The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  MAIA. IX OR X. KIDNAPPED.

  ARRIVING SOON AT COVE.

  I WILL GO AND TRY TO FIND OUT MORE

  Nubia shifted the picnic basket on her shoulder. She and Leda were both carrying baskets and water gourds. The baskets and gourds weren’t particularly heavy but Nubia thought the straps must hurt Leda’s tender back. Nubia also noted that Leda was bare-foot.

  Pulchra, on the other hand, wore pretty leather slippers that were totally unsuitable for climbing. Whenever she slipped she squealed and clutched at Jonathan. She soon decided it was easier to hold his hand all the time.

  By the time they reached the shrine her pretty yellow locks were clinging damply to her forehead.

  ‘Great Juno!’ Pulchra gasped, as they finally reached the small marble building. ‘Give me that water, Leda.’

  The dogs had begun by running up the path ahead of them, sniffing eagerly here and there, tails wagging, but they were soon defeated by the heat and humidity. Now they flopped panting in the cool shade of an ancient yew tree beside the shrine.

  Nubia turned and looked around. She could see for miles. She gazed back down the silver, olive-covered slopes towards the Villa Limona. There were the domes of the bathhouse, the covered walkway, and the spot in the garden where they’d stood an hour before. She could also see the secret harbour. As she watched, a small boat appeared through the arched opening and she saw two figures in it.

  Then they were blocked from her view.

  Behind her she heard Flavia say, ‘Can we look inside the shrine?’

  Nubia turned.

  ‘I don’t think it’s locked,’ Pulchra said, handing the gourd back to Leda without even looking at her.

  The temple was made of pink and cream marble. Up three steps and through four columns was a bronze door leading into the shrine. Pulchra turned the handle and Jonathan applied his shoulder. The door was heavy but swung open smoothly. They all went in, apart from Leda, who waited outside.

  It was a very small shrine, dimly lit by small, high windows. The air inside was cool and musty and smelled of stale incense and wine. On the walls were frescoes of dolphins and in front of them was the image of the god: a painted wooden statue of a young man striding forward with an oddly frozen smile. The young god had red lips and black-rimmed eyes which stared over their heads, out towards the blue sea. Around his neck was a withered garland so old it was brown.

  ‘How strange.’ Flavia was studying the walls. ‘Why dolphins?’

  A movement caught Nubia’s eye. A large brown spider moved delicately down the statue’s wooden thigh. Nubia shivered and was just turning away when a gleam of gold caught her eye. Something lay on the pedestal near the god’s left foot.

  While the others were still examining the dolphins on the walls, Nubia quickly reached out and took the tiny object. Her heart was pounding as her fist closed tightly around it.

  It was the tiger’s-eye earring she had given to Kuanto.

  As they sat in the shade of the yew tree and unpacked their picnic lunches, Nubia’s mind raced.

  ‘What a strange thing to find in a shrine of Dionysus,’ said Flavia, uncorking her water gourd.

  Nubia looked up, alarmed. Had Flavia seen her take the earring?

  ‘Dolphins have nothing to do with the god of wine,’ mused Flavia. ‘Satyrs, yes. Or frenzied dancing girls, but dolphins?’

  Nubia breathed a sigh of relief and bent her head over her lunch again. The cook had prepared six napkins, each wrapped around a selection of delicacies. There were stuffed vine leaves, cold chicken, glossy purple olives, fig cakes and flat white bread.

  As the others were opening their own napkins, Nubia slipped the earring into the leather pouch at her belt. Then she took a bite of chicken and carefully scanned the vines below and the trees above.

  Kuanto had told her that when the time was near he would leave her earring where she would see it.

  Somehow he had followed and found her. She had only spoken to him once in the refugee camp, was it three nights ago? It had been so dark that she hadn’t even been able to see what he looked like. Perhaps he was watching her even now.

  Again she studied the trees, looking for the signal. Suddenly she saw it: a scarlet cord tied round a branch of another yew further up the hill. Nubia forced herself to take another bite of chicken even though her stomach was churning with excitement.

  ‘These stuffed vine leaves are delicious,’ Flavia was saying to Pulchra. ‘What’s in them?’

