The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  The girls glanced at each other, then back at the ugly red burn on the side of her head.

  ‘Will her tresses ever be growing back?’ whispered Nubia.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Flavia. ‘I think she’ll always have a scar.’

  ‘So sad,’ said Nubia. ‘The perfect beauty gone.’

  The subdued light around them grew brighter as Flavia’s uncle Gaius stepped into the tent, then it dimmed again as he let the cloak fall back.

  Both girls put their fingers to their lips and pointed at Miriam.

  He nodded, smiling. He’d obviously been to the baths because his light brown hair was damp and he smelled pleasantly of scented oil: balsam and laurel.

  Ferox opened both eyes and thumped his tail again. Gaius limped over to his dog and lowered himself carefully onto the soft floor of the tent. He ruffled Ferox’s head and scratched behind his ear, but he was gazing at Miriam, asleep on her cushions.

  The swelling on Gaius’s face was going down, but his nose would be permanently crooked and he still had one black eye. Yet there was such a look of compassion on his battered face that it brought a lump to Nubia’s throat. She glanced at Flavia and Flavia smiled back.

  Nubia knew they were both thinking the same thing: Miriam’s beauty might be marred for others, but for Gaius it would always be perfect.

  ‘Come on, Nubia,’ whispered Flavia, ‘let’s go and see how Lupus is doing.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘Let’s see how Lupus does.’

  Flavia spotted Lupus leaning against a palmetto tree in front of the Inn of Pegasus. The innkeeper must have brought a bowl of water for the dogs because they were lapping thirstily. Lupus saw the girls coming and shook his head to say the dogs hadn’t been able to find a scent. He was chomping something and guiltily tried to hide it behind his back as they came up.

  ‘Hey, Lupus! Where’d you get the sausage?’ Flavia could smell it.

  He looked embarrassed.

  ‘From me,’ said a voice from the shadowy doorway. The innkeeper stepped out. He was tall and thin with bony elbows and knees, and moist brown eyes.

  ‘I read your young friend’s message,’ he said.

  Lupus flipped open his wax tablet and showed it to the girls. On it he had written in neat letters:

  DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MISSING CHILDREN?

  ‘We’re looking, too,’ said Flavia.

  ‘You’re doing a good thing, trying to find the missing children,’ said the innkeeper, who smelled faintly of vinegar. ‘But you’d better be careful. You don’t want to get captured yourselves.’ He reached into a jar on the counter just inside the doorway and brought out two more sausages.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Flavia taking them. She handed one to Nubia and took a bite of the other. It was deliciously spicy. ‘How do you know about the missing children?’ she asked with her mouth full.

  The innkeeper shrugged. ‘Everyone knows about them.’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘And some people suspect who is behind it.’

  ‘Who?’ said Flavia eagerly.

  The innkeeper glanced around. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘Your uncle has paid for three poor widows and their children to lodge here, and the doctor is treating the people of this camp gratis. So let me give you some advice. This part of Italia is far from Rome. Things are done differently here. There are some people with great power,’ he lowered his voice, ‘power almost as great as the Emperor’s.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Flavia again.

  ‘These men of power are like spiders,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Their webs are almost invisible and they’re everywhere. And like spiders, they are not afraid to bite.’

  ‘But who?’ said Flavia for the third time.

  ‘Let’s just say there is one particular man and he is . . . fortunate. Very fortunate. Most of the crime in this whole area, from Neapolis to Paestum, can somehow or other be linked back to him. They call him the Patron.’ The innkeeper licked his lips nervously and looked over Flavia’s shoulder. She glanced back. Some fishermen were making their way up to the inn from the beach.

  ‘Be careful of the spider and his web,’ whispered the innkeeper and gripped Flavia’s wrist with his bony hand. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘There is a rumour that a gang of runaway slaves is on the loose in the area. You know what happens to runaway slaves. If they are recaptured, their lives are not worth living. They will do anything to keep from being caught again. Anything. Do you understand?’

  Flavia nodded.

  ‘I must be careful, too.’ The innkeeper backed into the shadowy interior of the tavern. ‘But I will help you if I can. My name is Petrus.’

