‘And that’s where the Jewish women are?’ asked Flavia.
Sisyphus nodded. ‘They’re somewhere in it. Not sure exactly where.’
‘How would a person get in there?’ said Flavia casually, picking a caraway seed from the table and crunching it between her teeth.
Sisyphus gave her a sharp look. ‘My dear, they wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘Unless possibly they were one of the Emperor’s slaves, and a child or a eunuch at that.’
He yawned and stretched luxuriously. ‘Oh dear, past my bedtime. Yours too, I’d wager. I’ll show you to your rooms. You girls don’t mind sharing, do you?’
Flavia shook her head and Nubia said, ‘What is happening to Berenice now? The Mule-Driver is dead, yes?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Sisyphus pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. ‘Vespasian died almost three months ago.’
‘And is Berenice coming back to the Titus?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Sisyphus with a smile. ‘There’s another story there, and a mystery as well. But I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow.’
Early the next morning in the port of Ostia, before dawn had tinted the sky, Lupus rose, slipped on his best sea-green tunic and made his way stiffly downstairs to the fountain. Aristo had insisted that Lupus and Miriam sleep at Flavia’s house. ‘I don’t want any more of you to go missing,’ he had grumbled.
Now Lupus stood beside Flavia’s fountain and scrubbed his face, neck and hands as best he could. He wet his hair and slicked it back with his fine-toothed wooden comb. Then he sat on the marble bench and waited.
Scuto and the puppies swarmed round him, wagging their tails and pawing his knees, pleading to be taken for a walk. Lupus ignored them. Even when Tigris fetched his new leather collar and dropped it hopefully on the bench, Lupus only scratched him behind the ear.
When Aristo came downstairs and saw Lupus waiting meekly for him, he smiled and gave the boy a nod. Without a word they left the house and made their way into town.
At the southern end of the forum, near the Temple of Rome and Augustus, was the basilica, a large brick building faced with marble and surrounded by columns. The law court occupied the spacious ground floor, with offices on the first floor and prison cells at the back.
A group of men, most of them wearing togas, had already gathered outside. Because they were all waiting to see different clerks and officials, the queue moved quickly. Lupus and Aristo saw the magistrate within the hour. A slave led them up a narrow marble staircase and along a gallery overlooking the law court below.
Bato’s office was the next to last on the right: a small, bright room with an arched, west-facing window. The young magistrate sat in front of this window, writing at a table covered with wax tablets and scrolls. On the floor beside him were more scrolls in baskets. Lupus noticed a small personal shrine to Hercules in one corner of the office.
‘How can I help you?’ Bato glanced up briefly, then continued making notes on a piece of papyrus. There was no chair for visitors. Lupus stood beside Aristo on the other side of the table.
‘I am Aristo, son of Diogenes of Corinth, tutor and secretary in the house of Marcus Flavius Geminus. We’ve come to inquire about Captain Geminus’s neighbour, a certain Mordecai ben Ezra.’
Bato looked up. ‘Oh, yes. The Jew. I’m afraid he’s being held on charges of conspiracy. The evidence indicates he was harbouring a known assassin. We believe he’s involved in a plot against the Emperor’s life.’
‘Impossible,’ said Aristo. ‘He’s a doctor. A healer. In fact, the Emperor recently praised him for helping the victims of Vesuvius. And Simeon couldn’t be an assassin. He’s Doctor ben Ezra’s brother-in-law. Simeon’s sister was Mordecai’s wife,’ he explained.
Bato gave Aristo a steady look. ‘I know what a brother-in-law is,’ he said dryly. ‘Do you know what a sica is?’
Aristo frowned. ‘What?’
Bato leaned back in his chair. ‘I visited the doctor the day before yesterday because I was concerned about his safety. I thought he might be the assassin’s target. It never occurred to me he could be the assassin’s accomplice. Yesterday, however, more information came to light. It seems there are at least three assassins on their way from Corinth. One was sighted four days ago in Rhegium. A third was seen yesterday, coming off a ship in Puteoli. All are Jewish. All – we presume – intend to kill the Emperor. And Simeon is one of them.’
Lupus and Aristo exchanged glances.