  ‘Chickpeas, pepper and lemon juice,’ said Pulchra, nipping one neatly in half with her even, white teeth and then popping the remaining half into Jonathan’s mouth.

  ‘Mmmph!’ said Jonathan, then chewed and swallowed. ‘Tart. But nice.’

  Flavia was unwrapping hers to examine its contents.

  Nubia slowly got to her feet and Flavia squinted up at her. ‘Are you all right, Nubia? You look . . . strange.’

  ‘My stomach is unhappy,’ said Nubia. ‘I go behind bushes.’

  ‘OK,’ said Flavia, and turned back to her stuffed grape leaf.

  Nubia glanced back once as she walked up towards the yew tree. The others were all intent on their lunches. All except Nipur, who yawned and stretched and trotted after her up the slope, wagging his little black tail.

  Lupus watched from the hillside above the Villa Limona as the girl stepped out of the rowing boat onto the shore of the secret cove.

  Crispus was waiting for her, looking around nervously. When she reached him he bent down and spoke to her urgently. The girl was crying, but she nodded her head. Finally Crispus stood and tousled her dark hair.

  Then he took the girl’s hand and led her up the path. They went into the stables, and a moment later emerged on horseback, with the girl sitting in front of Crispus. Lupus hadn’t expected that.

  As they trotted past him, he hid behind an ancient olive tree, then slipped off his sandals and ran after them. The white paving stones were smooth on his bare feet, for the covered drive was as superbly made as any Roman road, gently rising in the middle and with drains to carry away rainwater on either side. It occurred to him, as he ran, that it must have taken hundreds of soldiers to build such a road. He wondered how Felix had arranged it and how much it had cost.

  By the time he’d reached the main coastal road his heart was pounding and he was gasping for breath. Lupus looked right and left and up the slopes. But the horse and its riders were nowhere to be seen.

  Nubia reached up and the touched the scarlet cord.

  The trunk of the yew screened her from the others and she looked eagerly around for another red cord. There it was! Tied around the lowest branch of a tree further up the slope. She ran to it as lightly and quickly as she could, conscious that the others would soon wonder where she was.

  Suddenly Nipur growled at a movement in the shrubbery. Before she could gasp, someone grabbed her round the waist and a hand covered her mouth. She felt hot breath in her ear and heard a voice whisper, ‘It’s me. Fuscus. Kuanto, I mean. Don’t scream.’

  He released her slowly and Nubia turned to look at him.

  Kuanto of the Jackal Clan stood looking down at her. She guessed he was the age of her eldest brother, about sixteen or seventeen. He was smiling at her with perfect teeth and she felt her face grow hot.

  He was very handsome.

  Later that afternoon, Nubia stood behind Flavia, combing her mistress’s light brown hair, still damp from the baths.

  ‘Do you think you can do my hair the way Leda did it this morning?’ asked Flavia. Her grey eyes were sparkling. They’d been invited to dine with Pollius Felix and his wife.

  Pulchra’s sisters had run to meet them as soon as they got back from their picnic.

  ‘Pater and mater have invited us to dine with them tonight,’ they squealed with excitement. ‘All of us.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Pulchra had replied irritably; she was very hot and tired. But it had been true.

  ‘This is a real honour,’ P
ulchra told Flavia at least half a dozen times while they made the circuit of the Villa Limona’s private baths. ‘They almost never dine with us any more.’ And Nubia had noticed a strange expression on Pulchra’s face.

  After their bath, Nubia tried to arrange Flavia’s hair the way Leda had done it that morning.

  ‘Thank you, Nubia.’ Flavia, patted her hair and looked in the bronze mirror. ‘You’ve done it just as nicely as Leda did it. I can’t believe Felix is actually going to dine with us . . .’ She sighed. ‘Now where’s my bulla?’

  Nubia bent to do the fine clasp of the silver chain around Flavia’s neck. Attached to the chain was a bulla – the charm worn by freeborn children until they were considered grown-up. As Nubia tried to open the clasp, she wondered if anyone would ever comb her hair again, as her mother had used to do. Her fingers were still oily from rubbing Flavia down and suddenly the chain slipped and the bulla fell onto the tiled floor.

  ‘Stupid!’ muttered Flavia angrily. She bent to retrieve it and thrust it impatiently at Nubia. With shaking hands, Nubia finally managed to do the clasp.

