‘Twelve crates, each with forty oranges, that’s 480 pieces of fruit. If even one’s missing, I could feel the sting of the lash.’
Now Feles was asking her about Rome.
‘Going for the Ludi Romani? Plan to watch a few chariot races? See a few plays?’
Flavia shook her head, and gripped the side of the cart as they rocked over a bump. ‘No, we’re visiting relatives.’
‘Well, make sure you see a race, as it’s your first time in Rome. And don’t miss the new amphitheatre. Titus is trying to finish it in time for the Saturnalia, but I don’t think he’ll do it. Even with two thousand slaves working dawn till dusk.’
Feles uncorked a water gourd with his teeth and had a long drink. Then he offered it to Flavia. She took a drink of water from the gourd and handed it back. Feles shook his head. ‘Let Nubia and the big guy finish it. There’s a tavern and a fountain by that row of cypress trees up ahead. I can refill it there and we’ll have a little rest.’
Flavia passed the gourd back to Nubia and squinted against the sunlight. She could just make out dark, flame-shaped smudges floating above the shimmering waves of heat which rose up from the road.
‘The trees look like they’re up in the air,’ she said.
‘Trick of the heat. Like what you get in the desert. Right, Nubia?’
‘Yes. Like desert.’ A voice from the back of the cart, barely audible above the clipping of sixteen hooves on the stone-paved road.
‘How did you know Nubia comes from the desert?’ asked Flavia.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Feles grinned. ‘But I am a bit of a detective. I could tell you were high-born the moment I saw you. And I know the big guy used to be a gladiator by the way he stands.’
‘That’s right!’ said Flavia. ‘Feles, have you heard of a man called Simeon? Simeon ben Jonah?’
‘Name sounds Jewish,’ said Feles.
‘It is.’
Feles laughed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’ll have your work cut out for you if you’re looking for a Jew in Rome. You know those two thousand slaves I mentioned?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘They’re all Jewish. Titus captured them when he took Jerusalem a few years ago. No, wait. More like ten years now. Doesn’t time fly?’
Flavia frowned. ‘I thought Titus sent the Jewish slaves to Corinth.’
‘Yes, some went to Corinth. But there were plenty to go around. Titus brought the strongest and handsomest back here to Rome,’ Feles chuckled to himself. ‘And the prettiest . . .’ he added.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those Jewish women,’ said Feles, shaking his head in admiration, ‘are the most beautiful in the world.’ He gave Flavia a sideways glance and added proudly. ‘My girlfriend’s one. She’s lovely. Huldah’s her name. She’s a slave-girl in the Imperial Palace on the Palatine Hill.’
Flavia twisted her whole torso to face him. ‘Then some of the women from Jerusalem are in the Imperial Palace?’
‘About two hundred,’ said Feles, ‘all of them high-born.’ He mopped his brow. ‘This heat. Never known it so hot. How’re you doing back there?’ he called.
Caudex grunted and Nubia said, ‘We are doing fine.’
‘We’ll stop for a break soon,’ said Feles. ‘Then you can change places.’
The cart rolled on and presently tall cypress trees on the left threw bands of delicious shadows across the white road. The mules quickened their pace. They smelled water and green shade up ahead.
‘This tavern’s roughly the halfway point to Rome,’ said Feles. ‘See the milestone? Seven miles. It’ll take us about two more hours.’
Later, standing in the shade of cypress and pines, drinking cool water from the fountain, Flavia took Nubia aside.
‘Nubia,’ she whispered. ‘Did you hear what Feles told me? There are lots of female slaves from Jerusalem in Titus’s Palace. One of them might know how Jonathan’s mother died. And if I figured that out, so could Jonathan.’
After their short stop at the tavern, Nubia took her turn beside Feles at the front, and Flavia joined Caudex in the back. The road was climbing more steeply now, and the line of the aqueduct guided Flavia’s eye back down to Ostia and the red brick lighthouse – minuscule at this distance – with its dark plume of smoke rising straight into the dirty blue sky.
