The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  In his hand he held a small jar with black glazed figures on apricot-coloured clay.

  ‘Pulchra told me the vase is from Corinth,’ said Flavia. ‘It’s called an alabastron. It’s very old and fabulously expensive.’

  ‘Everything in Pulchra’s house is fabulously expensive,’ said Jonathan dryly. But he looked pleased and showed it to the others.

  ‘Look, Nubia,’ said Flavia. ‘It’s a scene from the poem we were studying in lessons this morning. Odysseus and three of his companions. They’re putting out the eye of the Cyclops with a sharpened stick.’

  ‘Great Neptune’s beard!’ exclaimed Nubia. ‘Why are they doing that?’

  ‘Because he’s a huge, ugly old giant who’s planning to eat them,’ said Jonathan as he started to pick the yellow wax away from the cork stopper.

  Flavia nodded. ‘Remember how Aristo told us it took Odysseus ten years to return from Troy? Polyphemus the Cyclops was one of the monsters Odysseus faced on his journey home.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Nubia. ‘Odysseus is the hero whose wife is always weaving and unweaving.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘Everyone thought Odysseus was dead and all the men wanted to marry Queen Penelope so they could become king. But she was a faithful wife and never gave up hope. She said she would marry one of her suitors as soon as she finished weaving a carpet. But every night she lit torches and undid what she had woven by day. She was sure that Odysseus would return.’

  ‘Happy birthday, little brother!’ Jonathan’s beautiful sister Miriam came into the dining room and set a platter on the low table. ‘I’ve baked your favourite sesame seed and honeycakes. But you can only have a few. Otherwise you’ll spoil your appetite for later.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jonathan. He popped a cake into his mouth and offered the plate to the others.

  ‘Miriam,’ said Flavia, taking a bite of her sesame cake, ‘is it true that something bad always happens on Jonathan’s birthday?’

  Miriam looked thoughtful. ‘Now that you mention it . . . See this scar on my arm?’ She pushed back the sleeve of her lavender tunic to show them a barely visible mark just above her left elbow. ‘That’s where Jonathan shot me with an arrow on his eighth birthday.’

  ‘That was an accident,’ said Jonathan with his mouth full. ‘But remember how I fell out of the tree at our old house last year and was knocked unconscious and father made me stay in bed all afternoon?’

  Miriam nodded. ‘And on your birthday the year before, you ran outside to try out your new sling and stepped right on a bee.’

  ‘It wasn’t a bee.’ Jonathan reached for a third honeycake. ‘It was a wasp.’

  Miriam gently slapped his hand and picked up the platter. ‘Jonathan’s foot swelled up like a melon and he couldn’t walk for three days,’ she said over her shoulder as she took the cakes out of the room.

  ‘Yes.’ Jonathan sucked the honey from his fingers and reached for the alabastron again. ‘Something bad always happens on my birthday. And it’s usually my own . . . Oops!’

  Suddenly the room was filled with a heady fragrance. The little jar lay in pieces on the black and white mosaic floor. Tigris sniffed at the pool of spreading oil.

  ‘Oh, Jonathan,’ said Nubia. ‘You dropped the bottle of Pulchra.’

  ‘And it was filled with scented oil,’ said Flavia. ‘Wonderful scented oil.’

  Jonathan was silent. He stared miserably at the broken jar and the golden oil seeping into the spaces between the small black and white chips of marble.

  ‘Quickly!’ cried Flavia. ‘Mop it up. Save it.’ She pulled Jonathan’s linen handkerchief from his belt and pressed it to the glistening oil. Then she used her own. Nubia did likewise. Lupus looked round and grabbed the handkerchief he’d wrapped the stones in. As he got down on his hands and knees to wipe up the last of the oil, Tigris licked his face.

  ‘What is that scent?’ Flavia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘It’s not balsam or myrrh or frankincense.’

  ‘I know I’ve smelled it before,’ said Jonathan. ‘It makes me feel so sad.’

  ‘How can it make you feel sad?’ Flavia said. ‘It’s a wonderful scent. It makes me feel . . . excited.’

  ‘It makes me feel freedom,’ said Nubia solemnly.

  Lupus took his wax tablet and wrote:

  LEMON BLOSSOM

  ‘Of course,’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s the perfume they make from their citron tree at the Villa Limona.’

