‘This is last year’s wine,’ he explained with a smile. Then he emptied the other jug into the big krater. This wine was so dark it was almost black. ‘And this,’ he said, ‘is the new.’
Flavia peered into the krater and watched the two colours mix. Then she settled down onto her stomach in the soft sand, rested her chin on her hands and gazed at the handsome god Dionysus. On this vase he was shown bearded, with his head thrown back in joy.
Pliny bent and dipped a flat silver bowl – a patera – in the krater. Then he tipped the patera, and a stream of red wine spattered onto the sand.
‘Novum vetus vinum bibo,’ he recited, ‘novo veteri morbo medeor. I drink new and old wine, and am healed of new and old disease.’ He dipped one of the jugs into the mixing-bowl, poured the blend of new and old into a small silver cup, and handed it to Flavia. She rose up onto her knees to accept it. Pliny nodded her towards her father. ‘Captain Geminus,’ he said, ‘to you the first mixed wine of the Meditrinalia.’
Still on her knees, Flavia shuffled over the sand, holding the cup carefully out before her. Her father was propped up on a cushioned litter. Even though it was a mild night, he had a blanket around his thin body.
As he leaned forward, Flavia supported the back of his neck with her left hand and held the cup to his lips with her right.
‘Thank you, my little owl.’ He wiped a dribble of red wine from the corner of his mouth and leaned back against the cushions.
Meanwhile Pliny had filled other wine cups and Thelma was taking the blended wine round to the others, who sat or reclined on old carpets spread over the sand.
Presently, Phrixus and Thelma went back to the villa and Pliny sat down near Miriam. He sipped his wine and made a face. ‘On the Meditrinalia the wine is supposed to have beneficial effects,’ he said. ‘But today it’s more like the worst kind of medicine. It’s been a terrible harvest.’
‘It’s not too bad,’ said Captain Geminus. ‘And it was a wonderful meal.’
‘Would you like another fig-cake, pater?’ asked Flavia.
Her father shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘I wish I had more energy,’ he murmured. ‘I slept all day and yet I still feel tired.’
‘Sleep is one of the best healers,’ said Miriam, leaning over to pull the light blanket up around his shoulders. ‘That’s why my father wanted you to get away from Ostia. So you could rest and sleep. Then your body can heal itself.’
Captain Geminus nodded, his eyes still closed. Flavia smoothed his hair from his forehead, struck again by how frail he looked.
‘Play something nice, please, Nubia,’ whispered Flavia. ‘Something to help pater sleep.’
Nubia smiled and nodded. She took out the flute she wore on a cord around her neck and after a moment she played the ‘Sailing Song’. Soon Lupus found the beat on a piece of driftwood with his spoon.
Flavia saw that both Aristo and Pliny were watching Miriam as they sipped their wine. She had closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Her long white tunic and her arms and throat looked pink in the red light of the coals.
As the last notes died away, a figure emerged from the darkness: Phrixus. He pushed seven torches into the soft sand around them. When the torches were lit, a golden circle of light surrounded the young diners.
‘Phrixus,’ said Pliny, as the freedman turned to go. ‘Will you bring my lyre down to the beach?’ He turned to the boys. ‘You brought instruments, too, didn’t you?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘My barbiton and Lupus’s drums. They’re in our room.’
‘And a tambourine please, Phrixus!’ Flavia called out.
Phrixus was back with Thelma a few minutes later. They stepped into the circle of flickering torchlight and handed out the instruments, then vanished discreetly back into the darkness.
Pliny took the lyre in his left hand and fitted it against his left shoulder. Using a small ivory wand, he strummed some chords with his right hand.
‘I don’t have a very good singing voice,’ he said, with a shy glance at Miriam. ‘But I would like to sing for you, too. This is part of a Greek epic I composed when I was fourteen years old. I set it to music myself.’
Pliny cleared his throat and began to sing in Greek. It was a rather formal song and Nubia noticed he did not seem able to sing and strum at the same time. Once or twice she could tell he’d hit a slightly wrong note. But when he finished everyone clapped politely. Pliny bowed his head.
