‘I could buy my brother from slave-market,’ said Nubia, her amber eyes bright with hope. ‘And set him free!’
Flavia turned to Lupus. ‘What about you, Lupus?’ she asked. ‘What would you buy if we get the sunken treasure?’
He etched one word on the tablet and showed it to them:
REVENGE
‘What on earth is wrong with all of you this morning?’ scowled Aristo. ‘Jonathan confused Scylla with Charybdis, Flavia’s sums are off by a mile and you’ve completely forgotten your Greek vocabulary. Well, all except for you, Lupus. Even you seem distracted, Nubia.’
‘We’re all thinking about the treasure,’ said Flavia.
Aristo sighed. ‘Flavia. You heard what Pliny said at dinner last night. There’s no way we can dive that deep.’
‘But Lupus is a spongy diver,’ said Nubia.
‘What?’
‘Lupus used to dive for sponges,’ said Flavia, hopping up and down in her chair.
‘No. I’m sorry. I don’t believe it.’ Aristo folded his arms. ‘There are very few places around here where sponges grow.’
Lupus stared back at him for a moment. Then he wrote on his wax tablet, pressing so hard that the stylus crunched the wood beneath.
I’M NOT FROM HERE!
‘No?’ said Aristo. ‘Then why don’t you tell us where you’re from?’
Lupus wrote on his tablet and held it up. He had written a word in Greek.
ΣYMI
‘What?’ said Flavia, snatching the table and peering at it. ‘SYMI? What’s a Symi?’
Aristo said something to Lupus in Greek and Lupus folded his own arms and nodded.
‘I don’t believe it,’ repeated Aristo.
‘What?’ they all cried.
‘He’s Greek. Lupus is Greek.’
‘You’re Greek?’ Jonathan asked Lupus in disbelief.
Lupus nodded.
Aristo slowly unfolded his arms. ‘And you used to dive for sponges on the island of Symi?’
‘His father is spongy diver, too,’ said Nubia.
‘That actually explains a lot,’ said Aristo.
‘So Lupus can dive for the treasure,’ said Flavia. ‘And all our problems will be solved!’
Aristo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the cool marble surface of the table. ‘Lupus. Do you really think you can reach depths a strong young fisherman couldn’t?’
Lupus nodded emphatically.
‘Well, then . . .’ Aristo leaned back. ‘That would benefit us all. If we could pay off Captain Geminus’s debts . . .’
‘So can we cancel today’s lesson?’ asked Jonathan eagerly.
‘Not cancel . . .’ Aristo’s brown eyes gleamed, ‘. . . so much as modify. Flavia, you could do some research on wrecks and salvage. Maybe Jonathan can help me design some equipment to lift the treasure chests, if Lupus really can dive that deep. And we should investigate the wreck right away. But first we’d better ask Pliny’s permission.’
They told Pliny as soon as he returned from his morning walk.
‘By Hercules!’ said the young man. ‘What an excellent idea! We’ll split any treasure you find. I can supply you with a rowing boat and I’ll put one of my people at your disposal. How’s that?’
‘Excellent,’ said Aristo. ‘We should get started immediately, while the weather lasts. It’s almost the Ides of October. This fair weather could change any day.’
‘I’ll get someone to show you where the boats and fishing tackle are kept,’ said Pliny. He clapped his hands and when a boy in red appeared he said, ‘Ask our new freedman to join us.’
‘Yes, master.’
A few minutes later a handsome young man in a red tunic came into the room. He had dark hair and eyes and wore a soft cone-shaped hat on his head. When he saw Flavia and her friends his face brightened.
‘Phrixus!’ Flavia cried. ‘How are you?’
‘Free, Miss Flavia.’ He pointed to the hat on his head. ‘Young master Pliny gave me my freedom yesterday morning. I’m a citizen now and my new name is Gaius Plinius Phrixus.’
Pliny’s eyes sparkled and he turned to Flavia. ‘After you told me of his bravery and of his devotion to my uncle . . . well, I could scarcely do anything else!’
‘Congratulations, Phrixus!’ they all cried.
Phrixus nodded and smiled at them, but Flavia saw there were still shadows of grief beneath his eyes.
