‘Oh!’ She groaned and let her head fall back on the pillow. ‘I can’t go. I’m too miserable.’
‘But Flavia. We have been waiting many weeks for this day. It is the big betrothal day of Miriam.’
‘No,’ said Flavia, ‘you go without me.’ Noble tears welled up in her eyes. She kept her face to the wall and waited for Nubia to persuade her, but there was only silence.
Flavia glanced over her shoulder.
The room was empty.
She sat up, injured. Was that all? Wasn’t Nubia going to try harder to convince her? Then Flavia heard her father’s feet stomping up the stairs. She quickly lay down again and hugged her new doll so that he wouldn’t see it.
‘Flavia.’
‘Yes, pater,’ she said in a meek voice.
‘Get up and get dressed. This is one of the most important days of your uncle’s life and you will not spoil it for him.’
‘Yes, pater,’ said Flavia. She slipped the Felix doll under her pillow and turned to him. ‘Will you ask Nubia to come up, please?’
‘I am here,’ said Nubia, putting her head into the doorway.
Captain Geminus scowled. ‘I want you girls downstairs as soon as you’re ready. We’re late as it is.’
‘Yes, pater.’
Nubia stepped into the doorway. She was already dressed in a long peach shift worn over a lemon-yellow tunic. Around her hips she had knotted a salmon-pink, red-fringed scarf. And over her shoulders she wore a faded orange palla that had once belonged to Flavia’s mother. Nubia wore her tigers-eye earrings and all her copper bangles. Her short hair had been braided in neat rows running back from her forehead.
‘Nubia! You look beautiful! Who did your hair?’
Nubia smiled shyly. ‘Alma. I am telling her how and she does it very well.’
‘And you’ve stained your lips!’
Nubia nodded. ‘With juice of blackcurrants, like we practised. Alma helps.’
‘It should have been me that helped you. And now I don’t have time to get ready myself.’ She picked up the polished silver mirror from her bedside table.
‘Oh!’ she wailed. ‘I look terrible! My face is all blotchy and my eyes are red!’
‘No,’ said Nubia loyally. ‘Red around eyes makes them look more blue.’
‘Are you girls getting ready?’ called a voice from downstairs.
‘Yes!’ Flavia lied, and pushed the covers back.
Nubia held up Flavia’s sky-blue tunic. ‘I will do your hair but you must put this on quickly.’
‘Oh, Nubia,’ said Flavia, as she tried to put some kohl round her puffy eyes, ‘this has got to be the worst day of my life.’
Flavia almost forgot her troubles when she stepped into Jonathan’s atrium.
She had never seen it so full of people. And she didn’t recognise any of them, not even the person who opened the door. The girl was about her age, perhaps a bit younger. She had mousy brown hair and sharp features.
‘Shalom,’ said the girl, and then uttered a stream of words Flavia didn’t understand.
Captain Geminus smiled down at the girl. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘We don’t speak Jewish.’ Then he said very slowly. ‘Do . . . you . . . speak . . . Latin?’
‘Of course,’ said the girl and rolled her eyes. Flavia noticed that one of her eyes was green and the other blue. ‘I’m Miriam’s cousin,’ said the girl. ‘My name is Chamat.’
‘Hello, Chamat,’ boomed Flavia’s father. ‘I’m Marcus. The groom is my brother. This is my daughter Flavia, her . . . friend Nubia and her tutor Aristo.’
‘Captain Geminus!’ Jonathan shouldered Chamat aside as he stepped forward. ‘Shalom.’ He bowed. ‘Please come in and enjoy the festivities.’
Flavia stared at Jonathan. He was wearing a green silk turban and a cinnamon-coloured kaftan. His eyes were lightly rimmed with kohl, which made them look very dark and mysterious.
Jonathan stepped back and extended his arm, solemnly inviting his guests to enter. As they filed past him into the atrium he winked at Flavia and Nubia.
Flavia looked around the atrium in wonder. Green garlands had been draped between the white columns around the impluvium. Small round tables were set out with honeyed sesame balls, stuffed dates and pastries. There were also dice-sized cubes of what looked like marbled flour.
‘Halva,’ said Jonathan, seeing the direction of Flavia’s gaze. ‘Try one.’
Flavia did. It was very dense and not too sweet.
