‘Are you angry that we read the scroll?’ asked Nubia.
Lupus shook his head.
‘Were you behind the tree the whole time Jonathan was reading?’ whispered Flavia.
Lupus nodded. Flavia noticed one of his eyes was very bloodshot and swollen.
Jonathan pointed to the wax tablet in his hand.
‘Talk to us,’ he said.
Lupus stared down at the tablet. After a while he opened it and wrote:
HE TOLD ME HE KILLED MY MOTHER TOO
‘Oh Lupus,’ said Flavia, and knew instantly that she had made the mistake of letting him see the pity in her eyes.
He turned and fled out of the garden towards the beach.
Lupus stood on the beach and watched the blood-red sun sink into the sea.
Could his mother still be alive? Somewhere out there on a Greek island far away? He felt sick with hope.
Suddenly he saw something which almost made his knees collapse beneath him.
To the right of the setting sun was a huge black hole.
Part of the sky was missing. And part of the sea. It was as if the vista before him was a red and blue tent and someone had burned a hole in the cloth, revealing the darkness beyond.
Lupus closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
The black hole in the fabric of the cosmos was still there; shifting and moving slightly, as if a wind from the void beyond was blowing through it.
In that instant, as he looked, Lupus remembered what he had seen when he had breathed under water.
The dolphin’s smiling face had faded. The world around him had grown cold. Finally he had been surrounded by a terrible darkness.
Now his body was trembling uncontrollably and his teeth chattered. He could not take his eyes from the horror of the hole in the universe. Was it coming for him now? Maybe death could not be cheated. Maybe the hole would grow bigger and bigger until it swallowed him in its blackness.
As he stared, unable to turn his eyes away, the hole seemed to shift and grow lighter. Then he saw it for what it really was.
It was a huge flock of starlings, hundreds and hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, wheeling and turning in flight above the water.
Birds. Not death. The hole was only birds. His knees gave way and he sat heavily on the still-warm sand.
Lupus knew that this moment had changed his life forever.
Now he knew what Hades was like. And he knew he should be there now. For the first time Lupus wondered how he had been brought back from death.
And why.
‘I think I’ve solved the mystery,’ said Flavia to the others. ‘The mystery of why Rufus and Dexter are trying to take our house.’
‘Go on,’ said Jonathan.
It was almost dark. A thousand starlings had flown in from the sea in a long dark ribbon, and were now roosting. The great mulberry tree above them quivered with birds.
‘This is what I think happened,’ said Flavia. ‘After we captured Venalicius in Surrentum, Felix must have sent him to Ostia to stand trial.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Jonathan.
‘And we know that your father and Venalicius were in a cell together for over a week, and that they talked about very . . . personal things. I think that’s when Venalicius realised how much the four of us had to do with his arrest.’
‘My father wouldn’t betray us!’ cried Jonathan.
‘Not on purpose. But remember what Uncle Gaius said? If your father believed that Venalicius wanted to become good, he might tell Venalicius about himself and about us.’
‘I don’t believe Venalicius wants to be good,’ said Nubia fiercely.
‘Me neither,’ said Flavia. ‘People don’t just change like that.’
‘Sometimes they do,’ said Jonathan. ‘I’ve seen it.’
Flavia shook her head. ‘It’s far more likely that Venalicius took advantage of your father by pretending to be good. That way he could find out more about us in order to get revenge. After your father was set free, I’ll bet Venalicius bribed Rufus to help him seize my father’s possessions.’
‘Why?’ said Jonathan. ‘Why would Venalicius do that?’
‘To get revenge on us,’ said Flavia. ‘And to get money. They could sell our house.’
‘Or,’ said Nubia, and clutched Flavia’s hand, ‘Venalicius could be living in your house himself!’
It was dark now but Lupus remained on the shore, sitting cross-legged in the sand. Stars began to prick the deep violet dusk in the west. Behind him lay a deeper darkness. Before him was the sea.
He wanted to weep, but he couldn’t. Deep within, a small, cold voice was speaking to him. Revenge, it said. That is what you were brought back for.
Jonathan had always told Lupus that God spoke to him in a small voice, like a clear thought.