They passed through woods of poplar, ash and alder. Presently Ostia was hidden from view. On any other day the tree-shaded road would have been deliciously cool. But today Flavia’s blue tunic was soaked with perspiration and clinging to her back.
‘Caudex?’ Flavia whispered because the big slave’s eyes were closed.
He didn’t reply and presently she too dozed fitfully, occasionally jolted out of sleep when the cart left the deep ruts in the stone road and rocked from side to side. The rumble of the cart was louder back here and she was glad the wheels weren’t rimmed with iron, like some.
She dreamt briefly at one point. She was hunting with Jonathan and Nubia among the tombs outside Ostia. In her dream she heard a voice calling her and looked up. A small, dark-haired girl in orange was running along the top of the town wall from the Laurentum Gate towards the Fountain Gate.
It was their friend Clio from Stabia. She had been trapped in Herculaneum when the volcano erupted and none of them knew whether she had survived. But now here she was in Flavia’s dream, laughing as she ran. Lupus should be here, Flavia said to Nubia, still in her dream. Where is he?
Lupus hung in full sunlight, unable to brush away the flies which covered his mouth and nose. It had taken him all night to work his right arm from behind his back, but he still couldn’t bring his hands to his face. Now it was after midday and he had been crying out regularly until his voice was almost gone. He was terrified that if he opened his tongueless mouth one of the big horseflies might crawl in and choke him, so he kept his lips firmly shut and tried to breathe through his nose.
It was no use crying out now, anyway. His voice had nearly gone. All he could do was curse his bad temper and pray that whoever had set the trap would check their nets soon.
Something woke Flavia and it took her a moment to realise what it was: the cart had stopped. She heard voices and rubbed her eyes. Her mouth was dry and the tops of her sandalled feet, which had been in the sunshine for the last few miles, were pink with sunburn.
‘Here we are,’ said Feles from the front. ‘The great city of Rome. They won’t let me in for an hour or two because I’m wheeled traffic. If you want to get to your relatives before dark you’d better continue on foot. You can hire a litter just inside the city gates.’
‘Thanks,’ said Flavia, and gratefully allowed Caudex to lift her off the back of the cart. She pulled her damp tunic away from her back, then stretched and looked around. The road was lined with tombs and umbrella pines, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sunlight. Already a queue of carts sat waiting for dusk, when they would be allowed into the city. Flavia could see a white, three-arched gate up ahead. Not far from it, among the other tombs along the road, was a white marble pyramid almost as high as the city walls.
Nubia came up, wearing Flavia’s broad-brimmed sun-hat. She was smiling.
‘Did you have a nice time at the front?’ asked Flavia.
Nubia nodded and took off the hat. ‘Feles lets me hold the reins. And he tells me the names of the mules: Pudes, Podagrosus, Barosus and Potiscus.’
‘Do you know what their names mean?’ asked Flavia.
‘She does now,’ said Feles with a grin, and leaned against the cart. ‘Show us how Barosus walks.’
Nubia handed Flavia the sun-hat and then minced along the road in dainty little steps. Flavia laughed.
‘And this is the Podagrosus,’ said Nubia, coming back along the hot road with a heavy, exaggerated limp. ‘And the Potiscus.’ She staggered the last few steps as if she were tipsy.
Flavia turned laughing to Feles. ‘Thank you very much for taking us. Here’s twenty sestercii.’
> Feles stepped forward and took the coins. ‘I thought we agreed ten,’ he said, his cat-like eyes round with surprise.
‘That was before you knew Caudex was coming,’ said Flavia. ‘Fair’s fair.’
‘Thank you, Flavia Gemina,’ said Feles. ‘I won’t forget it. If you ever need a cart-driver – or help of any kind – just ask for me. I usually stay at the Owl Tavern inside the city gates, near the tomb of Cestius, that big white pyramid over there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Flavia. ‘Maybe we’ll meet again one day.’ She waved and started to lead Caudex and Nubia past the tombs and waiting carts towards the three-arched gate.
‘Flavia Gemina!’
Flavia turned back. ‘Yes?’