Bato tapped the end of his pen on his bottom teeth. ‘Tell me, Aristo son of Diogenes, have you ever heard of the Jewish revolt?’
‘Of course,’ said Aristo. ‘It led to the destruction of Jerusalem.’
Bato nodded. ‘When the Jewish revolt began fifteen years ago, a dangerous new kind of rebel came to our attention. These men were Zealots, fanatically religious, refusing to accept Roman rule. They carried curved daggers hidden in their belts or cloaks. I managed to acquire one a few years ago.’
Bato rose and moved over to a small chest near his personal shrine. He lifted the lid and took out a dagger about the length of a man’s hand. It was shaped like a sickle, with a razor sharp edge.
‘This is a sica,’ he said, walking back to his desk. ‘Do you see how thin the blade is, and how sharp the point? No, don’t touch it, boy!’
Bato raised the knife out of Lupus’s reach and continued. ‘A swift cut at the back of the neck like this,’ Bato flicked the knife, ‘severs the spinal cord and causes instant, silent death. By the time those around the victim realise what’s happened, the killer has melted into the crowd.’
Aristo and Lupus exchanged glances.
‘At first,’ said Bato, resuming his seat, ‘the sicarii – as these knife-men were known – only killed Jewish traitors and so-called Roman oppressors. Later, people began to seek them out and pay them to kill their personal enemies. And once they could be bought, they were no longer freedom-fighters, but mere assassins.’ Bato’s lip curled as he pronounced the final word.
‘Most of them died in the destruction of Jerusalem and the siege of Masada, but a few survived. Their names are on our most-wanted list; they are enemies of the Emperor. Simeon may be the doctor’s brother-in-law, but I can assure you, he is also an assassin.’
Lupus and Aristo emerged from the cool interior of Ostia’s basilica and stepped into the heat and noise of the central forum on a busy morning. Bato had refused to set Mordecai free on bail. He had also refused to let them see Mordecai. He had even refused to let them give Mordecai a message.
Deep in thought, Aristo automatically turned for Green Fountain Street. Lupus brought him up short by gripping the hem of his tunic.
‘What?’ Aristo frowned.
Lupus tipped his head to the right and started towards the back of the basilica. Aristo sighed and followed him between the basilica’s western wall and the temple of Venus, a space so narrow that sunlight never reached it.
‘Ugh!’ said Aristo. ‘It stinks here. Can’t people use the public latrines?’
Lupus ignored him and continued down the passage until he reached several small square openings in the thick brick wall.
‘What’s this?’ Aristo frowned.
Lupus pulled out his wax tablet and scribbled:
WINDOWS FOR PRISON
‘Can he hear me if I talk?’
Lupus nodded.
‘How do you know?’
Lupus made bug eyes at Aristo. The meaning was clear: Not now; I’ll tell you later!
Aristo put his mouth to one of the gaps.
‘Mordecai? Can you hear me? It’s Aristo.’
There was no reply.
‘Mordecai?’ Aristo spoke a little louder.
Suddenly they heard an accented voice. ‘Aristo? Is it you?’
‘Yes. I’m here with Lupus. Are you all right?’
There was a moment’s silence. Then: ‘It could be worse.’
‘Mordecai. We’ve just seen Bato. Is it possible your brother-in-law Simeon i
s an assassin?’
There was another long pause.
‘Many years ago,’ came Mordecai’s voice, ‘when Simeon was young, he joined the sicarii for a time. But he told me he’d reformed and . . . Now I may have put my family in danger. Are Miriam and Jonathan all right?’
Aristo and Lupus looked at one another. There was no point adding to Mordecai’s worries.
‘Yes,’ said Aristo. ‘They’re worried about you, but they’re both fine.’
‘Good.’ Mordecai’s voice sounded tired.
‘Mordecai. Is there anything we can do? Anything we can get you?’
‘No. Yes! If you should see Simeon, tell him to make himself known to the authorities. That is, if he’s innocent.’
‘I understand,’ said Aristo. ‘Anything else?’
‘I could do with a wax tablet. Oh, and some of the Egyptian balm for my cellmate. He’s injured.’
‘You’re not alone?’
