The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Lupus? Is it you?’ Umidus’s voice was muffled; he had a cleft palate and could only speak with difficulty.

  Lupus nodded and took out his wax tablet:

  NEED SOME HELP?

  Umidus scratched his big head. ‘I hardly recognised you. You look like a young gentleman! And you can read and write? I wish I could!’

  Lupus dropped the tablet and gestured round at the changing-room, then rubbed his forefinger and thumb together.

  ‘You want to earn a few coins? All right. You can keep any tips you get.’

  Lupus nodded with satisfaction. He didn’t want Umidus to suspect his real reason for coming – to hire an assassin.

  It was here in the Baths of Thetis that Lupus had first seen the man named Gamala.

  The Gamala family had lived in Ostia for many generations, and were well-respected. But the man who called himself Gnaeus Lucilius Gamala was not a native of Ostia. He was a foreign relation of the Gamala family. He spoke Latin with an accent. Some said he came from Judaea, others said Syria. But everyone knew he had done something criminal before settling down in Ostia; the scars of the whip on his back were there for all to see. Recently Lupus had developed a theory. He reckoned Gamala had been a sicarius: a member of the elite Jewish assassination squad.

  Lupus was about to test this hunch. He remembered that Gamala usually came in with the first wave of male customers.

  As the gong began to clang noon, the double doors of the baths opened and the first group of men entered the pale blue changing-room. Lupus’s heart beat faster as he saw the person he was waiting for.

  Gamala was tall and lithe, with thick black hair, a nose like an eagle’s beak and keen brown eyes. He was alone, accompanied by neither friend nor slave, and he moved over to his usual niche with a fluid grace. Once there, he stripped off, folded his tunic, and placed it in the cube-shaped recess in the blue wall. His belt and money pouch went on top. Before he turned to go, he tossed Lupus a small copper coin.

  As Gamala strode towards the palaestra for a pre-bath workout, Lupus studied the pale scars on his retreating back. He counted twenty separate strokes before Gamala disappeared through the arched doorway.

  Lupus knew the whip-marks were not proof that Gamala was an assassin. Punishment for that crime was crucifixion. But they indicated that he might have been a Zealot, a Jew who had rebelled against Roman rule in Judaea. Lupus also remembered what Jonathan had told him recently: even a retired sicarius never feels safe without his weapon.

  When the changing-room was empty, Lupus stepped up onto the plaster-covered bench which ran round the room. He leaned into Gamala’s niche and began to examine the contents. Behind him, across the black and white mosaic floor, Umidus the bath-slave uttered a cry of protest. Lupus looked over his shoulder and gave a small shake of his head to say: Don’t worry; I’m just looking.

  Quickly, Lupus patted Gamala’s tunic, sandals and coin purse. It was only when he examined the last item that he found what he was looking for. Cleverly concealed in a secret pocket of Gamala’s leather belt was a small knife. It was razor-sharp and curved like a sickle.

  Flavia sat in a chair beside her father’s bed and gazed down at his face. He had slept through the whole night and most of the morning, then woken at noon to take some more chicken broth. Now he was sleeping again.

  The room was dim and relatively cool. Quiet, too, now that most of Ostia was taking a siesta. The only sounds she could hear were the faint strains of Jonathan practising his barbiton next door and the thin buzz of the cicadas from the umbrella pines.

  Every morning over the previous two weeks Flavia had stood before the household shrine and vowed that if the gods brought her father back she would be a good, dutiful Roman daughter.

  But it seemed the gods had returned a different father from the one who had sailed away. This father looked frail and helpless. His eyelashes lay pale against his sunburnt skin and his cracked lips were slightly parted in sleep. He looked like a boy.

  Or maybe she was the one who was different.

  So much had happened in the two months since he had sailed out of Pompeii’s harbour. She had been to Stabia, Surrentum and Rome. She had survived a volcano, pirates and assassins. She had witnessed death and birth, grief and joy. People her father had never even met – Vulcan, Clio, Pulchra, Sisyphus, even the Emperor himself – had become her friends.

  And she had met him.

  Flavia looked down at the object she held carefully in her lap.

