they hurried down the steps, grasped torches and followed the others into the night.
As they followed the wounded animal into the darkness, the globes of light from their pine torches lit the falling ash. It floated down around them like warm black snow, muffling every sound except for the constant thunder of the volcano.
Chest deep in ash, Ferox limped ahead, his left hind leg dangling uselessly. Occasionally he would stop and utter a soft whine, looking back to make sure they were still following. Nubia whispered words of encouragement in her own language. They followed him across the ash-covered lawn, through the open gate and up the drive.
Presently, they could hear the noise of pack animals and carriage wheels and see the dim globes of torch-light through the ash. They were approaching the coastal road. A steady stream of refugees were making their way along it towards the south.
They found his body at the roadside shrine of Mercury. It was already covered with two inches of ash. Ferox nosed the still form of his master and whined up at them pitifully. Miriam cried out and ran forward. One of the sailors took her torch as she knelt and brushed away the ash.
‘Gaius!’ she cried, ‘Gaius, my love. Speak to me. Tell me you’re still alive!’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 25