Flavia looked up and realised the lyre player had stopped strumming some time ago; he was staring at her, his mouth wide open. The serving-girls stood transfixed in the doorway, unwilling to take out the main course and miss any of the tale. Polla had a pained look on her face, as if she had experienced the terror of that night with them.
And Flavia knew without looking that Felix’s eyes had never left her face. She glanced at him quickly and felt a thrill of pleasure at the admiration in his eyes.
‘Remarkable,’ he murmured. ‘I think we should celebrate your survival with something special. Pul-chra? Do you agree?’
‘Yes, pater!’ She clapped her hands. ‘The lemon wine!’
Pollina and Pollinilla had been dozing off. Suddenly they were wide awake, chanting: ‘Lemon wine! Lemon wine!’
Felix nodded at the wine steward, who tried to suppress a smile.
The serving-girls took away the empty plates and brought dessert: honey-soaked sesame cakes.
‘Mmmm, my favourite,’ said Jonathan, licking the honey from his fingers.
The wine steward appeared with a painted wooden tray. On it were a dozen small cups of fine Alexandrian glass. Flavia knew they were of the highest quality because the glass was almost clear. In the centre of the tray was a clear glass decanter full of bright yellow liquid.
The steward filled the little glasses and gave one to each of the guests.
Flavia sipped hers. It was tart and lemony, but at the same time deliciously sweet and sticky. She drained it and boldly extended her empty glass for a refill.
Felix was tuning the strings of a lyre. ‘My turn to tell a story,’ he said. ‘Or rather, to sing a story.’
For a while he played a complicated, bittersweet tune. Then he began to sing. Pollina and Pollinilla had fallen asleep, their faces flushed and damp, their fine hair golden in the lamplight. Pulchra gazed at her father with adoration. Lupus was watching him, too, his eyes as green and still as a cat’s. Polla’s eyes were closed, but she was not asleep.
Felix sang a song Flavia was not familiar with. It was a song about the Cretan princess Ariadne, and how she found love on the island of Naxos. His voice was slightly husky and he sang as beautifully as he played. When he finished everyone applauded, but softly, so as not to wake the little girls.
Polla opened her eyes. ‘My husband is too modest to tell you,’ she said quietly, ‘but he wrote the song himself and won a prize for it at the festival last year.’
Felix inclined his head graciously. Then he turned to Flavia. ‘Do you play?’
Flavia’s heart sank. The only instrument she could play was the tambourine, and even that not very well. Then she had an idea.
‘I don’t play, but Nubia does!’ she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Nubia, play your flute for us! Come on!’ Flavia tugged the hem of Nubia’s yellow tunic in order to pull her onto the foot of the dining-couch.
Nubia was not used to standing for so long and she was glad to sit. As she took out her flute she was aware of everyone watching her, so she closed her eyes to concentrate. After a moment a picture came into her mind.
She lifted the flute to her lips and began to play. She played a new song, a song her father had never taught her, a song her brother had never taught her. In her mind Nubia called it Slave Song.
She played the desert at sunset, with slanting purple shadows, and a line of swaying camels, moving on, always on.
Riding one of the camels was a girl whose amber eyes were full of tears. The girl had nothing. Her family was gone. Her tents were burnt. Her dog lay in the dust. The girl’s back was raw from the whip, and around her neck was a cold iron collar.
But the tears on her cheek were tears of joy.
A crescent moon hung above the horizon. Beneath it were date palms, silhouetted against a violet sky. An oasis.
She knew there would be water there. And honeysweet dates. And cool silver sand. And someone who cared for her.
And best of all, freedom.
Flavia woke the next morning with a throbbing headache and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even remember going to bed.
‘Nubia?’ she croaked. ‘Bring me some water, please. My throat feels as dry as ash. Nubia?’ She could tell from the heat and the brightness of the sunlight that it was very late, probably mid-morning.
She groaned, sat up in bed and looked around blearily. The dogs were not there and Nubia was gone, too. Grumpily, Flavia slipped on her tunic and sandals and rose unsteadily to her feet.
Then she sat down again, because she felt dizzy. There was a jug and beaker beside her bed, so she filled the beaker with water and drank it down.