‘It’s made of pressed pistachio and sesame flour,’ he explained. ‘My aunt makes the best halva in Italia. She organised the caterers.’
Another knock came at the door and Jonathan smiled apologetically. ‘Excuse me,’ he said with a little bow to Captain Geminus, then hurried to reach the door before Chamat, who was already undoing the bolt.
Flavia followed her father and Aristo through groups of chatting people. Most of them were dark-haired, with olive skin and black eyes. Although one or two of the men wore turbans and kaftans, most were dressed in Roman tunics and capes. They were speaking Latin, Greek and the language Flavia knew was Hebrew. The women wore stolas or shifts in jewelled colours and some had filmy headscarves.
On the upstairs balcony hired musicians were playing double flute and castanets.
As they passed through a corridor into the columned peristyle that ringed the inner garden, Flavia’s eyes opened wide. Two awnings of red canvas had been stretched across either end of the open courtyard, offering additional protection against the fine drizzle that had been falling since noon. These awnings cast a ruby light onto the garden below and made the glossy green shrubs look very dark. Although it was still daytime, oil-lamps hung all round the peristyle, burning like stars. As usual, the house smelled of exotic spices: cinnamon, cardamom, mint and sandalwood.
Aristo stopped abruptly and Flavia bumped into his back.
‘Dear Apollo!’ she heard him whisper. Flavia peered round him. A crowd of women had parted to reveal Miriam, dressed in her betrothal gown.
Flavia’s jaw dropped.
Miriam wore a robe of violet silk embroidered with scarlet and gold thread. Over her head was an embroidered purple scarf hung with dozens of thin gold coins. Miriam’s beautiful violet eyes – smoky and kohl-rimmed – smouldered beneath her straight black eyebrows. A tiny sapphire nose-stud above her left nostril emphasised the flawless texture of her creamy skin.
‘Dear Apollo! She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ breathed Aristo.
Miriam smiled when she saw them and stepped forward to greet them.
‘Captain Geminus: welcome. And Flavia and Nubia. And Aristo.’ She lifted her gaze to meet Aristo’s and Flavia saw something flicker in Miriam’s eyes. Sympathy? Regret?
Miriam was wearing silver bracelets that tinkled as she extended her hand to each of them in turn. As she squeezed Flavia’s hand, Flavia saw that her fingers were covered with silver rings.
Flavia suddenly felt shy in the presence of such dazzling beauty. Miriam seemed like a stranger, and far older than her fourteen years.
At that moment Miriam’s father approached them.
Doctor Mordecai ben Ezra wore his blue silk kaftan and best white turban. He had a sharp nose and a short grizzled beard. His heavy-lidded eyes always reminded Flavia of a turtle’s.
‘Marcus!’ he said in his slightly accented voice. ‘Welcome! You, too, Aristo. Shalom, Flavia and Nubia. It is good to see you all.’ Mordecai gestured towards the study. ‘Come and have some refreshments.’ He guided them into the tablinum where they found more groups of chatting guests and more exotic delicacies on trays. There were sesame rings filled with fig paste, candied almonds, and star-shaped aniseed cakes.
Flavia was sucking a honeyed almond and gazing at Miriam when a boy appeared at her elbow with drinks on a tray.
‘Thank you,’ she said, absently taking a cup of hot pomegranate juice.
‘Thank you, Lupus,’ said Nubia beside her, and Flavia turned to sta
re at the cupbearer.
Lupus was dressed like Jonathan, but his turban was dark blue silk and his kaftan pale green. Like Jonathan, he’d lined his eyes with kohl. He gave a mock solemn bow and grinned at them.
‘Lupus!’ breathed Flavia. ‘You look so . . . exotic.’
The mute boy nodded, wiggled his shoulders, and swayed off exotically into the crowd, still carrying the tray of drinks.
Flavia heard a burst of laughter and her father’s voice above the crowd. He sounded cheerful. She turned to see that he’d been joined by his patron Cordius and the woman called Cartilia Poplicola.
Flavia glared at Cartilia. ‘Who invited her?’ she muttered.
At that moment the voices and laughter died away. All eyes turned to the corridor.
Miriam’s betrothed had arrived.