Feles tossed something like a ball. Flavia caught it and gasped when she saw what it was.
‘An orange! But you said . . .’
‘Don’t worry.’ Feles grinned. ‘I’ll tell them that one or two were rotten.’
‘Where will we sleep tonight?’ asked Nubia.
‘I have relatives here in Rome,’ said Flavia, looking around. ‘We haven’t seen them in ages but I’m sure they wouldn’t turn away their own family.’ She tried to make her voice sound confident. Inwardly, she was praying that they wouldn’t be stranded with nowhere to stay.
Before them, a large marble fountain sputtered in the middle of a crowded square. Two main roads led from the other side of the square into Rome, no gleaming city of marble and gold, but a mass of red-roofed apartment blocks in peeling shades of putty, apricot, carrot and mustard. Although the tall buildings threw long violet shadows across the square, the heat still muffled Rome like a woollen blanket. The stench of donkey dung, human sewage and sweat was almost overpowering.
Flavia breathed through her mouth and looked around. To the right of the gate was a queue of litter-bearers, waiting to take people into the city. On the left – up against the high city wall – were three shrines: one to Mercury, for those hoping to make their fortune; one to Venus, for those who wanted to find love; and one to Fortuna, for general good luck.
Flavia looked at the orange in her hand, a rare and valuable fruit she had never tasted. She sighed.
‘Wait here for a moment,’ she said to Nubia and Caudex, and picked her way through donkey dung to one of the shrines. When she stood before it, she bowed her head.
‘Dear Fortuna, goddess of success,’ she whispered, ‘please watch over us and help us find somewhere to sleep and not get lost or pickpocketed. And help us find our friend Jonathan.’ Flavia laid the precious orange in the miniature temple, among the other offerings of flowers, copper coins and fruit.
Something tugged at the hem of her tunic. Flavia looked down and gasped.
A pile of old rags beside the shrine had lifted its head to reveal a gaunt face with terrible burns over one side.
‘Please,’ croaked the beggar, ‘I lost everything when the mountain exploded. Please help . . .’
‘Sorry.’ Flavia backed away, feeling sick. She turned and pushed through a crowd of women who had suddenly gathered to present their offerings at the shrine of Venus.
‘I hope we have enough money for a litter,’ she muttered to Nubia and then turned to the door slave. ‘Caudex, you don’t mind walking beside us, do you?’
Caudex shook his head. ‘Been sitting long enough,’ he said. ‘Good to give my legs a stretch.’
‘I thought you had to see the Emperor urgently.’ Jonathan tossed his shoulder bag onto a low cot.
‘I do,’ said Simeon, ‘but I must proceed carefully.’
He looked round the room and grunted. ‘This will do. You wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He went out, closing the flimsy wooden door behind him.
Jonathan stood in the middle of a small room in a cheap tenement block, a room that managed to be both dark and hot at the same time. And noisy. Although they were five floors up, Jonathan could clearly hear the people on the street far below. He went to the window and pushed at the wooden shutters.
One of the shutters was rusted into a fixed position, but after a moment’s struggle the other opened with a piercing squeal of hinges. The room was flooded with the sudden hot sunlight of late afternoon.
Jonathan squinted against the light and leaned out of the window. There was a street market down below, and most stalls seemed to be selling cloth of some kind. Jonathan could hear the cries of the stallholders, the low urgent bargaining voices, the spatter of water from a fountain onto the pavement, even the clink of coins.
It was as if the stone street and brick walls amplified and focused the sound, throwing it up to where he stood. Jonathan leaned further out, shading his eyes with his hand. He must be facing west because he could see the sun sinking above the red-tiled rooftops.
Far below he saw Simeon’s head and shoulders emerge from the building and move slowly up the street. Occasionally Simeon stopped and spoke to a stallholder, then moved on. Jonathan watched his uncle until he was out of sight.
Then he closed the shutter and lay on one of the cots. It was lumpy and smelled of sour hay, but it was good to rest.
Jonathan stared up at the ceiling and cast his mind back over the day’s events.