  For a moment they were silent, as they recalled the beautiful villa on the Cape of Surrentum and the events of the previous month. Despite their encounters with pirates and slave-dealers, each one of them had special memories of the Villa Limona, its owner Pollius Felix, and his beautiful daughter Pulchra.

  ‘Maybe we’ll return there one day,’ said Jonathan, staring out between the red and white columns of the peristyle into the leafy inner garden. The others nodded.

  ‘Felix was so generous,’ sighed Flavia. ‘He gave me that Athenian drinking cup, and he gave you the bottle with scented oil and he gave Nubia a new flute.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘Lupus, did Felix ever give you anything? He liked you best.’

  Lupus patted out a beat in the air with the flattened palms of his hands.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘He gave you a drum.’

  Lupus stopped air-drumming and reached for his wax tablet. He smoothed over his previous words with the flat end of his stylus, then wrote a new message:

  HE IS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING ELSE

  ‘For you? He’s looking for something else to give you?’ asked Flavia.

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘What?’ asked Jonathan.

  Lupus shrugged and looked down.

  ‘Well,’ said Flavia, pushing a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, ‘Whatever it is he’s looking for, I’m sure he’ll find it. Felix is even more powerful than the Emperor.’

  ‘I wouldn’t repeat that statement,’ came a voice from outside the dining room. ‘Emperors have been known to kill people for saying such things!’

  ‘Doctor Mordecai!’ cried Flavia.

  Jonathan’s father stood in the doorway of the triclinium. Dressed in a loose blue kaftan with a black sash and turban, he blocked some of the light from the garden.

  ‘Peace be with you, Flavia and Nubia.’ Mordecai bowed to the girls and as he stepped into the room it grew brighter again. ‘It is not wise even to hint that someone might be as powerful as the Emperor,’ he said gravely. ‘Less than a year ago Titus killed a man who suggested he should not be Emperor. And I’m sure you would not want any harm to come to Publius Pollius Felix. He proved to be a most valuable friend – dear Lord.’ Mordecai sat heavily beside the girls. ‘That smell.’

  ‘It’s lemon blossom,’ said Jonathan in a small voice. ‘I broke a perfume bottle.’

  ‘I have not smelled that scent in nearly ten years.’

  ‘Where do you know the smell from?’ Jonathan looked at his father.

  Mordecai was silent for a moment. Flavia could see where his beard had been singed by a hot wind from the eruption of Vesuvius.

  ‘In Jerusalem,’ said Mordecai at last, ‘in the courtyard of your grandparents’ house. A beautiful lemon tree grew there. Your mother loved that tree. The only scent she ever wore was lemon blossom.’

  ‘Oh, Jonathan,’ said Flavia. ‘That’s why the scent makes you sad. It makes you think of your mother.’ She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

  ‘But I was only a baby when we were separated,’ Jonathan said. ‘How could I remember her perfume?’

  ‘The sense of smell is the first and most primitive of all our senses,’ said Mordecai. ‘I doubt if you remember your mother’s face, and yet you remember her scent. As do I,’ he added quietly.

  Flavia’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face either. She had been three years old when her mother died giving birth to twin baby boys. Thinking about her mother reminded Fl
avia of her father, the sea captain Marcus Flavius Geminus. He had left on a voyage before the volcano erupted and there had been no news of him since. Flavia told herself he was fine and would soon be home, but a hot tear rolled down her cheek and she had to bite her lower lip to stop it trembling.

  There was a sniff to her left and Flavia saw that Nubia’s cheeks were also wet. Nubia’s father had been killed by slave traders and the rest of her family led off in chains.

  Lupus’s eyes were dry, but red-rimmed. He seemed to stare through the garden and into the past.

  ‘I never realised it before,’ said Flavia. ‘But we all have something in common: none of us have mothers.’

  ‘That’s right,’ murmured Jonathan and glanced up at Mordecai. ‘Father?’

  ‘Yes, Jonathan?’

  ‘Why did mother die?’

  ‘I’ve told you before. She was killed during the siege of Jerusalem nine years ago.’

  ‘I know how my mother died. But I want to know why she died. Why did she stay behind in Jerusalem when we got away? Why didn’t she escape with us?’