Fresh from the baths, Flavia’s uncle Gaius wore a pure white toga over his best blue tunic. Tall and tanned, with light brown hair and clear grey eyes, he looked exactly as a Roman should. Even though his nose was broken he was very handsome. Flavia felt a surge of pride, then a pang as her father turned to greet him and the two brothers stood face to face. Although they were identical twins, her father Marcus looked ten years older than his brother. She knew this was partly due to the happiness which lit Gaius’s face, but Flavia suddenly saw how much her father had aged in the past few months. He looked like an old man of forty.
Suddenly Flavia’s uncle Gaius caught sight of Miriam.
When he saw her his smile faded and his eyes opened wide. The chatter had subsided and the crowd was so quiet that Flavia could hear Miriam jingle as she moved towards Gaius. Miriam stopped shyly before her future husband. They stood for a moment, in the diffused red glow of the awning, gazing into one another’s eyes.
‘Miriam,’ began Flavia’s uncle, but his voice faltered and he began again. ‘Miriam daughter of Mordecai, in the presence of all these witnesses, will you be my betrothed?’
Flavia couldn’t see Miriam’s expression because the embroidered headscarf covered her face. But her low, clear voice said it all.
‘Yes, Gaius. In front of all these witnesses I will be your betrothed.’
He smiled and took Miriam’s extended hand. Solemnly, he slipped a ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Then, still holding her hand in his, Gaius turned so that everyone could see.
Flavia put her mouth close to Nubia’s ear, ‘Once you hold hands in public, it means you are betrothed.’
‘Kiss her!’ cried a woman.
And then a man’s voice behind them, ‘Yes, give her a kiss!’
Miriam lifted her face and as Gaius bent to kiss her, the crowd erupted in rowdy cheers.
Flavia heard a woman behind her tut: ‘These young people are shameless! In my day a man would not even kiss his wife in public!’
‘I know,’ said the other one. ‘It’s scandalous!’ She added with distaste: ‘And it’s obvious they’re in love.’
Flavia glanced behind her to see two dark-haired women. One was short and stout, the other taller, with eyes as green and hard as unripe olives.
They didn’t notice her glance and Flavia heard the green-eyed one remark grimly, ‘It is never a good idea to marry for love.’
‘Hmmph!’ snorted the other woman. ‘It looks as if the pagan’s brother is about to make the same mistake.’
Flavia’s head jerked round and she stared at her father.
Everyone was crowding round Gaius and Miriam to congratulate them, but her father and Cartilia were oblivious. They stood very close together, smiling and looking into one another’s eyes.
And, to her horror, Flavia saw that they were holding hands.
Nubia saw that Flavia’s face was as white as chalk.
‘I feel sick,’ said Flavia. ‘Pater’s holding hands with that witch.’
Nubia nodded sympathetically.
‘No,’ said Flavia in a strange voice. ‘I’m really going to be sick . . .’
Nubia took Flavia’s arm and gently pulled her towards the latrine. But the door was shut.
‘Nubia!’ Flavia covered her mouth with her hand.
Thinking quickly, Nubia pulled Flavia through Jonathan’s back door. Someone had wedged it partially open. They were just in time.
Flavia bent over and vomited onto the wet grasses. Nubia gently held her friend’s head and whispered soothing words in her own language. When Flavia had finished, she began to shiver, so Nubia put her arms around her.
‘Pater was holding her hand,’ Flavia said to Nubia in a small voice. ‘That means he’s going to ask her to marry him . . . if he hasn’t already.’
Nubia nodded. ‘Be happy for him,’ she said.
‘How can I be happy,’ whispered Flavia. ‘I don’t even know who she is.’
‘Come,’ said Nubia. ‘I am taking you home.’
It was only as she turned to guide Flavia back into the house that Nubia saw Aristo further along the wall. He was leaning against the rough, damp bricks of the town wall.
Aristo’s eyes were closed and his face lifted to the sky. Like Flavia, he had wet cheeks, but Nubia could not tell whether from rain or from tears.
The sounds of revelry and music from next door kept Flavia awake well into the night. Presently her tears dried and she began to think. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the slanting timbers of her roof, dim in the light of a single oil-lamp.
Someone had been criticising her father for giving her too much freedom. And as far as she knew there was only one new person in his life: Cartilia.
It must be Cartilia’s fault that she was now to be kept like a prisoner in her own home. It was Cartilia who had put an end to her detective work. Cartilia who wanted her to be a dutiful Roman daughter.