‘A dithyramb!’ Aristo’s curls gleamed like copper in the firelight as he nodded. ‘Very good.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I lost my own lyre in the eruption,’ said Aristo, holding out his hand. ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’ Pliny passed his instrument to Aristo, then held out the ivory wand.
‘No thank you,’ said Aristo. ‘I just use my fingers.’
For a few moments the young Greek made some minor adjustments to the tuning. Then he turned to Nubia.
‘Shall we play “Slave Song”?’
Nubia nodded and put the flute to her lips. She and Aristo looked at each other and began at precisely the same moment. Nubia had composed the song herself. It had no words, but the image which had inspired it was that of a slave-girl sitting on the back of a camel, travelling in a caravan towards an oasis. Lupus drummed a steady beat, which Jonathan echoed with the low notes of his barbiton and Flavia with the muted jingle of her tambourine.
They finished softly and when the last notes died away there was no applause, just the crackling of the torches and the sighing of waves on the beach. Miriam’s cheeks were wet and she wiped them with her fingers.
‘Remarkable,’ said Pliny at last. There was a strange catch in his voice. ‘I have never heard anything like that. I remember now. My uncle spoke about you. I didn’t make the connection before. Nubia, you are an exceptional musician. So are you, Aristo.’
Pliny stood and they all looked up at him. He was wearing a spotless cream tunic, with a broad purple stripe on each side. Flavia noticed he had trimmed his brown hair. The new haircut made his head look quite round.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘My hands. They’re a bit sticky from the fig-cakes. I’m just going to rinse them.’
He moved quickly out of the circle of torchlight and down to the water.
Scuto ambled after him, tail wagging slowly. After a moment Flavia put down her tambourine and followed him, too.
For a few moments the three of them stood side by side on the shore and stared out over the water. Scuto raised his nose to test the sea breeze. The night was moonless and very dark apart from the breathtaking sweep of a hundred million stars blazing overhead.
It occurred to Flavia that it hadn’t really been fair of Aristo to play the ‘Slave Song’ after Pliny’s stiff dithyramb. Especially with all of them playing, too. But Pliny had been gracious in defeat.
‘That was a very nice dinner,’ Flavia said at last. ‘Thank you for arranging it. And for having us all to stay.’
Pliny glanced sideways at her and she saw his eyes gleam wetly in the starlight. ‘That’s kind of you,’ he said. For a moment she thought he was going to say something else. But he merely repeated, ‘That’s kind of you.’
Flavia bent to rinse her hands in a salty wave.
‘Oh!’ she cried. A greenish light fizzed in the water as she swished her hand.
‘What?’ Nubia had come up quietly behind them.
‘Look!’ breathed Flavia. As she pulled her hand through the black water it left a trail of greenish-yellow light which immediately faded. Scuto growled.
‘Phosphorescence,’ said Pliny. ‘Nobody knows what causes it, but on dark nights the sea often burns with cold fire. It’s harmless – or so my uncle told me.’
‘Fox fur essence?’ repeated Nubia, with a frown.
‘Everybody! Come quickly!’ called Flavia. The others – except for Flavia’s father – rose and moved down to the water.
‘Look!’ said Flavia. She drew her hand through t
he water again and showed them the glowing trail her hand made.
Behind them, Lupus uttered a whoop, stripped off his tunic and ran splashing into the inky sea.
The black water shimmered yellow-green as he churned it with his hands and the drops he threw at them were like wet emeralds, fading even as they fell. Nubia laughed and walked into the water, too, looking behind her to see the brief trails of green light her legs made in the black water. The dogs barked at this strange behaviour.
It was a mild night and the water was deliciously warm. Soon all four friends were swimming and splashing in the shallow water.
When they swam, they left trails of fizzing light, and when they stood on the sandy sea bed to splash each other, the phosphorescence lit their laughing faces pale green.
Presently Lupus struck out into deeper water and turned on his back. It was a trick he had been trying to teach the others: to float on the water as if it were a supporting mattress.
‘How do you do that?’ asked Flavia in frustration, watching as the other three floated on the silky surface of the water.