‘No . . . there’s another prisoner in here with me. He’s wounded.’
Lupus held up one of his wax tablets – he always carried at least two – and Aristo nodded.
‘Mordecai. We’re going to drop a tablet through the airhole now. Can you catch it?’
‘I’m ready.’
Lupus stood on tiptoe and pushed his spare tablet through the opening.
‘Thank you. I’ve got it,’ Lupus heard Mordecai say.
‘We’ll bring you the balm as soon as we can.’
‘Clean strips of linen, too, if you can find them.’
‘Of course. Take care, Mordecai.’
‘Shalom, Aristo. Shalom, Lupus.’
Flavia stepped out of the bedroom and stretched. Then she shivered with excitement. She was in Rome! It even felt different. Although it was not going to be as hot as the previous day, the early morning air was already warm. Humid, too. And there was a faint smell of meat roasting on charcoal: probably from the morning sacrifices.
She looked round the tiny courtyard of the children’s wing. Seven bedrooms looked out onto what was little more than a light well. Splashing in the centre of this paved courtyard was an orange marble fountain. A few steps took her to this fountain and she splashed her face. Nubia joined her and they both drank from cupped hands.
‘Oh good! You’re up,’ Sisyphus clapped his hands and stepped into the courtyard. He was wearing a leek-green tunic and matching leather ankle boots. ‘Let’s go have our breakfast in the ivy pergola. It’s the perfect place to plan our next move.’
‘You’re going to help us find Jonathan?’ Flavia looked at him in amazement.
‘Of course.’ He winked at Nubia. ‘I haven’t had this much fun in years. Much better than copying out the senator’s speeches!’
He led them down a corridor, through a large atrium with a rainwater pool, and into the open space of a long inner garden. Although the garden was laid out with formal paths and knee-high hedges of box, it had become rather scruffy and overgrown. Flavia liked it: it looked lived-in. She noticed children’s toys here and there: a leather ball, a wooden horse with one broken wheel, and a reed hoop.
‘How many children does my aunt have again?’ she asked.
‘Six last count,’ sighed Sisyphus, ‘or is it seven? I can never remember. Children don’t interest me until they learn to speak intelligently. And some of them never do. I like Aulus Junior, though. He’s about your age: twelve, I believe.’
‘I’m only just ten,’ admitted Flavia.
‘But my dear! You’re so mature for ten. And terribly clever.’
Suddenly he stopped. ‘Tell me. How old do you think I am?’ He struck a pose with his hands on his slim hips and turned his face to show them his profile.
Flavia and Nubia looked at each other in dismay. To Flavia he just looked old, like her father, but she knew adults always liked to be thought younger than they really were.
‘Um,’ said Flavia, ‘twenty-five?’
‘Miss Flavia,’ beamed Sisyphus, ‘you’re my friend forever!’ He linked his arms into theirs and led them on down the path to a small arbour covered with thick ivy. They had to bend to enter and it took Flavia’s eyes a moment to adjust.
‘Oh, it’s wonderful,’ she exclaimed as she looked around.
Nubia nodded. ‘House of Green,’ she said.
A wooden trellis was covered in glossy ivy, so that they seemed to stand inside a miniature house with an ivy ceiling and walls. It was deliciously cool and full of a deep green light. There was just enough room for a small wrought-iron table and a stone bench on either side.
Breakfast was already laid out on the table: caraway seed bread, soft white goat’s cheese and three cups of foaming black grape juice. And arranged carefully on a small silver plate were several sections of a pulpy fruit whose colour and scent Flavia recognised at once.
‘Orange!’ She clapped her hands and looked up at Sisyphus with delight.
‘You and Lupus can’t go to Rome,’ cried Miriam. ‘I’ll be all alone!’
‘I’ve asked Alma to come and stay here with you,’ said Aristo. ‘She’ll bring the dogs with her.’
‘I want to come with you!’ said Miriam, tossing her dark curls and gazing defiantly at Aristo.
She looked very beautiful, and Lupus could tell Aristo was tempted. He was about to let Aristo know it was a bad idea when the young Greek shook his head.
‘What if they release your father? And what if Captain Geminus returns from his travels? Or someone brings an important message?’
