‘So Arion put on his best tunic, perfumed his long hair and went to the stern of the Corinthian ship. There he played the most joyful song he knew, hoping to change the sailors’ hearts. But in vain. Their hearts were hardened by their lust for gold. The sailors approached him, brandishing sharp knives. With a prayer to Apollo and the sea-nymphs, and still holding his lyre, Arion jumped into the deep blue sea.’
Aristo picked up Pliny’s cup from the table and tipped it so they could all see the image painted inside.
‘Arion’s beautiful music had not touched the sailors’ hearts but it had attracted many creatures of the deep. As Arion sank beneath the waves, a friendly dolphin rose up with the musician on his back. The sailors were too busy counting their gold to notice.’
Lupus grunted his approval and Aristo smiled as he finished the story.
‘And so Arion returned to Corinth, riding a dolphin and playing his lyre. King Periander welcomed his friend with tears of joy, punished the wicked sailors and set up a bronze sculpture of Arion riding his dolphin. I have seen the sculpture with my own eyes,’ added Aristo, putting the cup back on the marble-topped table. ‘It’s on the shore, at the very spot where the dolphin was said to have brought Arion safely home.’
After Aristo finished the story of Arion, everyone was quiet for a moment.
‘Of course,’ said Jonathan wistfully, ‘nobody could actually ride a dolphin.’
‘Why not?’ said Aristo. ‘You came close last night. And there are so many tales of shipwrecked sailors being carried to safety by dolphins that I think there must be some truth in the myth.’
Flavia looked at Pliny. ‘Your uncle wrote about a dolphin who let men ride on it and then the governor wanted to honour it so he poured perfume on it but it made the dolphin sick. Where was that again?’
‘In Hippo, on the coast of Africa,’ said Pliny. ‘What my uncle didn’t put in his account, because he thought it too fanciful, was that the dolphin was friends with a particular young boy. He used to carry the boy back and forth across the lagoon so he could attend lessons. One day the boy caught a fever and died. The dolphin waited and waited and when he realised the boy wasn’t coming back he purposely beached himself and died, too. They burned both bodies on the pyre.’
‘Alas! That story is too sad.’ Nubia’s amber eyes filled with tears.
Lupus was writing on his wax tablet:
THAT CUP IS A BIT LIKE YOURS
He showed it to Flavia.
‘Mine’s older,’ said Flavia. ‘It’s black-figure.’
‘You have a black-figure kylix?’ said young Pliny, his dark eyes widening with interest.
Flavia nodded. ‘It shows Dionysus and the pirates, after he’s changed them into dolphins.’
‘By Hercules,’ said Pliny. ‘I’d give anything to see it. I collect Greek cups.’
‘I have it here,’ said Flavia brightly. ‘I’ll go and get it.’
As she ran out of the dining-room, Jonathan picked up Pliny’s kylix. He held it carefully because he knew such things were worth a fortune. Only last month he had broken a Corinthian perfume flask.
His fingertips stroked the flat interior of the cup, smooth as silk where it was covered with black glaze, slightly rough where the shape of dolphin and rider let the orange-red clay show through.
Flavia came back into the triclinium and carefully placed her own kylix on the table.
‘By all the gods!’ breathed Pliny. ‘It’s the work of Exekias.’
‘Who?’ said Flavia.
‘The most famous Greek vase painter of all.’ Pliny turned the cup reverently in his hands. ‘This is a masterpiece. Where did you get it?’
‘Publius Pollius Felix gave it to me,’ said Flavia, and Jonathan noticed she was blushing. ‘It’s my most precious possession.’
An hour later, when the day was hottest and the water calmest, the four friends and Phrixus made their way down to the beach. The dogs ran ahead, sniffing and watering as they went. Today was the day they hoped to recover the treasure.
Nubia glanced back at the villa. She could see several figures in the sea-view triclinium. Flavia’s father sat propped up on a couch so that he could benefit from the sea breeze and enjoy the view. Pliny and Miriam and Aristo were also with him. Aristo had promised to catch up with them in a minute.