‘Just relax,’ Jonathan’s voice came from her right. ‘Make your hands like fans, with the fingers together, and keep them moving just a little.’
Flavia lay back and tried to relax, but water suddenly filled her mouth and she coughed.
‘You might want to keep your mouth closed,’ suggested Jonathan.
Flavia tried again. And again. At last, just as she was about to give up, she realised she was floating. Her hands had found the right motion.
Lupus was showing off, spitting a stream of water up from his mouth as if he were a spouting killer whale. The jet of water glowed yellow-green for a brief instant.
Flavia carefully turned her head and looked to her left, towards the shore. Miriam and the two young men were walking back up to join Flavia’s father.
Just inside the circle of torchlight the puppies were wrestling. But Scuto remained close to the water, an alert shape silhouetted against the fire, watching to make sure no harm came to his mistress. Flavia smiled to herself and idly wondered what harm could possibly come to her here in this magical cove on such a glorious night.
At that very moment she felt the water push against her back, as if something had swum beneath her.
‘What was that?’ Jonathan’s voice in the darkness sounded alarmed.
And then Nubia’s trembling voice:
‘Something touch me. Something big!’
Something unseen was moving in the black water beneath Flavia.
She panicked. Her body went rigid and her arms flailed. Black salty water filled her mouth as she sank down beneath the surface. She was drowning!
Then something strong and lithe and smooth pushed her up into the cool air and towards the beach. Flavia coughed out water and then filled her lungs with air. There was an odd wet sigh, and in the dim light of the green-gold phosphorescence, she saw a smiling face turn away.
It was a dolphin!
Flavia’s toes touched softly corrugated sand. The dolphin had pushed her to shallow water. With her head and shoulders safely above the water, Flavia turned gasping to watch the others.
Three or four dolphins swam round her friends, describing luminescent loops and curves in the black water. Flavia could hear strange clicks and creaks and whistles: the dolphins were speaking to one another. They had their own language!
Her friends were laughing, and now Lupus – fearless as ever – clutched at a dolphin’s dorsal fin as it swam past and managed to hold on. He whooped as it pulled him through the water.
Another dolphin was swimming in languid circles around Nubia and Jonathan, who were laughing and treading water.
Flavia felt a gentle nudge. A dolphin was beside her. Tentatively she reached out her hand and touched the dolphin’s glistening back. It was like nothing she had ever felt: velvety but slippery at the same time. The dolphin circled and came close to her again, squeaking and smiling. Even in the dim starlight she could see that his dark eyes were full of intelligent humour. This time he tipped his dorsal fin towards her.
On impulse she grasped it as he passed.
Suddenly she was being pulled through the water towards Nubia and Jonathan. She squealed with delight as their startled faces sped past her. The water parted foamy green as her dolphin curved round and raced back towards the shore. Nubia whooped like Lupus.
Soon Nubia and Jonathan had found dolphin rides too, and all four of them were being pulled round the cove in phosphorescent trails.
Flavia didn’t know how long they stayed in the water with the dolphins.
Once, she looked up and saw people standing on the shore watching, but they didn’t seem important. She didn’t want to leave this vibrant, smiling creature so full of power and joy. Not yet.
Later, the four of them somehow found themselves splashing back up through the little waves onto the shore, where they were greeted with barking dogs and linen towels and questions. But they were all too exhausted to speak. Wrapped in their towels, Flavia and her friends trudged up the sandy beach to the villa, fell into their beds and were instantly asleep.
The next morning at lessons Jonathan felt deeply relaxed. For the first time since his return from Rome, he had slept soundly, without dreams.
Once or twice his father had treated him to a massage at the baths. Afterwards every muscle in his body had felt soft and loose. He felt like that now: refreshed and calm.
They had all slept late, rising when the sun was well above the horizon. His three friends had a kind of stillness about them, too. Lupus usually drummed on his thigh or his wax tablet and had to be told to stop fidgeting. But this morning he sat quietly. Flavia seemed calmer than usual and Nubia had a dreamy look in her amber eyes.
‘Come on, you lot,’ Aristo was pleading. ‘We’re diving for the treasure later and this calculation will help us determine the approximate depth of the wreck. Lupus. Do you know the answer?’