  ‘Do I look all right?’ said Flavia, holding up the bronze mirror again.

  But Nubia could tell she wasn’t expecting an answer.

  As Flavia followed Pulchra into the private triclinium of Polla Argentaria, she was handed a garland of ivy, miniature yellow roses, and lemon leaves. Pulchra’s younger sisters were already there, reclining on cream linen couches. So were Jonathan and Lupus. They both wore new sea-green tunics. Lupus had slicked his dark hair back from his forehead.

  ‘Very fashionable!’ observed Flavia.

  Lupus tried to look unconcerned as he adjusted his garland, but Jonathan coloured. ‘I think they’re a gift from Felix. They were laid out on our beds when we came out of the baths.’

  Nubia was already there, standing beside Leda. She wore one of the lemon-yellow tunics worn by all the slaves of the Villa Limona. The colour glowed against her dark skin and Flavia was proud to have such a beautiful slave-girl standing behind her as she reclined.

  The walls of the north-facing dining-room were pale yellow, with an elegant black and cream frieze of winged cupids riding chariots. In one corner of the room was a Greek sculpture of Venus; the bronze goddess was shown undressing for her bath. Beneath the statue of Venus sat a young slave strumming melodious chords on a lyre. It was definitely a woman’s dining-room, decided Flavia. She could hardly wait to see what Felix’s wife looked like.

  At last, followed by their slaves, Publius Pollius Felix and his wife Polla Argentaria stepped into the dining-room.

  Polla was almost as tall as her husband, and very beautiful. But it was a pale, transparent beauty, and she seemed almost ghostlike beside Felix’s intense presence.

  After the introductions had been made, Felix and Polla reclined on the central couch. The serving-girls immediately brought in the first tables and set them before the couches.

  The first course consisted of hard-boiled quail eggs and button mushrooms glazed with honey and fish sauce. They were delicious, and small enough to be eaten elegantly. Lupus seemed to like them, probably because they slipped down his throat so easily.

  As they ate, Felix turned to Flavia, who reclined on the couch to his right. ‘Tell me, Flavia Gemina,’ he said, ‘what did you do today?’

  For a moment Flavia was tempted to say, ‘We spied on you,’ but instead she said, ‘We walked up to the shrine of Dionysus and had a picnic lunch there.’

  ‘The wine god loves the hills, the north wind and the cool shade of the yew tree,’ quoted Felix.

  ‘Virgil?’ asked Flavia.

  Felix opened his eyes in surprise and nodded. ‘The Georgics. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Why are dolphins painted on the walls of his shrine?’ asked Flavia, not wanting to lose his attention.

  Felix raised one of his dark eyebrows and gave her an amused glance. ‘I’m surprised a well-educated girl like you doesn’t know the connection.’ He glanced up and whispered something to the slave who stood behind him. The young man nodded and hurried out of the dining-room.

  A moment later the slave was back. He handed Felix a ceramic drinking-cup and resumed his place behind his master’s couch.

  Felix held the cup out to Flavia. She could tell at once that it was Greek and probably an antique, so she took it carefully with both hands.

  ‘It’s an Athenian kylix,’ said Felix, ‘one of the most valuable antiques I own. Any idea how old it is?’

  Flavia thought quickly. Her uncle Gaius had a mixing bowl with red figures on black which was over five hundred years old. This elegant cup had black figures on red, and she knew black-figure was even older than red-figure.

  ‘Over six hundred years old?’ she hazarded a guess.

  Felix raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Again I’m impressed, Flavia Gemina. Very impressed. Now, can you tell me who is painted inside?’

  Painted in black glaze on the bottom of the cup’s wide flat bowl was an elegant ship with a white sail and a tiny white dolphin on its prow. The potter had painted a man reclining in the ship, completely filling it up. This figure wore a garland on his head and in his hand he held a wine cup.

  Flavia studied the kylix for a moment and then held it up so that Pulchra, Jonathan and Lupus could see, too.

  ‘It’s Dionysus, the god of wine, isn’t it?’ said Pulchra.

  ‘Clever girl,’ said Felix with a smile. ‘But tell me, what’s unusual about the scene?’