This was a very clear thought.
It spoke again: Revenge.
Lupus shivered.
Somewhere, out in the cove, he heard a deep sigh and a soft splash. Then a whistle. He knew it was his dolphin. Delphinus was calling to him.
Come and swim with me, the dolphin seemed to whistle. Forget the voice that said Revenge.
Come and play.
But the dolphin’s call came from outside himself, and Jonathan always said God was within.
Lupus could not move. Presently he heard the dolphin’s chattering laugh and a resounding splash. Delphinus had done one of his flips.
Lupus longed to swim with his dolphin and be free. But he also wanted to do what was right and avenge his father. He wanted to rid the world of a monster. If he didn’t, who would?
Delphinus whistled again, plaintively. The whistle was fainter. He was swimming away.
Lupus got to his feet. Don’t go, he wanted to cry out. Wait! But he couldn’t call, because he had no tongue. He would never speak again. The reminder of what his enemy had done to him gave the voice inside him greater strength. Now it seemed to fill his head.
Revenge, the voice seemed to shout. Revenge.
And the other voice – the dolphin’s – had gone.
The Ides of October dawned warm and soft, with a milky haze floating like a blanket on the water. It would be another hot still day. In the garden courtyard a slave was standing over a pile of burning leaves. Despite the pleasantly acrid scent, autumn had not yet arrived at Laurentum.
Jonathan turned from his bedroom door and looked down at Lupus, still fast asleep in his bed. He had not heard his friend come in the night before and had been hugely relieved to find him there in the light of dawn.
Tigris was curled up at the foot of the boy’s bed. Lupus was curled up too, with his knees right under his chin, and even in sleep he seemed to frown.
Jonathan tried to imagine what it must have been like for Lupus to have witnessed the murder of his father at the age of six. Would he ever be free of that anger and pain?
Jonathan closed his eyes. ‘Please, Lord,’ he whispered. ‘Please help him get better.’
Lupus’s eyes opened, and Jonathan gasped.
‘Lupus! Your eye! It’s all red and swollen!’ He was going to add, ‘like Venalicius’ in the story!’ but he swallowed the words.
Lupus sat up in bed. He blinked and rubbed his swollen eye, then shrugged. He slipped on his sea-green tunic, laced up his sandals and pulled a comb through his tousled hair. Then he tied the strip of linen around his head, covering his ears. Without looking at Jonathan, he stood and walked out of the room.
‘Lupus, wait!’ Jonathan followed him. Tigris stretched and trotted after them.
‘Lupus!’ said Jonathan. ‘We need to talk. I don’t mean talk . . . I mean . . . you know what I mean. You have to forgive him, Lupus. Otherwise you’re only hurting yourself. I know it doesn’t make sense but I know what I’m talking about. Lupus! Wait up! Where are you going? What do you want in the kitchen? What are you –? Why are you grinding up that disgusting dried fish? Don’t tell me you’re still after the treasure? Lupus, you ne
arly got killed by a giant octopus and drowned yesterday. Please tell me you’re not going to dive again today!’
‘Good morning, pater,’ said Flavia, coming into the dim bedroom with a cup of hot milk mixed with spiced wine. Scuto padded after her.
She put the steaming cup on her father’s bedside table. ‘I’ve brought you a breakfast poculum.’
‘Flavia.’ Captain Geminus stretched and pushed himself up on his cushions. ‘Good morning, sweetheart.’
‘How do you feel?’
‘Better, thank you, my little owl.’ He took the cup and sipped. ‘Mmmm,’ he said. ‘Yes, I feel much better today.’
‘You need a shave,’ observed Flavia. She wandered over to the east-facing window and pushed the lattice work shutter. Bright morning light flooded the room. The sun had been up for two hours.
‘It’s going to be another hot day,’ she murmured sleepily. She had been awake long into the night, thinking about Lupus.
She turned and padded across the room, opened the larger west-facing window, and stretched.
Abruptly she stopped, her arms pointing stiffly towards the ceiling.
She had heard something. The wet clop of oars from across the water.
Carefully, she gripped the window ledge and leaned out, scanning the low fog which blanketed the water.
