The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Flavia looked round the table. Aristo, Caudex and Bulbus had glazed looks on their faces. Even Lupus was staring open-mouthed at Huldah. Sisyphus winked at Flavia and she cleared her throat.

  ‘Huldah,’ she said, ‘was there a woman among the slaves from Jerusalem named Susannah? Susannah ben Jonah? Something like that?’

  Huldah scowled. ‘There are two or three women named Susannah,’ she said. ‘And one they call Susannah the Beautiful. But she’s much older than I am. And I don’t think she’s so very beautiful.’ Huldah tossed her hair and turned to Feles. ‘Let’s go, tomcat,’ she said. ‘I’ll get into trouble if I’m not back soon.’

  Somewhere in a secret room of the Golden House, Jonathan dried his eyes. The tears had brought a kind of release. His mother was the Emperor’s slave, but at least she was alive. And as long as she was alive, there was hope that he could save her and somehow bring her home.

  He cradled the kitten in his left arm and felt its tiny, needle-like claws dig into the crook of his elbow. The pain was nothing compared to the throbbing of his branded shoulder. With his right hand, he slowly reached for another piece of bread.

  ‘You were going to tell me something important,’ said Rizpah.

  Jonathan nodded and bit into the bread. ‘Do you know Queen Berenice?’

  Rizpah nodded. ‘I’ve known her all my life, till she went away six months ago.’

  ‘Is she nice?’

  Rizpah shrugged. ‘She was kind to us. But all she talked about was Titus and how one day she would be Empress. When Vespasian died and Titus became Emperor a few months ago she came back. But he wouldn’t even see her. He sent her away for the second time in half a year.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan slowly, thinking about what Simeon had told him, ‘that makes sense. Last month – that must have been after Titus sent her away the second time – Berenice went to Corinth. That’s a seaside town in Greece where there are lots of Jewish slaves. She visited the slaves and pretended to be buying some as bodyguards for the Emperor. But really she was looking for assassins to send back here to Rome.’

  ‘To kill Titus?’ Rizpah frowned. ‘But she loves him. Even though he keeps sending her away. Besides, if she killed him she’d never be Empress.’

  ‘Not to kill the Emperor,’ said Jonathan. ‘Berenice hired three assassins to kill the woman she thinks he’s fallen in love with.’

  Rizpah’s pale eyes widened. ‘Your mother!’ she breathed.

  Jonathan nodded. ‘My uncle wouldn’t tell me all the details, but now I’ve seen for myself. Berenice must think that if my mother Susannah died, Titus would be sad for a while, but then he would send for her and things would be the way they were again. He’d make her his Empress. That’s why she hired the assassins to kill my mother. What Berenice didn’t know was that one of the assassins she interviewed was my mother’s brother Simeon.’

  ‘God must be looking after her,’ said Rizpah.

  ‘Yes. My uncle thought that, too. When Berenice asked him to go to Rome to kill a Jewish woman called Susannah the Beautiful, he suspected it might be his sister. So he accepted the job, risked his life, and came to warn his sister, if it was really her. He knows what the other two assassins look like. They each took different routes and I think my uncle got here first.’

  ‘Why did your uncle disguise himself as a musician? Why didn’t he just warn Titus about the other assassins?’

  ‘Berenice told my uncle and the other two assassins that she had an agent in the palace – someone high up – but she wouldn’t tell them who. She said her agent would be watching them and would kill them if they tried to warn Titus. And they would only be paid after they had done the job.’

  Rizpah nodded and Jonathan continued,

  ‘My uncle was trying to reach the Emperor directly without letting anyone else know who he was. But then Domitian caught us . . .’ Jonathan stopped stroking the kitten. ‘By now they will have cut off Simeon’s big toes, so that he can’t walk, and blinded him, so that he can’t even point out the other assassins.’ Jonathan hung his head. ‘And it’s all my fault. All of it.’

  ‘Why is everything your fault?’ Rizpah asked Jonathan.

  Jonathan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘We were living in Jerusalem when I was born. But my father knew of a prophetic warning that Jerusalem would fall. “When you see Jerusalem being surrounded by armies, you will know that its desolation is near.” My father always quotes that,’ added Jonathan. ‘He took Miriam and me to a village called Pella where there were other . . . where he believed we would be safe. But my mother refused to go with us.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rizpah.