Presently she stood up and took a step forward.
Then she sat down again, this time because she felt sick.
On the floor near Nubia’s bed were drops of blood. And next to them lay Nubia’s lotus-wood flute, broken in half.
‘Where is she?’ said Flavia quietly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
‘Oh, good morning, Fulvia,’ said Pulchra. ‘Or should I say “Good afternoon”?’ Pulchra was sitting with Jonathan on her bed. They were playing a board game.
‘Where’s who?’ said Jonathan absently, trying to decide his next move.
‘Nubia. She’s missing. I’ve been looking everywhere for her. And her lotus-wood flute is broken.’
‘I haven’t seen her today.’ Jonathan put down his counter and looked at Flavia. ‘I thought she was still asleep in your room.’
‘No. She isn’t.’ Flavia folded her arms and stared at Pulchra, who was studying the board.
‘Pulchra?’ said Flavia at last. ‘Where is Nubia?’
‘She was insolent,’ said Pulchra, without looking up. ‘I only wanted to look at her flute and she wouldn’t even let me touch it. She ran off and I assumed she went crying back to you. You’re far too soft on her, you know. She’s terribly spoiled.’
‘What did you do to her?’
‘I beat her, of course.’ Pulchra’s blue eyes flickered nervously up at Jonathan.
‘And?’ Flavia’s lips were white with fury.
‘And I broke her silly flute.’
‘I know Felix will help us,’ said Flavia to Jonathan an hour later.
They stood in the garden in the cool shade of the lemon tree. When Jonathan had seen the look on Flavia’s face he had scrambled off the bed and hurried her out of Pulchra’s room. Pulchra hadn’t the nerve to follow them. The two of them had searched the Villa Limona for nearly an hour before they found a slave who claimed he had seen a dark-skinned girl going up the mountainside.
‘Felix found that other girl,’ Flavia continued feverishly. ‘He has lots of men and servants. We don’t know the hills around here but his men do. He’ll help us find Nubia before something happens to her. I know he will.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jonathan doubtfully.
‘Of course he will. Come on. I’ll prove it to you.’
It was almost midday and Felix had seen all but a few of his clients. There were only two other men still waiting when they stepped into the atrium.
Felix’s secretary raised an eyebrow when they told him they wanted to see the Patron, but Flavia assured him that she was a client, so he noted her name on his wax tablet.
She flopped on the cold marble bench beside Jonathan and looked around the atrium outside Felix’s study. It was cool but light, lit by the usual rectangular gap in the high ceiling.
‘Oh, Jonathan,’ she sighed. ‘Why didn’t Nubia come straight to me after Pulchra beat her?’
‘Well . . .’ Jonathan began, and then hesitated.
‘What?’ Flavia scowled at Jonathan. She was still feeling sick from too much lemon wine.
‘You’ve started treating Nubia the same way Pulchra treats Leda.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Last night at dinner she stood behind your couch all evening and she didn’t have a bite to eat and then you commanded her to pl
ay her flute, just so you could impress that spider . . .’
‘That spider?’ Flavia knew he meant Felix.
Jonathan looked at her. ‘Remember at the camp, the innkeeper telling us about the spider and the web? Well I think Felix is a big, fat spider.’
The double doors of Felix’s study opened and they heard voices from inside.
‘Thank you, Patron, thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you. You are like one of the gods, bringing my little girl back to me from the dead.’
A short peasant in a tan tunic backed out of the tablinum, his arm around a dark-haired girl. As they turned to go, Flavia saw that he was smiling through tears of joy.
‘Some spider!’ she snorted.
The secretary came out and murmured apologetically to the two men waiting on the other side of the atrium. Then he approached Flavia and Jonathan.
‘The Patron will see you now.’
‘Flavia. Jonathan. Come in.’
Behind his table, Felix stood to greet them. Jonathan swallowed. Felix’s formal toga made him seem even more impressive than usual.
‘Sit and tell me what I can do for you,’ said Felix. He gestured to two chairs on the other side of his table. As Jonathan moved to sit, he glanced quickly at the back wall, wondering whether the peepholes were visible.