They were sitting at the table in the sea-view triclinium. It was another hot morning, with a soft haze over the calm, milky blue sea. Lupus was gazing out towards the horizon. Without looking at Aristo he shook his head.
‘Jonathan,’ said Aristo. ‘How about you? Here. Take the abacus. Work it out.’
Jonathan took the abacus slowly. For the first time he noticed the weight of it. The polished acacia-wood beads on the copper wires looked like berries. Nutmeg-coloured fruit. A harvest of numbers. An autumn crop of sums.
‘Jonathan!’ Aristo passed his hand over his face. ‘You’re all even less focused than you were yesterday. What’s got into you?’
‘Dolphins,’ said Pliny, coming into the bright room and pulling up a chair. ‘They have a strangely calming effect on those who swim with them. Or so I’m told. Maybe this will interest you all.’
He carefully set a ceramic cup on the marble-topped table. Jonathan put down the abacus and leaned forward with interest, as did the others. The cup was a Greek kylix. Inside, the design showed a man holding a lyre and riding a dolphin.
‘It’s Arion!’ cried Flavia.
‘It is indeed,’ said Pliny, and Aristo gave her a nod of approval.
‘Please, Aristo,’ said Nubia. ‘Tell us story of Arion?’
Miriam had just come into the room.
‘Your father’s sleeping,’ Miriam said to Flavia and then smiled at Aristo. ‘Don’t let me interrupt. Please tell your story.’
‘Arion,’ said Aristo, ‘has always been special to me, because he was a lyre player from Corinth.’
‘Just like you!’ said Nubia. Aristo smiled and nodded. His skin was bronzed from their previous day in the sun and Nubia thought he looked very handsome in his fawn-coloured tunic.
Aristo cleared his throat and continued: ‘Arion played the lyre so beautifully that Periander, the young king of Corinth, invited him to be court musician. The two men became close friends. They hunted together, dined together, played music together.’
‘What
instrument was the king playing?’ asked Nubia.
‘Um . . . Periander played the aulos, a wind instrument with reeds and two pipes. A very difficult instrument indeed, but one well worth learning. Periander was good, but Arion was better. In fact, he was the best musician in the world. It was said that if a man glanced at a girl while Arion was plucking his lyre then that man would fall in love with her instantly.’
Lupus barked with laughter, and when they looked at him curiously, he jerked his thumb towards the big bronze statue beside him. Medusa’s already hideous face was shown contorted by a grimace of death.
‘Well, it probably didn’t work in every case,’ admitted Aristo with a smile. ‘But music is a powerful love potion.’
‘Did it work the other way round?’ asked Flavia. ‘I mean, if Arion was playing and a girl looked at a man, would she fall in love with him?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Aristo. ‘The only problem was that most girls looked at Arion when he played and so most of them fell in love with him!’
‘Lucky Arion!’ said Flavia.
‘Not really,’ sighed Aristo. ‘He had lovesick girls following him everywhere. That was why he decided to leave Corinth for a while. He heard there was to be a musical contest in Sicily, with a fabulous prize for the winner. So he asked Periander’s permission to go.
‘“Absolutely not!” said Periander. “First, I have a bad feeling about your going; second, you might not win, and third, I’ll miss you!” “But I’m a musician,” said Arion. “I have the heart of a wanderer. Besides, if I win the prize I’ll be rich and famous!” In the end he persuaded Periander to let him go.’
Aristo leaned back in his chair. A sea breeze ruffled his curly hair.
‘He went, he played, he won. But on his way home, Arion discovered that the Corinthian sailors – men from his own town – were plotting to throw him overboard and steal his prize. “Take my gold,” Arion pleaded, “but let me live!” “Absolutely not,” said the wicked sailors. “First, you’ll tell King Periander; second, he’ll hunt us down; third, what good is gold if we live in fear for the rest of our lives?” “At least let me play my lyre one last time. After that, you can kill me.” The sailors looked at one another and shrugged. They had never actually heard the greatest musician in the world play. “All right,” they said.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 60