  ‘I’m not sure. All I know is that it had something to do with me.’

  ‘But weren’t you just a baby?’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘I was one and a half.’

  ‘Then how could it have been your fault?’

  ‘I don’t know. But last week I heard my uncle tell my father that it wasn’t his fault. He said “She’d made up her mind to stay because of Jonathan”. I’m sure it was my mother they were talking about, because my father was crying.’

  Jonathan felt Rizpah watching him as he stroked the kitten.

  ‘And you’re sure your uncle meant you?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Who else would he be talking about?’ said Jonathan. ‘Besides, I’ve always known it was my fault.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I just know.’

  ‘And that’s why you risked your life to save her,’ said Rizpah.

  Jonathan nodded. ‘I have to make it right,’ he said. ‘I have to find some way to rescue her and bring her home.’

  ‘Here!’ said Flavia, punching the scroll with her forefinger. ‘This entrance by the lake leads to the big octagonal room. That’s how we’ll get in.’

  ‘Oooh, it’s exciting, isn’t it?’ said Sisyphus.

  Flavia looked up at him.

  ‘Sisyphus. You heard what Huldah said: only women and children can go into the Golden House.’

  ‘No!’ The scrolls on the table jumped as Aristo slammed his fist down. ‘You can’t possibly imagine I’m going to let you go down some tunnel all by yourselves? Absolutely not.’

  ‘But Jonathan is our friend. We have to do something!’

  ‘Flavia.’ Aristo passed a hand across his face. ‘I care about Jonathan, too. But I cannot allow you to go in there on your own.’

  ‘We probably won’t even be able to get into the gardens,’ said Flavia. ‘But couldn’t we just look? I promise we won’t do anything unless you give permission. Please, Aristo?’

  ‘Jonathan,’ said Rizpah. ‘Was your uncle the only one who knew what the other assassins looked like?’

  It was dark in Rizpah’s den, for night had fallen. There was just room for the two of them on the pile of rags with the kittens in between.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘But he described them to me. One is called Eliezar. My uncle said he’s a big man with red hair and beard and a scar on his forehead. The other one is called Pinchas. He’s small and dark and one of his eyes is half brown and half blue. It’s a good thing men can’t get in the Golden House.’ He added.

  There was a pause in which he could only hear the kitten purring. Then Rizpah said, ‘That’s not completely true . . .’

  Lupus, Flavia and Nubia stood at the three points of an imaginary triangle and tossed a leather ball slowly back and forth. Aristo and Sisyphus stood nearby chatting quietly and staring out at the new amphitheatre. Lupus knew that to play trigon properly they should have been throwing the ball very rapidly as hard as they could. However, their focus was not on the game but on the gardens behind a thick wall.

  It was early morning of the next day and they stood on the shaded slopes of the Oppian Hill. To their left and below them was the new amphitheatre, so close that occasionally Lupus could hear the voices of the slaves calling to each other on the scaffolding. To their right, rising up behind the other side of the wall,
were tall umbrella pines, cypress and cedars: the gardens of the Golden House. They had found a place where the earth was highest against the wall and it was almost possible for Aristo to see over it.

  When they were close enough to the wall to see the cracks in the yellow plaster, Flavia nodded at Lupus and he deliberately threw the ball over the wall.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Flavia loudly, in case any guards were nearby. ‘Our ball has gone over the wall. What shall we do? Slaves! Come here and help us!’

  Aristo and Sisyphus glanced at each other and grinned.

  ‘What do you require, mistress?’ asked Sisyphus in a mock humble tone.

  ‘Lift up my little brother so he can see where our ball went,’ Flavia commanded.

  Lupus felt himself lifted up by the two Greeks, each of whom had grasped a leg. As his head rose above the top of the wall, he found himself staring straight into stern eyes beneath a polished helmet. A woman guard!

  ‘Aaah!’ Lupus yelled and his arms flailed.

  Startled, Flavia and Nubia squealed. Aristo and Sisyphus cursed as they tried to keep hold of Lupus. They managed not to drop him, but the three of them collapsed in a heap on the ground.