The night before, his uncle had told him something so astounding that he could still hardly believe it: his mother might still be alive! Jonathan had begged Simeon to take him to Rome. His uncle had refused, claiming it was too dangerous.
But Jonathan hadn’t been able to sleep and when he heard his father and Miriam going out before dawn, he had quickly dressed and gone downstairs. Simeon had been powdering his roughly cut hair and beard with flour.
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘Makes my hair look grey.’
‘Please let me come with you,’ Jonathan begged. ‘With me along, nobody will look twice at you.’
‘No.’
‘What about my dream? Simeon. I’m meant to go with you.’
His uncle hesitated.
‘How old were you when you first risked your life fighting for the Zealots?’ asked Jonathan.
‘You could die.’
‘I don’t care. I’ll follow you whether you take me or not,’ said Jonathan. And he meant it.
Simeon sighed and nodded his head.
And so, pretending to be grandfather and grandson, they had found a lift to Rome on the back of a bread cart. Nobody gave them a second glance, including the soldiers guarding the gate.
Now he was in Rome. A mile, maybe two, from his mother. His heart pounded when he thought about it. Could she really be alive? Jonathan took a deep breath and closed his eyes and tried to recall the face of the woman from his dream.
Something tickled his nose and he brushed at it. Then it came again. Jonathan opened his eyes and flinched as a trickle of fine plaster dust drifted into them.
He sat up, coughing and rubbing his eyes. The drift of fine dust was coming from a crack in the ceiling above his bed. He realised he had been hearing angry voices from up there for some time now. A man and a woman. He could hear them stomping about, too.
Jonathan felt a stab of panic. He had heard stories about poorly built tenement houses and how they could collapse without warning. He was in a strange city and only one person knew exactly where he was. If the block collapsed, no one would be able to identify his body. If they even found it.
‘Pull yourself together!’ Jonathan muttered to himself. ‘Don’t be such a pessimist.’
Nevertheless, he went to the darkest corner of the room and crouched there. Any moment he expected the arguing couple to come crashing through the roof onto his bed, bringing the whole insula down around them. Pulling out his handkerchief, Jonathan pressed it to his face. He closed his eyes, inhaled its lemon fragrance and prayed.
Nubia stretched out on the litter beside Flavia. It was like reclining on a floating couch. They had started out with the linen curtains closed, but it had been unbearably hot and the scent of cheap perfume from the previous occupant still c
lung to the fabric. As soon as they left the smelly area of the three-arched gate, Flavia had pulled back the curtains, and they had both sighed with relief at the cool evening breeze. Then they had settled back to watch Rome move past.
At first, the broad street they were travelling down was lined with noisy stalls. There were markets in the narrow side streets, too, though most stallholders were beginning to pack up. Some sold spices, some metal objects, some pottery. The warbling notes of a flute alerted Nubia to a side street selling nothing but musical instruments. But they were past it before she could see anything.
Presently, the stalls and shops seemed to sell higher quality goods and the pedestrians were better dressed. The stalls were replaced by shops built into the ground floor of the buildings, alternating with porches flanked by columns.
Then the litter turned so that the sun was behind them. From the angle of the couch and the puffing of the bearers’ breath, Nubia could tell they were climbing a hill. Another litter passed them coming the opposite way, and Nubia turned her head in amazement. It was carried by four large Ethiopians, their skin as black as polished jet. The filmy red curtains of this litter were drawn but as it passed Nubia caught a whiff of a musky, exotic fragrance – patchouli.
There were trees here, ancient umbrella pines rising from behind walls, hinting at shaded gardens beyond. Now the shops had completely given way to porches with double doors set behind red and white columns. Sometimes the plaster was peeling, but Nubia knew this was no indication of what lay behind. Roman houses presented deceptively blank faces, with small, barred windows and heavy doors. But she knew that behind those doors were inner gardens, splashing fountains, mosaics, marble columns and rich, elegant men and women.
It occurred to Nubia that behind each door was a different story and that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of doors in this great, strange city. She lay back on the greasy cushion, overwhelmed.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 44