The plaster-covered wall was pale blue, with rectangular panels of deep red. On the panels were frescoes of comic and tragic masks, skilfully painted so that they seemed to really hang from the wall. The plaster had slight cracks in places, but this gave the frescoes an impressive antique appearance.
Jonathan couldn’t see the spyholes anywhere, but he suddenly noticed a dark-haired boy in a sea-green tunic leaning against a column. Flavia saw him at the same moment.
‘Lupus!’ she cried.
Lupus gave them a small nod, but did not smile. He turned his gaze back towards Felix.
Flavia sat and faced Publius Pollius Felix. ‘Patron,’ she said, getting straight to the point, ‘we need your help.’
Felix had taken a seat on the other side of his desk. ‘How can I help you, Flavia Gemina?’ His tone was cool.
‘Nubia is missing. Please can you find her?’
Felix frowned. ‘Who’s Nubia?’
‘My slave-girl,’ said Flavia, and Jonathan could see she was surprised he didn’t know.
‘Ah, the dark-skinned girl who played last night. A curious tune, neither Greek nor Roman. You say she’s missing?’
‘She ran away this morning, after . . .’ Flavia stopped and began again. ‘I think she ran away.’
‘Flavia Gemina,’ said Felix. ‘I do have men who track down runaway slaves, but I must tell you that when we find these slaves we punish them according to Roman law. I suggest you wait until she returns of her own accord. Meanwhile, please feel free to take any female slave you like from my household as a replacement. Just check with Justus here that it’s one who is dispensable.’ He glanced up at this scribe who nodded and made a note.
‘But Nubia might be in danger!’
Felix leaned forward onto his desk and gave Flavia a sympathetic look that Jonathan didn’t trust one bit.
‘I can see you’re very fond of her,’ said Felix quietly. ‘But the Emperor has just decreed that runaway slaves should be crucified or executed in the amphitheatre. If my men find her . . .’
Jonathan shivered and glanced at Flavia, who had turned as white as Felix’s toga.
‘I’m sorry,’ continued Pollius Felix, ‘but we don’t want another slave revolt and that’s how we maintain control. It’s especially important now, after the volcano has caused so much chaos. We’ve heard many reports of damage and theft caused by runaway slaves.’
‘But she’s my friend,’ said Flavia. ‘She saved my life.’
‘You love your dog, too, I imagine,’ he said. ‘But if he were rabid you would have to put him down, wouldn’t you?’ Felix sat back and opened his hands, palms to the ceiling. ‘I’m sorry, Flavia. In this case I’m afraid I must refuse your request.’
‘You were right, Jonathan,’ sobbed Flavia. ‘He’s a big fat spider.’
They had barely left the atrium before Flavia burst in tears. She slumped beneath the shade of the lemon tree. Jonathan sat beside her and patted her shoulder.
‘And Nubia was right, too.’ She turned her blotched face towards Jonathan, ‘He’s divided us. He makes you love him and then . . . Lupus is under his spell, too.’
Hot tears splashed onto her knees and tunic, and her whole body shuddered with sobs. Jonathan tried to console her by patting her back. Presently Scuto wandered into the garden and came up to his mistress, wagging his tail.
Flavia threw her arms around his woolly neck and sobbed into his fur. Scuto sat, panting gently and rolling his eyes at Jonathan.
A shadow fell across them and they looked up.
It was Lupus. The sun was behind his head so they couldn’t see the expression on his face. But his feelings were made clear by the wax tablet he held out. On it he had written:
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
LET’S FIND NUBIA OURSELVES!
Flavia took Scuto’s big head between her hands and gazed into his brown eyes. ‘Find Nubia, Scuto. Nubia.’ She let him sniff the lemon-yellow tunic Nubia had worn the night before. ‘Go on, Scuto. You, too, Tigris.’ She stood up. ‘Go find her!’
As the three friends followed Scuto and Tigris up through the silver olive groves, Flavia cast her mind back over the events of the previous day.