‘How are you, Jonathan?’ asked Phrixus as he led them out of the sea-view triclinium across a bright, sheltered terrace. A dozen terracotta flowerpots filled the hot air with the scent of violets and the buzz of bees.
‘I’m well now, thank you.’
Phrixus opened a gate in the yellow plaster-covered wall and the dogs jostled through it in front of them.
‘You suffer from asthma like my master, but you lived,’ Phrixus said quietly as he led them down some sandy wooden steps towards the beach.
‘I almost didn’t,’ said Jonathan.
‘Jonathan was unconscious for three days,’ Flavia told Phrixus.
‘Did you go back to the Pliny?’ asked Nubia as they reached the level beach. ‘I mean, the old Pliny?’
Phrixus nodded and they all stopped as he turned to them. ‘Tascius and I found his body two days after the eruption. He was lying on the sailcloth, just where we left him on that dreadful night. He looked so peaceful, as if he were sleeping.’
The young freedman turned and moved quickly across the dunes. His conical hat blew off and Jonathan picked it up and dusted the sand off and ran to catch up with him.
Phrixus took the hat with a grunt of thanks and pushed it under his belt. He was heading towards a boathouse set into the low sandy cliffs near the shore. Further along and set back from the boathouse was a dense row of mulberry trees. Jonathan could just make out the red roof-tiles of a neighbouring villa through the leaves.
The dogs came running up from the water to join them, then surged ahead as they saw where everyone was going. Jonathan and his friends followed them into the dim interior of the boathouse, a brick vault built into the sandy cliff.
The dogs ran back and forth, noses down and tails wagging, delighted to discover such new and unusual scents. In the cool gloom of the vaulted space, Jonathan inhaled deeply. The boathouse had a musty perfume all its own: briny wood, pine-pitch and canvas, with undertones of kelp, mould and candle wax.
Jonathan liked it. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw several small boats in various states of disrepair on the sandy floor of the boathouse. And ranged along the inward curving wall were many other interesting objects.
As the others helped Phrixus push the biggest boat out of the gloom into the bright sunshine, Jonathan and the dogs investigated these other items. He had not brought his wax tablet, so he made a conscious effort to memorise them, using a method his father had taught him:
one small rowing boat (good condition)
one medium rowing boat (hole in stern)
one half-built rowing boat, still on its frame
useful planks of wood
several coils of rope
three oak buckets (one filled with assorted fishing hooks, some quite big)
seven fishing nets
twelve cork floats
an old sailcloth
a small iron anchor (rusted)
a broken trident (middle prong missing)
four old oars (different sizes)
Presently Jonathan was aware of Flavia calling him from the beach and he came squinting back out into the bright sunshine, followed by the dogs. Although it was October and there was still a haze of volcanic ash in the air, the midday sun was hot.
The others were pushing a sky-blue fishing boat into the water, and its keel rasped on pebbly sand until it bobbed on the water. Phrixus and Aristo jumped into the boat. They took Tigris and Nipur, and after some manoeuvring the young Greeks lifted Scuto aboard, too. The four friends clambered in after the dogs.
Most of Jonat
han’s cream-coloured tunic was soaking wet but he didn’t mind: it cooled him off.
Ball in mouth, Scuto sat in the bows as lookout. Tigris and Nipur ran from one side of the boat to the other, making it rock.
‘Stop it, Tigris,’ said Jonathan. ‘You, too, Nipur. You’re making me feel seasick.’
Aristo laughed. His face was shining. ‘My family used to have a boat,’ he said, ‘before Fortuna abandoned us.’
The puppies settled down as Aristo took one oar and Phrixus took the other. Soon the boat was moving out to sea, heading for the rocky island with the cormorants. The water was calm with a dusty skin on its surface, and as the young men pulled on the oars, the boat surged ahead with a quick rustle of water, like a knife cutting green silk.
Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel the living motion of the boat and the sun hot on his head and shoulders. His tunic was nearly dry.
‘Pliny’s villa looks so beautiful from here.’ Flavia’s voice.
Jonathan opened his eyes and twisted round.
The butter-yellow villa on the shore stood out against the dark green woods behind it. He could see its columns and arches and red-tiled roof, its sea-view triclinium and the square tower rising at one end of the complex. The highest floor of this tower had large arched windows which let the sky show through like a tile of blue turquoise. As he looked, he saw the dark shape of a distant figure step into one of these blue spaces.