  ‘Oh Pollux!’ Sisyphus brushed himself off. ‘Pine needles and dust all over my best mauve tunic!’

  Lupus’s brief glimpse had shown him that the gardens were terraced; the ground level was much higher on the other side of the wall. He, Aristo and Sisyphus scrambled to their feet and looked up at the face glowering down at them.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ The guard’s voice was stern.

  ‘Please, miss.’ Flavia used her little girl voice. ‘We were just playing and our ball went over.’

  ‘Do you behold it?’ Nubia asked.

  Flavia added, ‘Our slaves here were just lifting up my little brother so he could see where it went. It’s his favourite toy. Isn’t it, Lupus?’ She looked pointedly at him.

  Lupus employed one of his least favourite tactics. He burst into babyish tears.

  ‘Oh dear! Don’t cry, little boy! I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ The woman’s head disappeared and a moment later she was back. The ball dropped onto the ground beside them. ‘There’s your ball. Now, you mustn’t play here again. Do you know why?’

  Lupus and the others shook their heads.

  The guard attempted a friendly expression. ‘Yesterday we caught a bad man trying to climb over this wall,’ she said. ‘A huge red-haired Jew with a very sharp knife. We think he was trying to kill the Emperor. So we’re guarding this whole area very carefully. Now do you understand why you mustn’t play here?’

  Lupus sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his finger. The two girls nodded meekly.

  ‘We won’t ever play here again,’ lisped Flavia, and then asked in a tiny voice, ‘what happened to the bad man?’

  ‘Oh, he was a very bad man,’ said the guard. ‘They crucified him this morning at dawn.’

  The moment Jonathan woke up, his stomach clenched as he remembered the momentous thing he had discovered. His mother was alive.

  He lay curled up on Rizpah’s pile of rags and gazed up at the dim light filtering in from above. Next to him the kittens mewed. They were looking for their mother.

  He could smell the salty dampness of the walls and the faintly sweet smell of cat’s milk.

  The mother cat stalked into the den. Rizpah followed her in on hands and knees.

  ‘Good afternoon, Jonathan. You slept a long time.’

  He yawned and winced as he used his left arm to push himself to a sitting position.

  Rizpah handed him the jug and he brought it to his lips. It was buttermilk, thick and tart and delicious. It made him think of home. Of Ostia. He wondered what his father and Miriam and his friends were doing there now.

  He handed Rizpah the jug, but she shook her head. ‘I’ve had breakfast. Ages ago.’ She sat cross-legged stroking the smallest kitten, a purring bit of black fluff.

  Jonathan drank again and finally put down the empty jug. Rizpah ran her finger inside the neck of the jug and let her kitten lick the buttermilk off.

  Jonathan gently took the grey kitten, which he had named Odysseus, and followed Rizpah’s example. He laughed as he felt the kitten’s warm tongue wetly sandpapering his finger.

  ‘Rizpah,’ he said after a moment. ‘Don’t you have any slave duties?’

  ‘No. The guards aren’t even sure I’m still here. My mother and the other women know I’m here but they’d never give me away. I can go places nobody else can and so I tell them what’s happening. The guards used to look for me but they never found me.’ She wiped her finger in the jug again and then added, ‘They’ve been looking for you, too. But now they’ve given up.’ She giggled. ‘The women who run the slave school think you’ve fallen down the latrine pit.’

  ‘There are women teachers?’ said Jonathan, amazed. And when Rizpah nodded, he murmured. ‘It’s strange that there are no men here.’

  ‘It was Berenice’s idea. She didn’t want any men around. After what happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean what happened after the Romans finally took the city.’

  ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Jonathan,’ said Rizpah. ‘I am eight years old. My mother is Rachel. I don’t know who my father is. Neither does she. There are twenty-three of us here at the Golden House, all eight years old, all born in June.’

  Jonathan frowned.

  ‘All born in June,’ repeated Rizpah, and added, ‘Nine months after the legions entered the city.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Jonathan, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Rizpah matter-of-factly, and kissed her kitten on the nose. ‘Here I was born and here I’ll die.’