Suddenly a figure rose up from the mist, looked around, then sank down again.
‘Someone’s out there.’ Flavia frowned.
‘What?’ said her father.
Flavia leaned out a little further and gasped.
To her extreme right a ship was moving slowly towards Ostia. Within moments, it would be out of sight. But now its sail was still visible above the blanket of fog. The sail was striped yellow and black, like the colouring of a wasp.
It was the slave-ship Vespa.
‘Help!’ cried Flavia, running down the corridor. ‘Venalicius and his men are after the treasure!’
She collided with Nubia, rushing out of the sea-view dining-room.
‘Venalicius!’ gasped Nubia, pointing back the way she had come. ‘Behold his ship is there.’
‘I know!’ said Flavia. ‘And I just saw a man in a rowing boat right where the treasure is. The ship must have brought him.’
‘What is it?’ said Miriam, pushing aside her bedroom curtain.
‘Venalicius!’ cried Flavia. ‘I think he’s after the treasure!’
‘But how?’ cried Pliny, coming up behind Nubia. He held a small bunch of grapes. ‘How could he possibly have known it was there?’
‘What’s all the noise about?’ asked Aristo, coming out of his bedroom across the courtyard.
‘We think Venalicius is after the treasure!’ cried Flavia.
Aristo stepped through the columns. ‘Where’s Lupus?’
‘I tried to stop him,’ gasped Jonathan, running into the courtyard. ‘But he wouldn’t listen. He saw Venalicius’ ship too, He’s down on the beach. And he has his knife with him.’
Lupus ran onto the beach just in time to confirm that it was the sail of the slave-ship Vespa disappearing behind the promontory. His sharp eyes scanned the low-lying fog and he saw what Flavia had seen, a dim figure looking about, then disappearing into the blanket of mist.
A grim smile spread across his face.
This time he was ready. He had his knife, as well as his sling and a pouch with some stones in it.
If he got to Venalicius soon he wouldn’t have to bother diving for the gold. He wouldn’t need to pay an assassin; he could do the job himself.
There was a small rowing boat in the boathouse. He would have to take that unless – yes! The old fisherman’s boat was there on the shore, and Robur was sitting beside it, his head bent over something.
‘Morning, young lad!’ Robur looked up from mending his net. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’
Lupus pointed out to sea and then pointed at Robur’s boat and himself and back out to sea.
‘You want me to take you out?’
Lupus nodded vigorously.
‘But I’ve only just brought her in. Nothing much out there today. The fish aren’t biting in this fog.’
Lupus flipped open his wax tablet and wrote
I’LL PAY YOU
He held up the tablet.
‘Sorry,’ said Robur. ‘Can’t read.’
Lupus rubbed his thumb against his fingertips to signify money.
‘Want to hire me, do you?’ Robur put the net aside. ‘You don’t look rich, but I suppose if you’re one of Pliny’s house-guests you can afford it. Twenty sestercii.’
Lupus didn’t have time to bargain but he knew if he agreed straight off, the fisherman might think he didn’t really have the money. So he shook his head and held up both hands.
‘Ten sestercii? Don’t make me laugh.’ Robur stood up. ‘Eighteen. I’ll take you out for eighteen.’
Lupus knew he should have gone for twelve sestercii, but the others would be here any minute. He had to get to Venalicius before they stopped him. So he nodded and held out his hand.
Robur squinted suspiciously at him for a moment, then shrugged and grasped Lupus’s hand in his leathery paw.
They shook on it.
‘He didn’t take the little rowing boat . . . it’s still in the boathouse,’ Jonathan was wheezing as he reached the others by the water’s edge. The mist made his asthma worse.
‘And the big boat is right here,’ said Pliny. He squinted out to sea. ‘Too misty. I still can’t see anything . . .’
‘Here!’ cried Flavia. She had been walking up and down the shore with her head down. ‘The sand’s been scraped here as if someone just pushed a boat out.’
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia, who had been following her. ‘Small bare footprints. Not yet rubbed out by the foamy waves!’ The dogs bounded up to investigate.
‘And big ones, too,’ said Flavia. ‘That fisherman we saw a few days ago, the one who frightened Lupus with his octopus . . . What was his name?’