  That evening Nubia noticed the crowds gathering outside their tent even before sunset. As well as coins, some people left gifts at the entrance: loaves of bread, an embroidered belt pouch, a carved wooden beaker, some dried figs wrapped in laurel leaves, a handful of olives.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Jonathan, as Flavia came in from the baths. He was propped up against all the cushions. ‘Why are all those people outside our tent?’

  ‘Nubia, Aristo and Lupus played music last night,’ said Flavia, ‘while you were still in a coma.’

  ‘The people are hungry for more than bread and olives,’ said Mordecai. ‘They long to feed their souls with music.’

  He turned to Nubia and Aristo. ‘Your music is as important as my medicine. Will you play again tonight?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Aristo. He began to unwrap the lyre from its protective piece of linen.

  Nubia nodded and pulled the flute from beneath her tunic.

  ‘Hey!’ cried Flavia. ‘That red cord on your flute is new, isn’t it? Where did you get it?’

  Nubia’s heart skipped a beat. Before she could think of an answer Flavia said:

  ‘Oh, I know! Someone left it as a gift. Don’t look so worried! Keep it; you deserve it.’

  Miriam rose gracefully to her feet and unpinned not only the red cloak doorway but the dark goat’s hair blanket that formed one side of their tent. The interior of the tent was now completely open to the west. A few yards from the new tent opening stood many children and adults. Their backs were turned on the blood-red sun which had terrified them the night before.

  As Aristo began to tune his lyre, a hush fell over the crowd.

  Nubia noticed Lupus lying on his stomach in the darkest corner of the tent.

  ‘Lupus,’ she said, ‘Will you drum us?’

  Lupus tried not to smile, but Nubia could tell he was pleased. Carrying his wooden soup bowl, he sauntered over and sat between them.

  Aristo finished tuning his lyre and Lupus turned his bowl upside down. They both looked at Nubia. She closed her eyes for a moment and then lifted the lotus-wood flute to her lips.

  As the sun sank into the sea, she began to play.

  Flavia loved the music her friends were making. It made her think of sunnier, happier, greener days. She closed her eyes and let the music guide her to those times.

  She didn’t know how long she had been listening when a small, hot body landed in her lap.

  ‘Oof!’ gasped Flavia, jolted from her reverie. Then she smiled. It was Julia, damp and clean and with her thumb in her mouth. Flavia put her arms round Julia and the girl snuggled tighter, her back against Flavia’s front and her hard head under Flavia’s chin. Flavia kissed the top of the little girl’s head and smelled the sweet, warm fragrance of her silky hair.

  Julia was quiet after that and Flavia closed her eyes again and let the silent tears come.

  When at last the music died away, it was very dark.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘No, don’t stop!’ someone cried out of the silence.

  ‘One more song,’ called out a man.

  ‘Aristo, we love you,’ came a girl’s voice.

  Flavia and Jonathan exchanged surprised looks.

  ‘Wait!’ A man in a brown tunic stepped into the dim firelight. ‘You’ve cried with the music, now laugh with our c
omedy!’ he proclaimed dramatically.

  Two torch bearers – one short and one tall – appeared on either side of him and the sandy ground was flooded with light. Flavia couldn’t see the announcer properly because he had his back to them.

  ‘I am Lucrio,’ cried the man in a well-trained voice, ‘and I would like to present Actius and Sorex, famous actors of repute and renown. They will present for your enjoyment a short comedy of their own composition: The Pirates of Pompeii . . .’ Here the announcer stepped aside and made a theatrical gesture.

  The torch-bearers fixed their torches in the sand and stepped into the torchlight. They bowed towards the audience. Then they turned to bow to the musicians: Nubia, Aristo and Lupus.

  As they lifted their heads, Flavia saw that they wore brightly painted comic masks with huge, leering grins.

  In her lap, Julia stiffened. Abruptly the little girl let out a scream so shrill it brought all four dogs to their feet. Everyone in the tent turned towards Flavia and she saw their faces in the torchlight, staring at her wide-eyed. Julia was still screaming but now she had twisted round and buried her face in Flavia’s shoulder. As she began to cry, Flavia heard the little girl sob over and over, ‘The scary men! The scary men!’