  ‘Rizpah,’ said Jonathan. ‘I need to see my mother. Now that they’ve captured my uncle, I’m the only one who knows about the assassins Berenice sent. I have to warn my mother. Is there another way to her room, apart from the fountain tunnel?’

  Rizpah nodded. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to ask me. I’ll take you now.’

  At the slave entrance of the Imperial Palace on the Palatine Hill stood a quintet of travelling musicians, three of whom were children. On their heads were flowered garlands entwined with ribbons. Each of the musicians wore a different coloured tunic. The flautist was a dark-skinned girl in yellow, the drummer a younger boy in green, and the girl with the tambourine wore blue. A handsome, curly-haired Greek in a red tunic played the lyre and a slender, dark-haired man in mauve shook a gourd full of lentils.

  They had just finished a short musical piece and now this colourful quintet gazed hopefully at a grizzled slave and a dough-faced man.

  The two men looked at one another, nodded and beckoned the musicians inside.

  Jonathan was following Rizpah through one of the tunnels back to the octagonal room when she jumped down into an immensely long, high corridor.

  ‘This is a different way,’ said Rizpah. ‘I don’t like it as much. It’s too bright. But it’s faster.’ The dim vaulted corridor was covered with plaster and all the walls were painted with delicate frescos in purple, azure and cinnabar red. Some of the fresco panels on the wall of the corridor were the same designs as the carpets the slave women had been weaving. Even though the light was muted, Rizpah shaded her eyes against it.

  ‘They call this the cryptoporticus. That means “secret corridor”, but it really isn’t secret,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we’ll meet anyone, but if we do, let me do the talking.’

  ‘I’m afraid you men will have to wait here on the Palatine,’ Harmonius said to Aristo and Sisyphus. ‘The Emperor wants music at the Golden House immediately, but no men are allowed there. Only women and children. Don’t worry,’ he said, as the Greeks started to protest. ‘You’ll all be paid handsomely and you’ll find your quarters most comfortable. When the children have finished they’ll be escorted back here. Then you’ll perform for Domitian.’
/>   ‘But who will look after them while they perform at the Golden House?’ said Aristo.

  ‘My dear fellow, they’re only going over to the Oppian Hill and they’ll be under the Emperor’s protection. What harm could possibly come to them?’

  ‘He’s still with her,’ hissed Jonathan. ‘Why doesn’t he go away? Doesn’t he have an empire to run?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rizpah answered. ‘Something must have happened. He looks upset. He usually only visits her first thing in the morning or last thing before dusk.’

  Jonathan and Rizpah had approached the Cyclops’ cave from ground level – through the garden – and had found a hiding place behind a glossy shrub with bright orange berries.

  Jonathan watched his mother and the Emperor. They sat facing one another on elegant folding armchairs in the shade of the peristyle, halfway between the bright garden and the dim Cyclops’ cave.

  Jonathan strained to hear what they were saying but the sound of a fountain splashing in the garden made it impossible to distinguish anything apart from his mother’s coughs.

  ‘She’s not well,’ he muttered. ‘She’s coughing. If my father were here he would prescribe mallow boiled in milk. Or a tincture of rye-grass.’

  Rizpah touched his arm reassuringly. ‘All the weavers cough,’ she said. ‘My mother says it comes from breathing the wool dust. Don’t worry.’

  ‘And now she’s crying. Look! Titus has made her cry!’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Rizpah, ‘If they hear you, they’ll take you away and you’ll never get a chance to warn her. Oh look! Here comes Benjamin.’

  A dark-haired slave-boy approached the Cyclops’ cave and waited discreetly outside. He was about Rizpah’s age, and Jonathan could see by his shiny hair and spotless black tunic that he was not on latrine duty.

  Presently Titus glanced over at him. The young slave bowed his head respectfully and said something. Jonathan caught the word ‘musicians’.

  Titus nodded, said something to Susannah and rose to his feet. He and the boy disappeared in the direction of the octagonal room.

  Jonathan’s mother watched them go, then she slowly stood and closed her eyes for a long moment. Presently she opened them again and moved into the sunlit garden, towards the very bush which hid Jonathan and Rizpah.