Lupus ran through the purple twilight. Angry tears blurred his vision as he plunged into the pine woods.
He was only wearing his linen dining slippers and the stones and sharp twigs hurt the soles of his feet. He was not as tough as he had been a few months earlier. Living in Jonathan’s house had made him soft.
He could barely see now, for dusk was becoming night and the moon was the merest sliver. Black shapes of pine trunks loomed up suddenly like an advancing army of dark opponents. He veered left and right, silently daring them to catch him.
At last something did catch him. But it was not a tree.
Flavia scratched softly on the wall beside Jonathan’s doorway. There was no reply, so she pushed the curtain aside and entered.
By the light of the oil lamp in her hand, she could see Jonathan lying on his bed. He had his back to her.
‘Jonathan?’ she whispered.
There was no reply.
‘Jonathan, what’s the matter?’ said Flavia. ‘You really upset Lupus, not to mention your father and Miriam. This isn’t like you.’
‘Yes, it is. I ruin everything.’ His voice was muffled.
Flavia carefully set the oil lamp on a low table and perched on the edge of his bed. Tigris looked at her over Jonathan’s shoulder and thumped his tail.
‘It’s my fault Lupus ran off,’ Jonathan continued. ‘It’s my fault that Miriam’s new tunic is ruined. I insulted our guest and I upset father.’
Flavia hugged her knees. ‘Well, it’s only partly your fault that Miriam’s tunic has a wine stain on it and Lupus didn’t have to storm off into the graveyard. Your father is upset, but you know he loves you.’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Jonathan. ‘Father hates me.’
‘Of course he doesn’t hate you. What are you talking about?’
Jonathan turned and looked up at her. In the dim light his brown eyes looked almost black. ‘He hates me because it’s my fault that mother died.’
Lupus swung gently in the darkness, his feet higher than his head, his right arm twisted awkwardly behind his back, the net tight around him.
He knew it was a trap for wild boar. When an animal stepped onto a certain rope the whole net rose up into the trees. This one was particularly well-made. It was designed to withstand the thrashings of a creature twice his weight and strength.
Lupus waited until his heart stopped pounding. Then he took several deep breaths and tried to ease his right arm into a less painful position.
In the Cyclops’ cave, Odysseus’s faithful wife Penelope sat at her loom. A waterfall splashed somewhere nearby. As Jonathan entered the cave, she turned and looked at him.
Though it was dim, he could see that she was very beautiful. She had pale skin and dark blue eyes and her straight black hair was as smooth as silk. When she smiled, she looked like his sister Miriam.
‘I weave all day, and undo what I’ve woven at night,’ she whispered to Jonathan. ‘I wait for him every day.’
Jonathan took a step into the cave, terrified that the Cyclops might return. Penelope held out a handful of yellow wool. ‘Do you want to smell it? It’s my favourite.’
The scent of lemon blossom filled the cave.
‘Mother?’ said Jonathan, ‘Is it you? Are you still alive?’
She smiled at him and nodded.
Then Jonathan woke up.
Jonathan was coming back up the stairs from the latrine when he noticed a light flickering in the guest bedroom.
‘Lupus?’ he whispered, looking in.
‘No,’ said his uncle Simeon. ‘Just me.’ He sat on the side of his bed. A flickering oil lamp on the low table made his shadow huge on the wall behind.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jonathan wide-eyed. His uncle held a kitchen knife in one hand and a mass of frizzy hair in the other.
‘I’m cutting off my hair,’ said Simeon in his deep voice.
Jonathan stepped into the room.
‘Uncle Simeon,’ he said. ‘Please tell me about my mother. I have to know.’
The blade gleamed in the dim lamplight as Simeon lifted the knife towards his head. Another long strand of dark hair fell onto the bed. ‘They say long hair is a disgrace to a man,’ he said. ‘But when I was a Zealot, we always considered it a mark of bravery and courage.’
‘Uncle Simeon. I just dreamt about my mother. I dreamt she was alive.’
His uncle’s head snapped up.
‘You what?’ He slowly lowered the knife.
‘I dreamt she was weaving in a cave. And in my dream she told me she was still alive.’
‘Dear God,’ whispered Simeon, and even in the dim lamplight Jonathan could see him grow pale.
‘What? What is it?’ asked Jonathan.