  ‘How was The Pirates of Pompeii?’ Flavia asked Jonathan the next morning, as they ate breakfast on the beach. She had spent most of the evening helping Julia’s grandparents calm the hysterical little girl back at their tent.

  Lupus mimed applause.

  ‘It wasn’t bad,’ Jonathan said. ‘It was the usual story of clever slaves, rich but stupid young men and children captured by pirates. Those two actors played all the parts.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flavia, disappointed. ‘Sounds good.’

  It was Jonathan’s first time out of bed since he had woken. The four friends sat by the water’s edge, watching the little waves deposit more ash on the sand. They were eating their breakfast: tangy goat’s cheese and flat bread. The three dogs sat attentively nearby.

  ‘It was hard to tell because of their masks, but I think the actors were angry that they didn’t make as much money as Nubia, Aristo and Lupus,’ said Jonathan, gesturing with a piece of bread.

  ‘Probably because it wasn’t the best choice for a comedy,’ said Flavia. ‘Pompeii has been buried and children are going missing.’

  Lupus nodded and Flavia tossed a morsel of cheesy bread to Scuto, who caught it in mid-air with a snap of his jaws.

  ‘Jonathan!’ she cried suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you think they were trying to tell us something, like the innkeeper was? Only they . . .’ she tried to think of the word, ‘. . . they disguised it, so that it wouldn’t be obvious?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘We never thought of pirates taking the children, but that would explain why they completely disappear!’

  ‘And look!’ said Flavia, indicating two strong fishermen pulling their boat up onto the beach. ‘These boats come and go all the time, but we never take any notice of them.’

  ‘What do you think, Lupus?’ asked Jonathan. ‘Could it be pirates who are taking the children?’

  Lupus pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, as if to say he thought it was very possible.

  ‘Nubia?’ said Flavia, and glanced at the slave-girl.

  But Nubia’s amber eyes were directed upwards. For the first time in days the chalky white sky had a tint of blue to it.

  ‘She’s miles away,’ said Jonathan, feeding his last scrap of bread to Nipur. ‘Miles away.’

  ‘OK,’ said Flavia, as they strolled back to the tent, ‘here’s the plan for today. Lupus, you patrol the beach. Watch all the boats that come and go. Keep an eye out for any unusual behaviour. Jonathan, you go to the baths and see if you can overhear anything.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Jonathan. ‘I haven’t had a bath in over a week.’

  ‘I know. That’s what gave me the idea.’ Flavia grinned at him. ‘Nubia and I will find those actors from last night and . . . Great Neptune’s beard!’

  They all stopped a few yards from the red flap of their tent. Two Roman soldiers in dazzling armour stood at the entrance, one on either side. They both held spears and they both stared straight ahead.

  Flavia glanced at her friends. Then she set her jaw and took a step forward.

  In perfect synchronisation the two spears crossed, blocking the entrance.

  ‘Hey!’ cried Flavia. ‘That’s our tent!’

  Keeping his gaze on the horizon, one of the soldiers growled: ‘And you would be?’

  ‘Flavia Gemina, daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain!’

  ‘Well, Flavia-Gemina-daughter-of-Marcus-Flavius-Geminus-sea-captain,’ said the soldier with the hint of a twinkle in his eye. ‘There’s a very important person in there at the moment and you’ll just have to wait until he comes out.’

  A clink of armour sounded from the other side of the tent flap and the two spears pointed up again. Flavia and her friends jumped back as two more soldiers emerged from the tent and stood to attention. Then a bull-necked man with receding sandy hair ducked out through the tent’s opening.

  He blinked in the light and looked down at Flavia and her friends. Short and stocky, with a pleasant face, he looked strangely familiar to Flavia. He reminded her of Brutus, Ostia’s pork butcher. However, the richly embroidered purple toga draped around his shoulders showed he was no butcher.

  Flavia’s jaw dropped as she looked from the gold laurel wreath on his head, to the heavy gold wrist-guards on his arms and down to his gold-tooled leather sandals. Suddenly she knew why his face seemed so familiar: there was a marble bust of him in her father’s study.