‘You’re right,’ Miriam turned away. ‘I just feel so useless!’
‘You’re not useless,’ said Aristo. ‘You can help us. Rome’s a big city. Flavia has probably gone to stay with her aunt, but we’ve no idea where Jonathan is. Just tell us anything that might help us determine where he might have gone, and why.’
Miriam thought for a moment. ‘Ever since he smelled that lemon blossom perfume, he’s been depressed about mother’s death. Flavia told me he blames himself.’
‘For your mother’s death? But surely he was just a baby when she died.’
‘I know.’
‘Anything else that might indicate where he’s gone?’ asked Aristo.
‘Uncle Simi left for Rome yesterday morning; so presumably they went together.’
‘How do you know Jonathan went to Rome?’
‘His message on this wax tablet. Oh, you won’t be able to read it: it’s in Hebrew: “Gone to Rome” he says, and then “Please . . .” and the rest of the wax melted, though it’s firm again now.’
Lupus picked up the red and blue tablet and examined it.
Aristo shook his head. ‘If only we knew the rest of the message; it might help us find him.’
Lupus tugged the short sleeve of Aristo’s tunic.
‘What, Lupus?’
TABLET IS NEW wrote Lupus on his own wax tablet.
Miriam nodded. ‘That’s right. Gaius gave it to Jonathan for his birthday the day before yesterday.’
CHEAP WAX continued Lupus.
‘Probably been mixed with some lard,’ said Aristo. ‘It happens.’
STYLUS PUSHED THROUGH
‘What are you getting at, Lupus?’
MESSAGE UNDERNEATH?
‘Of course!’ Aristo snapped his fingers. ‘Lupus, you’re brilliant!’
‘What is it?’ asked Miriam.
‘This tablet,’ said Aristo, ‘has only been used once and the wax was very soft. See where Jonathan’s stylus pushed right through to the wood?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘If he pushed hard to write the whole message he might have scratched the wood underneath—’
‘—so his message might still be there, under the wax which melted and then hardened again!’
Lupus nodded vigorously.
‘So if we melt the wax and pour it off—’ began Miriam.
Aristo finished her thought: ‘—we might be able to read the message hidden underneath.’
Jonathan sat in t
he changing rooms of the Claudian Baths in Rome and waited.
He had soaked and oiled and scraped himself and it was his turn to guard their things while his uncle bathed. Earlier, on the way to the baths, Simeon had bought them new tunics: cream linen with a black vertical stripe from each shoulder to hem. They also had the precious barbiton, and a money purse with the last of their coins.
Jonathan had put on his new tunic. He had the money purse round his neck and the barbiton safe across his lap, so he closed his eyes. Because of all the wheeled traffic, their room had been noisier throughout the night than it had been during the day. It had been so noisy that when Simeon had made some remark, although he was only a few feet away on the second bed, Jonathan hadn’t been able to hear him. He had barely slept and now he was exhausted.
But he must have dozed off, because something startled him awake. A good-looking Roman stood in front of him. The man had a big head, dark blue eyes and quizzical eyebrows. He wore a cream tunic with a black bar from shoulder to hem.
‘Uncle Simeon?’ Jonathan blinked sleep from his eyes.
Simeon nodded and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. ‘It’s amazing what a good shave can do.’ He shouldered the barbiton and looked down at Jonathan.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Time for us to visit the Palatine.’
Lupus pushed between Aristo and Miriam, eager to see what was happening on the kitchen hearth.
‘Careful, Lupus,’ Aristo warned. ‘The coals are red hot.’ To Miriam he said, ‘Just melt the wax; make sure you don’t burn the wood.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ said Miriam. ‘I cook every day.’
Chastened, Aristo was quiet for a moment. Then he said to Miriam, ‘You’ve changed. You used to be such a shy little thing.’
‘I’m only shy with people I don’t know.’ Miriam turned her head and they looked at one another for several long moments. Finally, Lupus jabbed Aristo with his elbow.
‘What?’ Aristo scowled down at Lupus.
Lupus pointed at the wax tablet, which was starting to smoke.
‘It’s burning,’ Aristo cried.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 46