Simeon looked up at him. The lamp lit his face from beneath and made his face look like a mask. ‘Jonathan. As you know, I’m on my way to Rome to see the Emperor. Even though my mission is urgent, I came via Ostia specifically to see your father and tell him something of great importance. He is not ready to hear. But perhaps . . .’ Simeon laid the knife beside the oil-lamp, ‘. . . perhaps you are the one I was meant to tell. Jonathan. Are you prepared to believe something extraordinary?’
‘Yes.’ Jonathan sat on the bed next to his uncle. ‘Tell me.’
The next day dawned hot and still. Nubia saw that the sky was a curious colour, a green so pale it was almost white.
She watched Flavia’s uncle Gaius peer up at it, too, as he slung his travel bag over his shoulder.
‘It’s going to be very hot today,’ he observed. ‘As hot as the days of the Dog Star.’ He unbolted the front door and stepped out into the early morning street.
‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Miriam?’ Flavia stood beside Nubia.
He shook his head and glanced at the house next door. ‘It’s a special day for them today. Miriam and I said our goodbyes last night.’ He turned back, kissed Flavia on the forehead, patted Nubia on the head, and set off towards the harbour with his faithful dog Ferox limping along beside him. Nubia knew he intended to sail to Puteoli and from there to Stabia.
The girls watched him out of sight, then went back in and carefully bolted the door behind them. Because the first day of the Jewish New Year was a day of rest for Jonathan and his family, there were no lessons that morning. Their tutor Aristo had taken the day off to go hunting with a friend.
Nubia spent most of the morning listening to Flavia read the Odyssey in Latin. They sat in the shadiest corner of the garden but even there the heat soon became almost unbearable. They had just reached the part about the return of Odysseus when the door-slave Caudex showed Miriam into the garden. Nubia immediately knew something was wrong. Miriam’s eyes were red and she was hugging Tigris tightly in her arms.
‘Jonathan’s disappeared,’ said Miriam. ‘Simeon’s gone, Lupus hasn’t come back yet and . . . and father’s been arrested.’
‘Drink this barley water, Miriam,’ said Flavia in her calmest voice. ‘And tell us what happened.’
Miriam was sitting on the marble bench between Nubia and Flavia. Scuto and the puppies lay panting beneath the jasmine bush.
‘Just before dawn,’ said Miriam, ‘father and I were called out to see a patient: a woman near the Laurentum Gate in the final stages of labour. We managed to save her, but the baby died.’ Miriam took a sip of barley water and looked at Flavia. ‘That always upsets me.’
‘I know,’ said Flavia gently. Nubia patted Miriam’s shoulder.
‘When we got back a short while ago, the house was empty. Jonathan and Uncle Simi were nowhere to be seen. And we haven’t seen Lupus since he ran off last night.’
‘Maybe Jonathan is seeking Lupus,’ suggested Nubia.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Miriam. ‘If Jonathan had gone looking for Lupus, he would have taken Tigris.’
‘Jonathan’s been acting strangely,’ said Flavia. ‘Last night, he told me your father hates him. He thinks it’s his fault your mother died.’
M
iriam stared at Flavia. ‘Of course it wasn’t his fault. And father loves Jonathan terribly.’
‘I know,’ said Flavia. ‘But that’s not how he feels. Did anything else happen after we left last night? Anything at all?’
‘There was something,’ said Miriam slowly. ‘Late last night something woke me. I think it was Jonathan crying out in his sleep. Then, just as I was dropping off again, I heard him talking to someone.’
‘Who?’
‘It wasn’t father, so it must have been Uncle Simi.’
‘Did you hear what they were saying?’
‘No. Maybe I only dreamt it.’
Flavia fanned herself with her hand. ‘Even if he is upset, it’s not like Jonathan to run off. Lupus, yes; but Jonathan, no. You’re sure he didn’t leave a message?’
‘He might have,’ said Miriam. ‘Father and I were just about to look for one when that magistrate Bato and his two big soldiers knocked on the door. This time they looked angry. They searched the house and they found . . .’ She began to cry.
‘What?’ said Flavia, ‘What did they find?’
‘They found some strands of long hair in the kitchen. Uncle Simi must have cut it off and tried to burn it on the hearth. But he didn’t burn it all, and Bato said it was evidence. Then he arrested father.’