‘I see the Pliny,’ said Nubia, who had the sharpest eyes of all of them. She waved and they saw the figure wave back.
‘Who’s that with him?’ said Flavia, and Jonathan saw the silhouette of a second figure join the first.
‘It’s Miriam,’ said Aristo, and his jaw clenched as he pulled on the oar.
Presently they stopped rowing and Phrixus stood up in the boat.
‘I came out here with the admiral once,’ said Phrixus. His handsome face gleamed with sweat and there were patches of damp on the armpits of his red tunic. ‘We discovered that if you position the boat in a direct line between the tower and Cormorant Island and those three umbrella pines on the promontory . . .’ he peered down into the water and pointed in triumph, ‘. . . you will find the wreck!’
‘Careful!’ cried Jonathan. The boat had tipped alarmingly as his three friends and Scuto all eagerly leaned over the port side.
‘I can’t see anything!’ said Flavia.
Lupus grunted and pointed. He had stripped down to his loincloth and his back next to Jonathan was smooth and hot and brown.
‘I think I am seeing the boat,’ said Nubia.
‘It’s down deep,’ said Phrixus. ‘The water isn’t as clear as it usually is. You can see it as a dark shape against the sandy bottom.’
Jonathan gazed down into the water. It was clearer than the water had been off the coast of Surrentum but he still couldn’t see anything that looked like a wreck. Beside him, Lupus scooped up a handful of seawater and wet the back of his neck. Then with two handfuls he splashed his face. He took several short panting breaths, followed by a long deep one. Jonathan could actually see his ribcage expand when he inhaled.
Finally, Lupus opened his wax tablet and scribbled something on it. Then he handed it to Jonathan.
PRAY AGAINST SHARKS!
With that, he was over the side, as smoothly as an eel from a fisherman’s bucket. He made barely a splash.
‘How will he breathe?’ cried Nubia.
‘He won’t,’ said Aristo. ‘He’ll hold his breath.’
Jonathan watched his friend sink deeper and deeper. And suddenly he saw the wreck. He hadn’t seen it because it was so deep. He looked at the others and shook his head.
‘It’s too far down,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’ll never reach it.’
Lupus felt the weight of the water resist him from below and push him from above. Using his arms and legs, he propelled himself down from green to blue to darker blue. It was the slowest way to descend, but this was just a practice dive. Later he would use his special sponge-diving techniques for a quick descent.
The wreck was very deep, so he set himself the goal of just touching it. The pressure in his head was growing, so he pinched his nose and gently blew.
Presently he felt the desire to breathe. But he was not even halfway there. He was badly out of practice.
Still, he had set himself a goal and he would achieve it. Down and down he went, kicking and pulling at the water with his arms. Deeper and deeper into the blue depths.
Nubia let out her breath in a gasp and sucked in a lungful of air. Flavia realised she’d been holding her breath in sympathy with Lupus. He must be desperate to breathe by now. The three friends exchanged anxious looks and bent further over the side.
‘There!’ said Flavia. ‘I think I see him coming up. Or is it? It looks too small . . .’ Suddenly she screamed.
A severed head bobbed like a ball on the surface of the water.
Nubia leaned over the side of the boat, stretched out her hands and lifted the dripping object from the water.
It was the carved wooden head of a woman. It still bore traces of paint: red on the parted lips and black on the eyes which stared blankly over Nubia’s shoulder, like a soothsayer gazing into the future.
‘It must be part of the ship’s figurehead,’ said Aristo.
Suddenly there was an explosion of spray and Lupus was gasping in the water before them.
‘Lupus!’ they cried.
Aristo held out his hand and pulled Lupus up into the boat. Lupus grinned at them, pushed back his dripping hair and reached for his wax tablet.
‘You did it,’ said Phrixus. ‘You reached the ship. That’s amazing. Very few of the local fishermen can dive that deep.’
Lupus wrote on his tablet.
FRONT OF SHIP LOWEST
Then he added something
THINK I SAW CRACK IN HULL
‘Did you go inside?’ asked Flavia. ‘Did you see the treasure?’