  ‘The fact that there’s an enormous grapevine growing up the mast?’ suggested Jonathan.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And there are six, no – seven dolphins swimming in the water,’ said Flavia.

  ‘The Greek poet Homer tells the story in his seventh hymn,’ said Felix, as the serving-girls cleared away the tables.

  ‘One day the god Dionysus was standing on the shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea when some pirates came sailing by. Even from a distance they could see he was a noble man so they decided to kidnap him and ask an enormous ransom.’

  Flavia, Jonathan and Lupus exchanged glances.

  ‘The pirates dragged the god into their ship and tied him up. But when they were well out to sea, Dionysus caused the ropes which bound him to become grapevines. The vines curled up the mast and over the rigging and in no time bore huge clusters of blue-black grapes. The pirates gazed at each other in horror. They knew their captive must be a god, one of the immortals.’

  Felix was reclining with a garland on his head as he told the story, and Flavia could easily imagine what Dionysus had looked like.

  ‘Suddenly,’ said Felix, ‘Dionysus turned into a lion and roared in their faces. After all, he is the god of wine, intoxication and madness. The pirates leapt overboard before the beast could devour them.’

  Lupus guffawed loudly and Felix gave him an amused glance.

  ‘Then the god became himself again and enjoyed a leisurely cup of wine as the boat carried him back home.’

  ‘But what do the dolphins have to do with the story?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Well,’ said Felix, ‘the wine put Dionysus in such good spirits that he took pity on the drowning sailors and turned them all into dolphins. And that is how dolphins came to be.’

  ‘What a wonderful story,’ sighed Flavia, gazing at the brave and handsome god who vanquished pirates. At last she handed the beautiful cup back to Felix.

  He gave a little shake of his head. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘It’s yours.’

  Flavia felt her face go cold and then hot. She swallowed and tried to protest. But no words came.

  Felix smiled. ‘What good are riches if you can’t give them away?’ he said. ‘Friends are far more important than possessions.’

  The serving-girls brought in the second course: white fish, baked fennel and sweet baby onions. The fish was cod, baked in a crust of rock salt and coriander seeds. Beside each piece was a wedge of lemon.

  ‘Finally! Some lemon!’ cried Jonathan.
He popped the entire wedge into his mouth and began to chew it.

  At the look on his face everyone burst out laughing, especially Pollina and Pollinilla, who screamed with laughter and kicked their chubby legs in the air. Polla smiled and made a subtle gesture. Her slave demonstrated how to squeeze the lemon wedge over the fish.

  Jonathan squeezed another wedge of lemon over his fish and tentatively took a bite. It was salty and sour at the same time. And absolutely delicious.

  ‘Speaking of Dionysus . . .’ said Felix, and nodded at a slave hovering in the doorway. The wine steward moved smoothly forward, a jug in either hand. Expertly he filled each guest’s cup, simultaneously pouring out foamy black wine from one jug, and clear water from the other. The mixture ranged from ruby red in Felix’s cup to palest pink for the little girls.

  Felix took a sip of wine and closed his eyes to savour the taste. Then he raised his cup to Flavia.

  ‘Your uncle’s wine,’ he said, ‘the finest wine in the region. What a pity his vineyards are now buried under the ash of Vesuvius.’

  ‘Did you see the ash when you took the Emperor back to Stabia?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Indeed I did,’ said Felix. ‘There were treasure-hunters trying to tunnel their way into rich men’s houses.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’ asked Jonathan. Lupus, reclining next to him, sat up on his elbow with interest.

  ‘Only their own graves. The ash has hardened on top, but it’s only a crust. If you walk on the crust you fall in. Then you sink down and drown in the ash.’

  Jonathan shuddered.

  ‘So far,’ continued Felix, ‘despite what Titus said, we have not found one person alive. I don’t think you realise how lucky you were to survive. The gods must surely have favoured you.’ He sipped his wine and turned his dark eyes on Flavia.

  ‘Tell us, Flavia Gemina, how did you manage to escape the volcano?’

  Flavia told them.

  When she started her story, the evening sky was as pink as half-watered wine, and a slave was lighting the bronze lamps. When she finished, night had fallen. One or two of the brighter stars winked dimly above the horizon.