‘Oh Pollux!’ muttered Flavia. She stood up and walked to the fountain. ‘Maybe . . .’ she said slowly, ‘maybe Simeon and Jonathan saw the soldiers coming and went to hide somewhere. We’d better go next door to your house and look for clues.’
‘We can’t just look for clues!’ There was a note of hysteria in Miriam’s voice. ‘They may be torturing father!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Flavia. ‘I don’t think they torture freeborn people, only slaves. There’s no point any of us going to the basilica, anyway. They’d never listen to girls. Oh, I wish Uncle Gaius were here. He could talk to the magistrate.’
‘Gaius won’t be back for at least a week,’ said Miriam.
‘I know,’ said Flavia, and then: ‘What about Aristo? Miriam, you wait here in case Aristo gets back early from hunting. If he does, tell him what’s happened. He can go to the forum and find out about your father. Meanwhile, Nubia and I will see if Jonathan left a message at your house.’
‘I don’t want to be on my own,’ said Miriam in a small voice.
‘Alma and Caudex are here. And the dogs,’ said Flavia. ‘Look! Here comes Alma now with more barley water. Alma, will you look after Miriam?’
‘Of course,’ said Flavia’s former nursemaid, a cheerful, well-padded woman. ‘Would you like to help me shell peas, Miriam?’
Miriam gave a small nod.
‘Thanks, Alma,’ said Flavia. ‘Come on, Nubia. Let’s look for clues.’
Flavia found Jonathan’s wax tablet lying open on Mordecai’s table in the study. She recognised the red and blue stripes on the edge. She lifted it carefully because the late morning sun pouring on to the desk had melted the soft beeswax. Only the top part of the message, still in the shade, was legible.
And that was in Hebrew.
‘Yes, I can read it,’ said Miriam a few minutes later. They had brought the tablet carefully back to Flavia’s house. Miriam was sitting in the shady part of the peristyle shelling peas with Alma. Flavia slid the wax tablet onto the table.
‘No! Don’t touch it!’ cried Flavia, as Miriam reached for the tablet. ‘Jonathan left it open so your father would see it, but the sun melted the wax. If you tip it, the liquid wax will cover up the letters.’
‘All right,’ said Miriam. She leant forward, ‘The message says: “Gone to Rome. Please . . .”’ Miriam looked up at them, her violet eyes wide. ‘That’s all there is,’ she said.
‘Can’t you make out anything else?’ said Flavia. ‘Is that a word there?’
Miriam bent her curly head over the tablet. ‘It might be “Simeon”,’ she said after a moment. ‘But I’m not positive.’
‘That’s strange,’ said Flavia, pacing back and forth in the shade of the peristyle. ‘Why would Jonathan suddenly go to Rome? And what does it have to do with Simeon?’
Then she stood as still as a statue. ‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘maybe Simeon really is an assassin and an enemy of your father’s! What if he kidnapped Jonathan as revenge and forced him to write this message? Or somehow tricked him into going away with him?’ Despite the intense heat, Flavia shivered. ‘If Simeon is just a messenger as he told us, why does he need Jonathan? Oh Pollux! This really is a mystery.’ She left the shade of the columned peristyle and walked to the fountain.
‘Too hot to think,’ she muttered, and took a long drink from the cool jet of water. ‘Plan, plan, need a plan . . .’ She wiped her wet mouth with her hand, then splashed some water on her face and the back of her neck. ‘We have to find Jonathan and help him.’
Abruptly she stopped, then slowly turned. ‘Nubia,’ she said, with a gleam in her eye, ‘how would you like to visit the Eternal City?’
Just inside the arch of Ostia’s Roman Gate was a long stone trough where the cart-drivers watered their mules. Several tall umbrella pines cast their cool shadows over the trough and the area around it. In this shady patch stood a small altar to Mercury, a folding table and several benches.
The cart-drivers had their own tavern and stables just behind the trough, and their own baths complex across the road, but after they had bathed and filled their stomachs, this was where they waited for their next fare to Rome.
It was almost noon, and only two drivers still sat at the table, playing knucklebones and watching the world pass by. Above them – in the high branches of the umbrella pines – the cicadas buzzed slowly. The heat was ferocious. Even in the shade, the men were sweating.
‘I’ve never known it so hot after the Ides of September,’ Flavia heard the bald man say to his friend.