  A dutiful Roman daughter should marry and have children. Soon her father would be thinking about arranging a suitable match for her. How could she tell him she would never marry? That she would never give him grandchildren? That her heart belonged to someone she could never have?

  Flavia sighed, and lifted her eyes. The thread of afternoon light around the curtained doorway blurred, then cleared as she let a few hot tears spill onto her cheek. She felt very old and very wise.

  With another deep sigh she turned her gaze back to the cup and to the image of the handsome god painted inside.

  Jonathan stopped playing his barbiton and frowned. He thought he heard his sister shouting. But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he had ever heard her raise her voice before. He heard a man’s voice, too, but he knew his father had gone out to see a patient.

  ‘We’ll never get married!’ came his sister’s voice distinctly from the garden.

  Slowly Jonathan lifted the barbiton from his lap and set it beside him on the bed. Three steps took him to the bedroom doorway.

  ‘Of course we will.’ Jonathan recognised the voice of Flavia’s uncle Gaius. ‘Just as soon as I find somewhere for us to live.’

  Jonathan moved quietly to the rail of the balcony above their inner garden.

  Below him, Miriam and Gaius stood face to face in the shade of the fig tree.

  ‘With what money?’ Miriam cried. ‘You have hardly any left. Why won’t you use my dowry? I have twenty gold coins.’

  ‘I don’t want to use your dowry,’ said Gaius. ‘That’s your security.’

  ‘But I don’t want security. I want to be married to you and I want us to live in our own house. A house with a garden.’

  ‘I refuse to live on your money.’ Gaius ran his hand through his light brown hair. ‘I have my pride.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Miriam in disgust. ‘You and your masculine pride.’ She turned away from him and hung her head so that her dark curls hid her face.

  Gaius sighed and touched her shoulder. ‘Miriam,’ he said. ‘I love you more than anything in the world. I’ve waited my whole life to find someone like you, waited till I’m an old man.’

  ‘You’re not an old man.’ Miriam turned back to him and tried not to smile. ‘You’re only thirty-one.’

  ‘I’m an old man,’ repeated Gaius with a grin, pulling her into his arms. ‘And I should be able to take care of you, to provide for you . . .’

  Miriam lifted her face and for a moment Jonathan saw how beautiful his mother must have been at fourteen.

  Gaius’s grin faded. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered. And lowered his head to kiss her.

  Jonathan watched with a mixture of horror and fascination. Should he step back into his room? But what if they noticed the movement and accused him of spying on them?

  He needn’t have worried. They were oblivious to everything except each other.

  Lupus’s head jerked up. He must have dozed off. He was sitting in the pale blue changing-room of the Baths of Thetis, waiting to hire an assassin.

  Had he missed Gamala? No. A quick glance showed the man’s clothes still in his niche.

  Lupus stood and stretched and looked round for Umidus. The young bath-slave was sitting across the room on the plaster bench that ran right round the wall. His head was tipped back and his open eyes stared unseeing at the circular skylight of the domed ceiling.

  Lupus took a step forward and found his knees were trembling.

  Umidus the bath-slave ap
peared to be quite dead.

  As Lupus stared down at the dead bath-attendant he heard someone chuckling behind him.

  He whirled to find himself face to face with a probable assassin.

  ‘You think he’s dead, don’t you?’ said Gamala, towelling his hair. ‘Have a closer look.’ He turned and walked over to his cubicle.

  Lupus looked down at Umidus. Was the slave still breathing? He glanced back at Gamala, who was slipping on his tunic.

  ‘Gave me quite a fright once, too,’ said Gamala with a grin. ‘But he’s just sleeping. I knew another man like that once. In Judaea. Slept with his eyes wide open. His wife couldn’t take it. She divorced him in the end.’

  Lupus looked back down at the bath attendant. Although the young slave’s eyes were wide open, Lupus could now see his chest rising and falling gently. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘He probably just had a late night. Let him sleep.’ Gamala sat on the bench and began lacing up his sandals. The changing-room was still deserted.

  Lupus suddenly realised that if he were going to act, it must be now.