Nubia turned back and scanned the water. She hoped the dolphins would be there so she could swim with them again. Perhaps today one of them would let her ride his back.
But no fins broke the glittering expanse of water.
Nubia sighed. She felt strangely calm. The others seemed different too, especially Lupus. Something about his eyes had changed. They seemed softer, more open. For the first time since she had met him he had the eyes of a boy, not of a wary adult.
The dogs had run ahead to investigate an old fisherman who was pulling a battered yellow fishing boat up onto the beach beside their sky-blue one.
‘Hello there!’ The fisherman waved to them. He was short and stocky, his thin white hair a startling contrast to his chestnut brown skin. There were dark stains of octopus ink on his sun-bleached tunic.
As they drew nearer, he grinned, revealing several missing teeth. ‘Want any fish for your kitchen today, Phrixus?’ he called in a gravelly voice.
‘What have you got, Robur?’ said Phrixus. ‘Anything special?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ The fisherman reached into the boat and held up a dripping basket. It was full of small silver fish, so fresh that some of them were still twitching. ‘Look at these anchovies. There’s a great shoal of them further out. Red mullet, too. And herring. I’ve never seen anything like it. Must be something to do with the volcano.’
‘Did you see any dolphins out there?’ asked Flavia.
Robur scowled and spat on the sand. ‘Didn’t see any,’ he said. He lowered the basket of fish back into his boat. ‘I hate the things. They eat all my fish. Especially my anchovies.’ He caught sight of something in the boat and his face brightened. ‘Have a look at this fine fellow.’ He took an object from the boat and walked towards them, holding it out before him.
At first, Nubia thought it was a brown ball with pinkish-brown ribbons hanging from it. Then she looked closer. And recoiled.
She could see the round suckers on the octopus’s tentacles and its human-looking eyes, frozen open in death.
Beside her, Lupus had been scratching Nipur’s head. Now, as he stood upright, he stared directly into the blue eyes of the dead octopus.
Lupus opened his tongueless mouth. And screamed.
As the inhuman scream died away, Jonathan turned and saw that Lupus was breathing in short, panting gasps.
‘What is it, Lupus?’ Jonathan knew what it was like to struggle for breath. He put his hand lightly on his friend’s back and felt him trembling. But Lupus did not answer. He continued to stare straight ahead, unable to take his eyes off the dead creature in the fisherman’s hand.
Instinctively Jonathan stepped between Lupus and the octopus.
As if a spell had been broken, Lupus turned and ran off up the beach. Scuto and the puppies bounded after him.
‘I’m sorry,’ the white-haired fisherman said to them. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten the poor lad.’
‘Better get it out of sight,’ said Phrixus quietly. ‘Come on, Robur, show me what else you’ve got.’ The two men stepped back to the yellow boat to inspect the rest of the catch.
When they were out of earshot, Jonathan turned to the girls.
‘Did you see that?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never seen Lupus frightened before!’
‘I know,’ said Flavia. ‘He was almost . . . paralysed with fear.’
Nubia added, ‘Like person when they see the head of Medusa.’
Flavia nodded. ‘Yesterday in the library,’ she said, ‘I was looking through the ninth scroll of Pliny’s Natural History. He says no sea creature is more savage than the octopus. It can grab a man with its suckers and then pull him apart.’ She
shuddered.
‘But that octopus wasn’t very big . . .’ said Jonathan.
‘And Lupus is seeing many terrible things,’ added Nubia.
‘You’re right,’ said Flavia slowly. ‘Why should the sight of a dead octopus upset Lupus so much?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Jonathan. ‘No idea at all.’
Lupus wiped his nose with the back of his hand and rubbed the tears from his cheeks. Then he stooped to pick up a large pebble. With an angry grunt, he hurled it into the water. The dogs thought it was a game and raced into the surf after it.
Lupus picked up another stone and threw it, and another. How could he avenge his father’s death if he cried like a baby at the mere sight of a dead fish?