‘Blame the mountain,’ said the other man, whose short tunic revealed the hairiest legs Flavia had ever seen. ‘Ever since it erupted the weather’s changed. Seen the sunsets?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ Baldy reached for his wine cup. ‘And this morning the sky was green. They say it’s going to be a bad year for crops. There’s talk of drought.’
‘There’s already a blight on the vines.’ Hairy-legs tossed his knucklebones on the table and winced.
Baldy made a sour face, too, as he tasted his wine. ‘The vintage can’t be any worse than what we’re drinking now,’ he said, putting down his cup. ‘This stuff tastes like donkey’s—’
‘Ahem!’ Hairy-legs cleared his throat loudly and indicated the girls with his chin.
‘Can I help you girls?’ said Baldy.
‘Yes, please,’ said Flavia politely. She was wearing her coolest blue tunic and a wide brimmed straw travelling hat, but already rivulets of sweat were tickling her spine. ‘We’d like a lift to Rome.’
The two men glanced at each other with amusement.
‘I have the fare,’ said Flavia, standing a little taller. ‘I believe the standard rate is twenty sestercii.’
‘That’s right.’ Hairy-legs picked up his knucklebones and tossed them again. ‘Venus or nothing,’ he muttered to Baldy, and to the girls: ‘I suggest you come back tomorrow morning, girls. Best time is just after dawn.’
‘But we have to go today.’ Flavia tried to keep her voice low and confident.
Hairy-legs glanced up at her. ‘You sometimes find drivers leaving a couple of hours before dusk,’ he said. ‘But those are mostly delivery carts.’
Flavia knew that if they waited till dusk she’d have to ask Aristo’s permission. And he might not give it.
‘We have to go as soon as possible,’ she said, but her resolve was already beginning to falter. Maybe they shouldn’t rush off to Rome, a tiny voice seemed to be saying. Lupus still wasn’t back. Miriam was on her own. It was an extremely rash thing to do.
Baldy tutted. ‘It’s noon,’ he said. ‘The hottest time of the day on the hottest day of the year. Only a madman would
set off for Rome in this heat.’
‘Or someone with an urgent delivery for the Emperor,’ said a voice behind them.
Flavia and Nubia both turned to see a young man in a brown cart-driver’s tunic. He had round green eyes, a snub nose and short, spiky brown hair. He reminded Flavia of a cat.
‘What are you talking about, Feles?’ said Baldy, with a laugh. ‘Since when are you delivering to the Palatine Hill?’
Feles ignored Baldy. ‘I can see you’re a girl of good birth,’ he said to Flavia with a polite smile. ‘I’m just off to Rome. Taking a load of exotic fruit that can’t wait. It’s not a big load and I’ve got some extra space. If you don’t mind a rather cramped journey I’ll take you for only ten sestercii.’
‘Um . . . well . . .’ began Flavia.
‘Now she’s changed her mind.’ Baldy laughed and shook his head. ‘Just like a female.’
Flavia glared at him and turned to Feles. ‘Of course we’ll accept your kind offer.’
‘Good,’ said Feles. ‘It’ll be nice to have some company. My cart’s just there by the trough. If we – who’s this?’ he said, as Caudex lumbered up to them gripping a satchel in each hand.
‘It’s our bodyguard, of course,’ said Flavia. ‘You don’t think we’d be foolish enough to go up to Rome on our own?’
‘Been to Rome before?’
Flavia shook her head. She sat beside Feles at the front. Nubia and Caudex rode in the back of the cart, shaded by a canvas tarpaulin.
The carriage had rolled slowly out of Ostia down an oven-hot, deserted road. First they had passed between the tombs of the rich and then, as these thinned out, the salt flats on either side, thickly bordered with reeds and papyrus. Presently the road rose up on a sort of causeway. Beside it towered the red-brick aqueduct which brought water from the hills to Ostia. The road ran steadily alongside it and presently both road and aqueduct left the marshes behind and began to pass scattered farmsteads surrounded by melon and cabbage patches. Beneath the arches of the aqueduct were small vegetable allotments, as colourful as patchwork blankets.
Flavia glanced back at Nubia and Caudex. They were leaning against wooden crates and facing the open back of the cart. Flavia could just see Nubia’s shoulder and arm. In the crates was a fruit Flavia had heard of but never seen. Oranges. Their colour was beautiful and their scent divine. Flavia had asked to try one, but Feles said they were worth their weight in gold.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 43