  His heart thumping, Lupus approached Gamala. With his left hand he gripped the leather pouch which held all his worldly wealth: two gold coins, each worth a hundred sestercii. In his right hand he held his wax tablet. On it he had drawn a sickle-shaped knife and underneath he had printed in his neatest writing:

  HOW MUCH TO KILL VENALICIUS THE SLAVE-DEALER?

  ‘We had to leave Pliny’s body on the beach,’ said Flavia from her seat at the table.

  It was dinner time. She and her friends were telling her father about the eruption of Vesuvius six weeks earlier.

  ‘The sulphur fumes would have killed us if we hadn’t left right away,’ added Jonathan. ‘I nearly died.’

  ‘And Frustilla did die,’ said Gaius, who was reclining next to Miriam.

  ‘Poor old Frustilla.’ Captain Geminus put down his bowl of chicken soup. After nearly a day and a half of sleeping he had asked to dine with the others. Caudex had carried him downstairs and propped him up on cushions. ‘And poor Admiral Pliny. What a way to die.’

  ‘But he died a hero,’ said Flavia, taking a bite of salad and sucking the honey and vinegar dressing from her fingers.

  Beside her Lupus nodded his agreement, and Jonathan explained: ‘Pliny went to Herculaneum to try to save Rectina and then when he couldn’t reach the shore he headed south to Stabia. That’s where we were.’

  ‘Yes.’ Captain Geminus nodded sadly. ‘Pliny could have gone back to the safety of the harbour at Misenum. There’s no doubt that he was a brave man. I’m sorry I never got to know him better.’

  Scuto and the puppies had been sitting attentively below the dining couches hoping for scraps. Suddenly they barked and scampered out of the triclinium.

  A few moments later the golden light of late afternoon dimmed as Caudex stepped into the doorway.

  ‘Man here to see you,’ he mumbled to nobody in particular. ‘Says his name’s Pliny.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner,’ said the man who called himself Pliny.

  This was not the Pliny she knew, thought Nubia, but a much younger man. She noted the soft fuzz on his upper lip, and guessed he was probably about the age of her eldest brother Taharqo, who was seventeen.

  But the youth did bear a strong resemblance to the old admiral: he was short, with the same keen black eyes and pale, rumpled eyebrows. And the set of his small mouth was the same. However, unlike Admiral Pliny, this young man was slim. And he had hair: a thick brown mop of it, which he combed over his forehead.

  ‘You haven’t interrupted us.’ Gaius slid off the couch and extended his hand. ‘We’ve just started.’

  ‘Please join us,’ said Captain Geminus, trying to sit forward, then sinking back onto his cushions.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said the young man, looking round at them all. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus. I believe you knew my uncle and were with him when he died.’

  ‘You’re Pliny’s nephew!’ cried Flavia.

  The young man inclined his head. ‘I am indeed the admiral’s nephew.’

  Nubia nodded to herself. That made sense.

  ‘What a coincidence!’ Captain Geminus tried to sit up again and this time he succeeded. ‘We were just talking about your uncle, saying how brave he was.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the young man and Nubia saw his black eyes grow moist. ‘That’s why I’ve come. To hear of his last hours. My uncle’s scribe Phrixus said you were all with him at the end.’

  ‘Please,’ said Gaius. ‘Wash your hands and join us. Caudex, would you bring the copper basin? And a fresh napkin?’

  But Miriam was already on her feet. She smiled at young Pliny and he stared at her open-mouthed. Flushing slightly, Miriam hurried out of the triclinium.

  ‘I’m Gaius Flavius Geminus,’ said Flavia’s uncle. ‘I own – or rather used to own – a farm in Stabia. That’s my brother Marcus, whose hospitality you’re enjoying.’

  Captain Geminus gave young Pliny a weak smile from the dining-couch.

  ‘This is Mordecai ben Ezra,’ continued Gaius. ‘He is the doctor who treated many of your uncle’s sailors for burns and cuts. And this,’ said Gaius, as Miriam came back into the dining-room, ‘this is his daughter Miriam.’

  Nubia saw the young man’s neck flush as he dipped his hands in the basin Miriam held.

  Although Miriam was only fourteen, her beauty was fully developed. Nubia thought she looked particularly lovely this afternoon: she wore a faded lavender tunic with a matching headscarf that allowed her black curls to spill up and over. On her wrist gleamed a silver and amethyst bracelet.