He shuddered at the memory which rose up before his eyes: an octopus lying in a pool of blood, staring at him with dead eyes. Eyes as dead as . . . No!
Lupus picked up another stone and hurled it. His right shoulder ached now, but he didn’t mind the pain. Swimming with the dolphins had made him forget. He could not afford to forget. Not until he had revenge.
And to get revenge, he needed that treasure.
Followed by Scuto and the puppies, Lupus stalked back along the beach towards them. Nubia saw immediately that his eyes were hard again.
Lupus went straight to the sky-blue fishing boat and tried to push it into the water. Nubia and the others hurried to help him. The dogs scrambled in eagerly, before the ship’s prow had even touched the water.
‘Did I hear someone cry out?’ asked Aristo, coming across the hot sand to help them launch the boat.
‘Dead octopus. Gave Lupus a fright,’ grunted Phrixus, as he put his shoulder to the skiff.
Nubia saw Lupus give Phrixus such a fierce glare that the freedman stopped pushing. But now the sky-blue fishing boat was afloat, bobbing on the water, gradually moving out with each small receding wave.
Phrixus pulled himself into the boat first, then Aristo, and they held out their hands to the others. Nubia chose Aristo’s hand and let his strong arm lift her up and in. She smiled her thanks up at him, but his brown eyes were staring over her head, back towards the villa.
Lupus’s heart had stopped pounding by the time they reached the site of the wreck. And his breathing had returned to normal. That was good. Nothing must break his concentration. As Phrixus released the iron anchor, Lupus stripped down to his loin cloth and tied the hemp cord around his chest under his arms. When he needed to surface, he would give three sharp tugs and Aristo would pull him up.
Lupus stepped over the side of the boat onto the new plank which Phrixus and Jonathan had fixed to the boat’s hull. It seemed sturdy enough. He sat, legs dangling in the water. From here it was easy for him to bend over and scoop up handfuls of seawater. He wet the back of his neck, then his face, and took several short breaths.
Then he held out his hands. When Aristo had placed a flat, heavy rock in his open palms, Lupus filled his lungs one final time and slipped forward into the clear blue water.
The weight of the rock pulled him down and Lupus felt the sea close over his head and the weight of water above him, stuffing his ears and nose with pressure. A thousand silver bubbles peeled themselves away from him and rose up, as if he were a snake shedding his old skin. He opened his eyes to see a shoal of bright fish darting towards him, then veering away, as one.
It was nearly midday and the sun was almost directly overhead. At first, the water was bright and warm. But as he continued to sink the water grew cooler, darker, heavier. Presently, the water rushing past him was deep blue. And cold.
As he continued his downward plunge, Lupus tipped the flat rock so that it carried him closer to the wreck. He saw what he had not noticed the day before: the tattered remains of the ship’s sail flapping in the underwater current.
As Lupus released the heavy weight-stone, he stopped sinking. Fighting his body’s natural buoyancy, he kicked out and swam towards the wreck, a black shape against the blue water around it. The ship’s front – its prow – had impaled itself in the sandy bottom. It was a merchant ship, like the one Flavia’s father had owned, so there were no banks of oars, just the two steering paddles at the back. Above these, the figurehead tipped forward like a decapitated sentry about to topple onto the mast.
Another shoal of fish approached, gleaming like pewter in the murky light. They flickered away, each turning at precisely the same instant.
By the time he found the crack in her hull his lungs were ready to burst. He must get back up. Three sharp tugs on the cord around his chest.
As he rose up through the water, Lupus mentally marked the hull’s breach in relation to the fluttering shreds of sail.
Don’t breathe in yet, he told himself. Breathe out.
Breathe out bubbles.
Water warmer, lighter now.
There was his goal above him, the water’s bright undulating skin, with the darker shape of the boat floating far above him. Still a long way away.
Must breathe. But not yet.
The water’s increasing warmth and brightness told him just a little longer.
Must breathe, must breathe, must breathe.
Not yet, not yet, not yet.
NOW!