Suddenly Flavia had a thought which made her gasp. Her father wanted her to marry a senator’s son from Rome. How did he know a senator? He hardly ever went up to Rome. But Cartilia had been living in Rome. The marriage was probably her idea to get Flavia out of the way.
‘That witch wants pater all to herself,’ Flavia murmured.
At the foot of her bed Scuto raised his head and looked at her.
‘But why?’ whispered Flavia.
Scuto thumped his tail.
‘I’ve got to find out.’ Flavia rolled over on her side and looked at her Felix doll. ‘If I can prove to pater that she’s evil, then maybe he’ll let me keep solving mysteries. And maybe he won’t make me marry someone else. Then things can stay just the way they are.’
The doll’s dark eyes seemed to gaze back at her.
‘This is a mystery,’ she told the doll, ‘and I’ve got to solve it. If pater won’t allow me to go out without his permission, then I’ll just have to get it.’
‘Is it safe to come in?’ whispered Jonathan, pushing his head through the wall.
Flavia nodded. ‘Pater and Uncle Gaius and Caudex have gone to Laurentum to finish getting the Lodge ready.’
Jonathan crawled through the breech in the wall, greeted Scuto and Nipur and helped Lupus come through. ‘We’ve been helping father clean up after the party,’ he explained as he flopped onto Flavia’s bed. ‘And he said we could take a break.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish we had slaves like everybody else.’
Lupus nodded his agreement and sat beside Nubia on her bed. She was wearing five tunics and had a blanket wrapped round her shoulders. It was noon: damp, grey and cold.
‘Isn’t Miriam helping you?’ asked Flavia. ‘After all, it was her party.’
‘No,’ said Jonathan mildly, ‘Miriam’s gone to stay with my two aunts. They’re going to help her get ready for the wedding.’
‘Is one of them a woman with eyes like olives?’ asked Flavia, pulling her blue palla tighter around her shoulders.
Jonathan nodded. ‘That’s Keturah. Father’s eldest sister. He’s a bit frightened of her.’
‘I don’t blame him,’ muttered Flavia. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘Nubia and I will help you clean up.
Pater said we could go to your house today. That’s the only place we’re allowed to go. Plus the baths.’ She rested her chin in her hands and stared glumly at the wall. ‘At least he’s not spending the day with Cartilia.’ She sneered as she pronounced the name.
‘Who is Cartilia, anyway?’ asked Jonathan.
‘She’s the one who’s convinced pater I’m running wild. It’s her fault I’m trapped in this house like a bird in a cage.’
‘How do you know it’s her fault?’ asked Jonathan.
‘It’s obvious. Pater tells me someone’s been criticising him for the way he’s raising me and a few hours later he introduces me to that woman. I’m sure it’s her idea to marry me off, as well.’
‘Who are you supposed to marry?’ Jonathan scratched Scuto behind the ear.
Flavia snorted. ‘Some boy my age who lives in Rome. Apparently we’ll get on because we both like reading.’ Flavia hugged her knees and grumbled: ‘She probably doesn’t even love him. She’s probably after the money we don’t have.’
‘Who?’
‘Cartilia, of course. If only I could do some investigating. I’m sure I could expose Cartilia for what she really is.’
Lupus uttered a bark of laughter.
Flavia looked at him. ‘What?’
He scribbled on his wax tablet and held it up:
SATURNALIA!!
‘Everybody is talking Saturnalia,’ said Nubia. ‘But I am still not knowing who she is.’
Jonathan grinned. ‘The Saturnalia,’ he said, ‘is the Roman festival where everybody worships the god Saturn and asks him to make the days longer again.’
Flavia nodded. ‘People give each other gifts and gambling is allowed and we don’t have lessons—’
‘I like lessons,’ said Nubia.
‘—and,’ continued Flavia, ‘slaves trade places with their masters and everything is upside down and back to front.’
Lupus had been writing throughout this exchange:
DON’T YOU CHOOSE KING OF
THE SATURNALIA TONIGHT?
‘Lupus,’ cried Flavia. ‘You’re brilliant!’
‘What?’ asked Nubia.
Flavia turned to her. ‘On the night before the Saturnalia each household chooses a king of the Saturnalia. It can be anybody from the lowest slave to the master. Then, for the five days of the Saturnalia everyone has to do what the king says!’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 70