Lupus shook his head and wrote
OUT OF PRACTICE. HAVE TO TRAIN.
Nubia frowned. ‘How do you train?’
Lupus sucked in a big breath and flicked his fingers up, one after the other, starting with the little finger of his left hand. When all ten were up he started again on the next beat. Jonathan caught on and started to count:
‘. . . twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen . . .’
Nubia and Flavia joined in.
They had reached one hundred by the time Lupus opened his mouth to suck in a lungful of air.
After that, Lupus’s three friends took turns diving to see if they could reach the wreck, too. But the water was colder at this depth and its chill made Jonathan wheeze and Nubia shiver. Flavia was still the weakest swimmer of the four. The feel of the water closing over her head made her panic. She also found it impossible to keep her eyes open under water. It didn’t seem natural.
‘You’d better be the one who dives, Lupus,’ she said through chattering teeth, as she towelled off. ‘And we’ll help you all we can.’
‘What can we do?’ Jonathan asked.
Lupus flipped open his wax tablet.
I NEED ROPE he wrote
AND BIG FLAT HEAVY ROCKS
AND MAYBE FISHNET
‘I saw rope and fishing net in the boathouse,’ said Jonathan.
‘And there are rocks further up the shore,’ added Phrixus. He squinted up into the turquoise sky. ‘But it’s already well past noon. I suggest we have lunch and then get everything prepared for a proper dive tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to train?’ he asked Lupus.
Lupus nodded and wrote:
I HOPE SO. I WANT THAT TREASURE.
Lupus leapt out of the boat first and waded through the waves towards young Pliny, who was hurrying down the beach with Miriam. The two of them were shaded by her papyrus parasol. Scuto and the puppies splashed into the water after Lupus, then ran barking back and forth between the converging groups.
Lupus held up his drippi
ng prize.
‘By Hercules!’ exclaimed Pliny, his dark eyes bright with pleasure. ‘You’ve recovered the head of the goddess. May I keep it?’
Lupus nodded and Pliny took the head.
‘Aphrodite, the foam-born,’ said Pliny softly. ‘Venus emerges from the sea and comes to Laurentum.’ He slapped Lupus’s back. ‘Thank you, Lupus. I must confess, I didn’t think you could do it. But you’re a real urinator!’
‘He’s a what?’ said Flavia, out of breath.
Pliny laughed at the expression on their faces. ‘Urinator. It means “diver”. We should celebrate.’
‘But we didn’t get the treasure,’ said Jonathan. ‘Lupus only barely reached the wreck.’
‘He has to train himself to hold his breath for even longer,’ added Flavia, pulling the towel around her shoulders.
‘Phrixus and I are going to adapt the boat for diving,’ said Jonathan.
Nubia added, ‘Aristo and I are looking for heavy stones on the beach this afternoon.’
‘And I,’ announced Flavia, ‘am going to research the dangers of the deep. Can I use your uncle’s library?’
‘Of course,’ said Pliny. ‘It’s close to your room.’ He put the figurehead under his left arm and joined Miriam beneath the shade of her papyrus parasol again, touching her elbow lightly to direct her back up towards the villa. Suddenly he stopped and turned to look at them. ‘How would you all like to have a banquet on the beach this evening, to celebrate Lupus’s success?’
They all nodded, especially Lupus.
‘Good.’ Pliny glanced at Miriam. ‘Tonight is the Meditrinalia, when we drink the new wine mixed with the old and thank the gods for their provision. Several years ago my uncle and I celebrated the feast down on the beach. It will be just like old times. I’ll tell the kitchen slaves to slaughter a pig at once.’
It was autumn, the time of year when the hours of daylight grow shorter. And so it was almost dark by the time they finished their supper of spit-roasted pig, flat bread and chickpea stew. The sun had set and the sky was filled with a blue so vibrant that it seemed to sing. The sea was black and the embers of the fire glowed red.
As a pretty slave-girl named Thelma handed out fig-cakes, Phrixus appeared and set a beautiful Greek mixing-bowl on the sand. The krater had red figures of the wine-god Dionysus and his female followers dancing across the surface. Pliny rose from his reclining position and took two silver jugs. From one he poured a stream of wine into the krater. It gleamed ruby red in the firelight.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 59