She thought about the beautiful song Nubia had played the night before, of the yearning it had expressed. She remembered how she had muttered ‘stupid’ while Nubia was helping her dress for dinner and suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her. She’d been thinking about Felix and how wearing a bulla was stupid, because it showed she was still just a little girl. But perhaps Nubia had thought she’d meant it for her.
And later, at dinner, she had been so busy trying to impress Felix that she hadn’t even looked at Nubia, standing patiently behind her. She assumed the slaves would eat, too, but of course they hadn’t had a chance. They probably fought for scraps in the kitchens afterwards.
Flavia stopped and uncorked her water gourd. She felt sick from the heat and too much lemon wine. After a long drink she continued up the path after the boys.
It was all Pulchra’s fault, thought Flavia, grinding her teeth. That stupid, spoilt little harpy with her golden hair and her big blue eyes. She had dared to strike Nubia! And then she had broken Nubia’s precious flute!
Flavia’s anger gave her strength and before she knew it she was standing at the shrine of Dionysus while the dogs sniffed excitedly round the yew tree.
Flavia’s heart sank.
‘Oh no,’ she said to the boys, and her eyes filled with tears of frustration. ‘They haven’t followed her scent from today. They followed it from yesterday!’
‘Wait!’ said Jonathan, ‘Tigris is going further up the hill. We didn’t go that far yesterday.’ Now Scuto had the scent, too, and was following Tigris into a grove of pines and yew trees.
‘Nubia had to relieve herself,’ said Flavia, not bothering to look.
‘Are you sure? All the way up there?’
Flavia turned and peered through the dappled shade up the hill.
Suddenly Lupus grunted and pointed.
‘What?’ said Flavia, ‘Do you see something?’
‘A red cord!’ cried Jonathan. ‘Tied to that branch.’
‘Yes, I see it! And there’s another further up! They look like markers for a trail. Let’s follow them!’
The red cords led them up the hill, across a road and over a low ridge. Now they were out of sight of the Villa Limona. Jonathan was wheezing a little, so they stopped in a clearing and looked out at the new vista which lay before them.
The sea shimmered in a heat haze beneath the noonday sun. Below them a silvery blanket of olive groves rolled down to the shore. On the slopes rising behind them th
e pines thinned and eventually gave way to rugged cliffs honeycombed with caves.
Scuto stood for a moment, eyes half closed, testing the wind with his nose. Tigris was already moving further up the path, so intent on tracking Nipur’s scent that he only wagged his tail occasionally.
‘Look, there’s an island out there.’ Flavia pointed. ‘I wonder if that’s Caprea.’
Jonathan stood very still.
He knew this place. And yet he had never been here in his life. He stared at the distant island and the sea. From this height, the water looked like dark blue silk. He almost remembered. Then the memory slipped away, like smoke.
Behind him a twig snapped and there was the faint rustle of leaves.
‘Flavia! Lupus!’ he hissed. ‘Someone’s following us!’
Flavia heard it the moment Jonathan did: someone was coming up the track behind them. Lupus put his finger to his lips and melted into the shade of the pine trees.
A moment later he was back, tugging a very pink-faced Pulchra by the wrist. Leda trailed behind him.
‘You!’ cried Flavia, stalking forward and thrusting her face close to Pulchra’s. ‘Why are you following us? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?’
Pulchra took a small step backwards. ‘We weren’t following you. We were just going for a walk.’
‘Dressed in those old green tunics? You were too following us!’
Pulchra tried to toss her hair but it stuck damply to her neck.
‘I thought you might need some help,’ she said imperiously, folding her arms.
‘What? Help us find Nubia so your father can have her crucified? You . . . you spoilt little patrician!
‘Peasant!’ retorted Pulchra, narrowing her eyes.
‘Harpy!’
‘Gorgon!’
Furiously, Flavia grabbed a handful of Pulchra’s yellow hair and tugged as hard as she could. ‘You should be whipped yourself!’ she yelled.
Pulchra screeched and aimed a few feeble blows at Flavia.
‘You fight like a girl!’ sneered Flavia, easily fending them off.
‘I am . . . a girl . . .’ gasped Pulchra, ‘unlike YOU!’ She punched Flavia hard in the stomach.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 35