‘Robur,’ gasped Jonathan, still breathless.
‘I’ll bet he’s taken Lupus out in his boat!’
‘Quickly, then,’ cried Pliny. ‘Let’s get this one in the water. Aristo, will you help me row?’
‘Of course.’ Aristo already had his shoulder to the boat.
As the sun shone down on the sea, it began to burn away the mist. Lupus, leaning over the prow, was only vaguely aware of its warmth on his back.
Behind him, Robur stood at the stern, using the big paddle to move them forward. Lupus could hear the clop and drip as the fisherman twisted it in the water, but his whole being was intent on searching the wisps of shredded fog ahead. Presently the mist thinned and he dimly saw a boat with two figures sitting in it.
Lupus turned and indicated the boat to Robur, who nodded, his black eyes gleaming.
‘Looks like Phrixus has decided to catch his own fish,’ chuckled the old fisherman. ‘Who’s that with him?’
Lupus turned back and peered at the figures in the boat. Robur was right: one of them was Phrixus, holding a line of some sort. He had lifted his head now, had seen them, and the rising sun showed the look of surprise on his face. He turned to the person in the boat beside him: a man wearing black robes and a dark turban.
Lupus stared.
The man in the boat with Phrixus was Jonathan’s father Mordecai.
As he continued to stare, a figure broke the surface of the water nearby. It lifted its head to speak to Mordecai and Phrixus, then saw the direction of their gaze and turned to look at the approaching fishing boat.
The man’s head was wrapped in strips of white linen, but his horrible blind eye was unmistakable.
Lupus’s jaw dropped.
Mordecai and Phrixus were helping Venalicius dive for the treasure!
‘I heard something!’ said Flavia.
‘Me too,’ said Pliny, and stopped rowing for a moment. ‘Shhh, everyone!’
‘Good thing we left the dogs on the beach
with Miriam,’ murmured Jonathan.
‘Hear that?’ said Aristo. ‘We’re on the right track.’
‘The plop of oar in water,’ whispered Nubia, and the others nodded.
Lupus watched Venalicius disappear beneath the surface. He was diving again. He was trying to get their treasure!
Grimly, Lupus turned to Robur and pointed to the anchor. It was a large iron one, shaped like the Greek letters psi and tau stuck together. He mimed hanging onto it.
It could only be dropped once, like yesterday. He would have to make this dive count.
‘You want me to drop anchor with you on it?’ said Robur in astonishment. Lupus nodded.
‘All right, but I hope you know what you’re doing . . .’
Lupus was already stripping off his tunic, strapping a belt around his waist. His knife hung from it, and a leather pouch. This time he would be prepared. He didn’t need a lifeline.
‘Lupus, wait!’ Mordecai shouted across the water. ‘He’s helping us! Venalicius wants to help!’
‘It’s true!’ yelled Phrixus.
Lupus started his breathing exercises, splashed water on his face and neck, ignored Mordecai’s ridiculous cries as he climbed out onto the anchor. He gave Robur a nod, then took a final deep breath as the anchor fell away.
He plummeted down, and gooseflesh sprang up all over his skin. The water was colder in the middle of the morning, and darker. As the pressure mounted he was aware of his left eye throbbing.
Down he went, gripping the cold iron anchor, and finally he saw the wreck, a black shape speeding up to meet him. At the right moment he pushed away from the anchor and let it continue on down.
He kicked out towards the wreck and as he came closer he saw his uncle Philippos, also known as Venalicius the slave-dealer.
‘Father!’ cried Jonathan. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Lupus?’
The three boats had converged above the wreck; Jonathan and his friends in the sky-blue fishing boat, Robur in his battered yellow craft, and Mordecai and Phrixus in a red rowing boat Jonathan had never seen before.
‘Venalicius is trying to recover the treasure for Lupus!’ called Mordecai.
‘WHAT?’ yelled Jonathan and Flavia together.
‘It’s true. I’ve been trying to tell Lupus.’ The boat rocked slightly as Mordecai stood up in it. ‘Venalicius came to the house yesterday and asked me to baptise him.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 65