  Mordecai lowered his eyes. ‘Your mother’s father was a priest. He said it would be unseemly for his daughter to flee the city. She chose to obey her father rather than me.’

  ‘But didn’t she mind that you took Miriam and me with you? Didn’t she love us?’

  His father was silent.

  ‘Father?’

  Mordecai lifted his head but he did not meet Jonathan’s gaze. ‘Of course she loved you,’ he said briskly. ‘She loved you very much. But I insisted on taking you and Miriam with me. At least she obeyed me in that.’

  Flavia looked sharply at Mordecai. She sensed he wasn’t telling them everything. And she could see Jonathan was dissatisfied with his answer, too.

  Suddenly Tigris barked and scampered out of the dining room. The next instant Flavia heard pounding at the front door, followed by Miriam’s voice, sounding worried. A moment later Miriam appeared in the doorway, her face even paler than usual.

  ‘Soldiers,’ she whispered, her violet eyes huge with alarm. ‘Two soldiers and a magistrate are here to see you, father!’

  Three men stood in the atrium of Jonathan’s house: two burly soldiers and a short man in a white toga. Tigris had planted himself at their feet and was barking steadily up at them. Next door, in Flavia’s house, Ferox, Scuto and Nipur had begun to bark in sympathy. Soon all the dogs in Ostia would be at it.

  ‘Tigris! Be quiet!’ Jonathan picked up his puppy and scratched him behind his ear. ‘Good dog.’

  ‘Peace be with you.’ Mordecai gave the men a small bow. ‘Every stranger is an uninvited guest. May I help you?’

  ‘Doctor ben Ezra,’ said the man in the toga. He was young, with thinning hair and light brown eyes. ‘We meet again.’

  ‘Bato!’ cried Flavia. ‘You’re Marcus Artorius Bato, the magistrate. Remember me? You helped us catch a thief a few months ago.’

  ‘Of course I remember. You’re Flavia Gemina.’ A half smile passed across his face and then he frowned at their tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. ‘Has someone died?’ he asked.

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Our mothers,’ he said.

  Bato’s frown deepened as he studied their four very different faces. Then he gave his head a little shake, as if to clear his mind.

  ‘Doctor,’ he said, turning his pale eyes back to Mordecai. ‘We have reason to believe that a dangerous criminal may be on his way here. Do you know a man called Simeon?’

  ‘Simeon?’ said Mordecai.

  ‘Simeon ben Jonah.’ Bato consulted his wax tablet. ‘A ship from Greece docked this morning and the suspect was seen disembarking. Our informant recognised this man Simeon and followed him long enough to hear him ask where the Jewish doctor lived. As far as I know, you are the only Jewish doctor here in Ostia.’

  Jonathan glanced at his father as Bato continued, ‘Apparently this Simeon is extremely dangerous. We believe he’s an assassin. Do you have any enemies, doctor? Anyone who would hire someone to kill you?’

  ‘No. That is, I don’t think so . . .’ Mordecai’s face was pale.

  ‘Well, I suggest you bolt your door. And don’t go out without a bodyguard. We have men out looking for him but if you like, I can assign a pair of soldiers to guard your house.’

  ‘Er . . . no. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary,’ said Jonathan’s father. ‘We will be careful.’

  ‘Another mystery,’ exclaimed Flavia. ‘How exciting!’

  ‘It’s not a game.’ Bato frowned at her. ‘This assassin is dangerous.’

  ‘What is sassassin?’ whispered Nubia.

  ‘Someone hired to kill people,’ replied Flavia under her breath.

  ‘What does he look like?’ asked Jonathan.

  Bato flipped open his wax tablet again. ‘Our informant says Simeon is about thirty years old. Tall, slim, and dark. Has a beard and long frizzy hair. Exceptionally long hair, which may be hidden by a turban.’ He turned back to Mordecai. ‘I’m sorry. My notes are brief. Obviously, if you see anyone of that description lurking about—’

  ‘We will inform you at once,’ said Mordecai.

  ‘Has he killed many people?’ said Flavia quickly, as the magistrate turned to go.

  ‘Yes he has. According to my notes.’ Bato hesitated. ‘In fact, his name is on a list of known assassins whom we have orders to arrest on sight.’

  The four friends glanced at each other in alarm.