  ‘You must be Flavia Gemina,’ he said mildly. ‘I heard you introducing yourself to my guard. I believe we are distantly related. I am a Flavian, too.’

  He extended his ringed hand for her to kiss.

  Flavia nearly fainted.

  She was standing two feet away from the Emperor Titus!

  Scuto wagged his tail as Flavia dutifully pressed her lips to the hand of the most powerful man in the world. The Emperor’s thick fingers were laden with gold rings and the back of his hand was soft and freckled.

  ‘Flavia,’ said her uncle Gaius, coming out of the tent with a tall, grey-haired man, ‘the Emperor has come to our rescue. He has brought food and wine and blankets and medicine. And he wants to see Doctor Mordecai.’

  ‘Um . . . he should be in the infirmary,’ Flavia stuttered and the others nodded, wide-eyed.

  ‘Lead on,’ said the Emperor, throwing out one arm in a sweep of purple.

  Flavia, Jonathan, Nubia and Lupus led the most powerful man in the Roman Empire across the sandy ground, through two columns and into the solarium. The dogs knew from experience that they were not allowed in the baths; they flopped down panting near the entrance.

  The solarium was bright and cool. Its outstanding feature was a picture window of tinted green glass, facing north towards the bay.

  Miriam, her dark curls bound up in a blue scarf, was talking and laughing with a woman on a massage couch. She looked up as they entered and when she saw the soldiers and the Emperor, her face went pale and she quickly handed the baby back to his mother.

  Someone must have told her the Emperor was in the camp, for she immediately went to him, knelt and kissed his hand.

  ‘Beautiful,’ breathed the Emperor as he helped her to her feet. And then frowned. ‘Have we met before? You look very familiar . . .’

  Miriam lowered her eyes and gave her head a slight shake.

  ‘Miriam,’ said Gaius, ‘the Emperor is looking for your father. He’s not in the tent. Is he here?’

  ‘He was here a moment ago,’ stammered Miriam. ‘I’m not sure where he’s gone . . .’

  ‘Shame,’ said the Emperor, swivelling majestically on one foot and looking around at the airy room with its frescoed walls and high blue ceiling. ‘Reports of his good deeds reached me in Rome even before I set
out for the region. I wanted to personally encourage him in his work.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Miriam again, and Flavia thought she looked unusually flustered.

  ‘Don’t be, my dear.’ The Emperor smiled, revealing a row of small white teeth. ‘Why don’t you take me round the patients? I should like to speak to them.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Miriam, and led him towards the new mother, who clutched her baby tightly in a mixture of terror and delight.

  ‘Oh, Flavia,’ said Gaius, ‘I haven’t introduced you to Pollius. He’s one of my patrons. He buys more of my wine than anyone else in the region. He lives a few miles south of here, in Surrentum.’

  Flavia turned from the Emperor to the man standing beside her uncle. At first she thought he was old, because his hair was mostly grey. Then she noticed his tanned face was as smooth and unlined as Aristo’s. He couldn’t be much older than her father. But the most striking thing about him was not the contrast of his smooth tanned face and greying hair.

  It was his eyes.

  Although they were unremarkable – dark and slightly too close together – when he turned them on Flavia she felt a strange thrill.

  Her uncle was gesturing for Miriam to come over. With a nervous glance at the Emperor, who was speaking to the young mother, Miriam slipped away to join them.

  ‘And this is my betrothed.’ Gaius took Miriam’s hand and for a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed. Then Gaius remembered himself.

  ‘Miriam, this is one of my patrons, Publius Pollius Felix. He’s a close friend of the Emperor. He’s been taking him on a tour of the devastated area.’

  ‘Hello.’ Gaius’s patron gave Miriam the same direct look he’d given Flavia. He had a light, cultured voice.

  Flavia studied the grey-haired man. He was tall and cleanshaven, like her uncle, and very handsome. But there was something else about him. Something she couldn’t describe. The thought suddenly occurred to her that he was really the Emperor, and the bullnecked man in the purple robe was an impostor.