  Gaius finished the introductions and invited Pliny’s nephew to join him on the central couch beside Miriam.

  ‘Alas! That might not be good idea,’ Nubia whispered to Flavia. They watched the young man clamber somewhat awkwardly onto the couch and saw him grow pink as Miriam lowered her slender form next to his.

  ‘Thank you.’ Young Pliny accepted a bowl of salad from Alma.

  ‘What would you like to know about your uncle’s last hours?’ asked Gaius. ‘Anything in particular?’

  Pliny fished a radish out of his bowl. ‘My uncle’s scribe Phrixus was with him the whole time. He told me most of what happened. I just wondered if you could add any details. I am writing up an account of his last hours.’ He turned to Lupus. ‘Are you the boy who brought Rectina’s message to my uncle?’

  When Lupus nodded, Pliny said, ‘You and the blacksmith did an extraordinary thing.’

  ‘But if Lupus hadn’t brought the message your uncle might still be alive,’ said Jonathan through a mouthful of cucumber, and then stopped crunching as he realised what he’d said.

  ‘No, no,’ said Pliny’s nephew. ‘My uncle had already decided to investigate the phenomenon. This boy’s arrival persuaded him to go in a warship, which was a much more sensible means of conveyance.’

  Nubia whispered to Flavia, ‘I am not understanding him.’

  ‘He said if Lupus hadn’t come along, Admiral Pliny would have taken a small boat instead of a big one.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with your uncle?’ Flavia asked the young man. ‘Didn’t you want to help him investigate?’

  ‘My uncle had asked me to compose an imaginary letter from Cicero to Livy,’ said Pliny. ‘I was busy working on that.’

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows. ‘A mountain ten miles away had just exploded and you stayed in to do your homework?’

  Pliny flushed and looked down into his salad bowl, then back up at Jonathan. ‘I intend to climb the ladder of honour all the way to the top. Law is the first rung of the ladder. To become a successful lawyer, I must show self-discipline. My assignment seemed important at the time. Besides, when my uncle set out, it wasn’t even clear which mountain the smoke was coming from.’ He looked around at them all. ‘As it happened,
I was able to help my mother and the terrified peasants around us. But I very much regret that I couldn’t have been with my uncle in his last hours.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything you could have done for him,’ said Mordecai gently. ‘Your uncle was obviously asthmatic and the fumes were so dense . . . But he was courageous to the end.’

  ‘Phrixus tells me that my uncle actually slept for several hours.’

  ‘Yes!’ Jonathan nodded vigorously. ‘I had to pass his room on the way to the latrine and I could hear him snoring. Even over the noise of the volcano!’

  ‘What courage!’ cried Pliny.

  Lupus appeared to have a choking fit but Flavia and Jonathan patted his back until it subsided. Luckily young Pliny didn’t notice their amused reaction. His gaze had strayed to Miriam again.

  Over the course of the meal, Nubia observed that the young man kept looking at Jonathan’s sister. Once he even closed his eyes and inhaled. Somehow she knew it was not the pine-nut and honey omelette he was sniffing.

  Near the end of dinner, when the air was cooler and the scents of the garden filled the dining-room, Alma brought in the dessert course of peppered figs and cheese. She was just going out again when the dogs ran barking to the front of the house a second time. Once more, Caudex stood in the wide doorway of the dining-room.

  ‘Another man to see you, master,’ he growled. ‘Don’t like the look of this one.’

  Flavia saw her father and uncle exchange glances and then Gaius said, ‘I’ll go.’

  A moment later Gaius was back, looking grim. A short man with greasy black hair and a jutting chin stood beside him, unrolling a papyrus scroll.

  ‘This is an official notice for Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain,’ he read in a loud, nasal voice. ‘From the bankers Rufus and Dexter. Unless you pay the amount of one hundred thousand sestercii by this time tomorrow your house and all its possessions will be seized and sold to pay off this debt.’

  ‘What?’ said Marcus, struggling to rise from the couch. ‘That’s insane! I can’t possibly pay that amount. My ship was lost. The cargo, too.’