  ‘We’ll be careful,’ said Mordecai and held the door open for Bato and his soldiers.

  As soon as they left, Jonathan turned to his friends. ‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘A deadly assassin on his way to murder us. No, nothing bad ever happens on my birthday!’

  ‘Nubia, how many days has pater been gone?’ said Flavia.

  The two girls had been to the baths and were resting in their garden until it was time to go next door to Jonathan’s birthday dinner party.

  Nubia was lying on her stomach underneath a bubbling fountain. ‘We are sailing in the boat of your father to the farm of your uncle,’ she said. ‘Then two days after, we are carting to Pompeii to see your father sail away again. The night before, there is no moon.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Flavia murmured. She was sitting on the marble bench in the shade of the fig tree, making marks on a wax tablet. ‘Pater sailed from the harbour of Pompeii on the day of the new moon. And tonight’s the new moon again.’

  Nubia turned back to look at the dust at the base of the fountain’s marble column. She was watching some black ants struggle to push a grain of barley up a small anthill. Nearby, under the jasmine bush, Ferox, Scuto and Nipur panted like three sphinxes in a row: one big, one medium and one little.

  ‘That means pater’s been gone exactly a month,’ sighed Flavia, putting the tablet down on the shade-dappled bench. ‘It seems like so much longer.’

  ‘Many things happen,’ said Nubia, keeping her eyes on the ants.

  ‘I know,’ said Flavia. ‘The volcano, Jonathan almost dying, Miriam falling in love, the pirates . . . That’s why I’m going to keep a journal. I don’t want to forget anything that’s happened. Maybe I’ll ask Lupus to illustrate it.’

  Nipur gave a gentle whining yawn and thumped his tail; he was getting bored. But Nubia was fascinated by the four ants who were still trying to manoeuvre the barley grain into their anthill. As the barley rolled away for the third time, Nubia decided to help.

  Carefully, with the tip of her forefinger, she nudged the barley up the mound and left it poised at the very opening. Presently the ants found it and waved their feelers with excitement. Then they tipped the grain of barley into the cool depths of their ant-home and disappeared after it.

  Nubia smiled and rolled over onto her back. Now the ants would have their banquet and sing tiny ant songs, never dreaming that a huge creature loomed above them and took an interest in their fate.

  She sighed. The splashing of the fountain and the rhythmic buzz of the cicadas in
the umbrella pines was making her drowsy. She closed her eyes.

  Abruptly, she opened them again. Next door, Tigris was barking his alarm bark.

  Jonathan walked downstairs very slowly, one step at a time. When they had moved to Green Fountain Street a few months earlier, one of the items he remembered unpacking was his mother’s yellow jewellery box. His father had forbidden him to look inside.

  As Jonathan reached the bottom of the stairs, he caught a whiff of the lemon perfume which still lingered in the triclinium. He paused for a moment, to make sure he hadn’t been noticed. Tigris wasn’t barking any more: Lupus was playing with him in their bedroom. His father was in the study with the gauzy curtain drawn, which meant he was studying Torah. Miriam was the one to worry about. He had to pass the kitchen, where she was preparing his birthday dinner.

  Jonathan slipped off his sandals and left them at the bottom of the wooden stairs. He wished he could be more like Flavia: she never felt guilty when she disobeyed her father.

  Jonathan took a deep breath and walked. Thankfully, Miriam had her back to him; she was kneading dough and singing in Hebrew.

  With a sigh of relief, Jonathan slipped into the storeroom, leaving the door open just enough to admit a beam of dusty light.

  Cautiously, he picked his way between the half-buried amphoras of wine, dried fruit and grain. In the dimmest corner of the storeroom were some wooden shelves. His mother’s jewellery box was on one of these, up high. But he was tall enough to reach it.

  The box was wooden, with a vaulted top and a flat bottom, painted in a glaze of clear yellow resin and decorated with red and blue dots in neat rows. Jonathan examined it for a moment in the bar of light from the doorway. At last he found the catch. What he had taken for the bottom was actually the lid. It slid open smoothly to reveal some jewellery and a small papyrus scroll tied with a yellow cord.

  Jonathan’s heart was pounding. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he had to know why his mother hadn’t escaped with them. He had a nagging suspicion that it had been his fault. That was why his father had never told him the real reason she stayed in Jerusalem.