Lupus broke the surface of the water and sucked in air. As the roaring in his head grew quieter he heard his friends shout: ‘One hundred and twenty-three!’
‘Lupus,’ cried Flavia. ‘You stayed under twenty counts longer than yesterday!’
Lupus nodded, still gasping for breath. He felt dizzy. A few strokes took him within reach of them.
Hands lifted him into the boat, a towel enveloped him, dogs licked him and his friends patted him on the back. He waited until his teeth stopped chattering. Then he took his wax tablet and – his hand still trembling from the effort of the dive – he wrote:
FOUND GAP AGAIN
NEED TO MAKE MORE DIVES
Lupus knew what the others did not: you never made more than seven dives a day.
Six dives was enough to leave even the strongest man gasping like a fish on the bottom of the boat. Seven made your nose and ears begin to bleed, that was the warning sign. And after eight dives, maybe nine, the cramps gripped you, softly at first, then more fiercely, until the pain was excruciating and the only relief came with death.
On his first dive, he had found the hull’s breach.
On his second he squeezed through the gap and into the dark belly of the ship. He realised now why no man had got inside the wreck before. The gap was very narrow, like a crack in a giant cup.
On his third dive, he found a great pile of amphoras filling the upended front of the hull. He pushed them aside, the round ones more easily than the long ones. But he found no casks or treasure-chests.
Back up in the sunlight, Lupus noticed blood on the towel. Not from his ears or nose, but from his hands, where he had pushed the amphoras aside. The barnacles and shells which had attached themselves to the rough clay were razor sharp.
He needed a break: to breathe and to think. The others were asking him questions, but he shut out their voices and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. Was there really gold in the wreck? There were no chests. No strongboxes. Only amphoras. Suddenly Lupus remembered the trick that Captain Geminus’s patron had once used to hide some gold: he had poured the coins into amphoras, where nobody would think to look for them.
Lupus dived again, and on this – his fourth dive – he found some smaller amphoras. He knew the big ones usually contained grain or wine. If there was gold in some of the amphoras, it would be in smaller ones like these, because of the weight.
Lupus wasted his fifth dive trying to break one of the smaller amphoras. He needed to know what was inside. He didn’t want to end up with a jar full of fish sauce, nutmegs or olives. None of those things were of use to him. Only gold could buy Gamala’s swift cut to the base of the neck. He tried to smash one amphora with another, but the jars were well-made and the water made his movements too sluggish to
be effective.
On his sixth dive, he was just feeling the urge to breathe when he found a small amphora with a broken neck. He needed to start back up soon. But first he would see what was inside.
Cautiously he lowered his hand into the jar. A shiver of pleasure ran through him as his hand grasped small, heavy discs. Lupus pulled out a fistful of what he had been praying for. Even in the deep blue gloom of the hull the glint of gold was unmistakable.
Stupid! Why hadn’t he brought a pouch or bag? Every sponge-fisher knew to bring his sponge net. No time now. Desperate for air. Get it next dive.
He pushed through the breach and started up. He had never left it this late. But with his hands balled round the coins he couldn’t tug his lifeline and he couldn’t swim properly. He had to let the coins drop.
Lupus opened his hands and tugged his cord, then frantically began pulling the water to bring himself up. A shower of gold discs drifted past his kicking feet towards the sandy bottom.
But Lupus no longer cared. He had only one desire: to reach the surface and breathe.
Nubia wrapped the towel around Lupus and rubbed vigorously. His brown shoulders were shivering and his teeth chattering. Instinctively she felt something was wrong. He should be leaving himself more time to recover between dives. There was a strange, feverish look in his eyes. Now he was already pushing the towel away, looking for something in the bottom of the boat: his tablet pouch. He emptied out the wax tablets and tied it round his left wrist.
‘Did you find the gold?’ asked Flavia, her eyes gleaming.
Lupus nodded.
Suddenly Nubia uttered a cry of horror. A slow trickle of bright red blood was oozing from Lupus’s left ear. As he turned to look at her she saw his nose was bleeding, too.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 61