Lupus was nodding vigorously.
‘If I were chosen,’ said Flavia. ‘I could do as I liked! Within reason . . .’ Then her face fell. ‘But I might not be chosen.’
‘A girl can be king?’ asked Nubia, her amber eyes wide.
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘Anybody can be chosen. Then they’re king for the remaining five days of the festival.’
‘Sounds crazy to me,’ said Jonathan.
Flavia nodded. ‘Once, when Nero was Emperor, he fixed it so that he was elected king of the Saturnalia. Then he made everyone do the things they hated most, like singing in public or eating their worst food . . .’
‘He was already Emperor and he had to be king of the Saturnalia, too?’ Jonathan raised his eyebrows. ‘What a big bully.’
‘How are they choosing the king of the Saturnalia?’ asked Nubia.
‘By a throw of the dice,’ said Flavia.
‘So how did Nero get himself chosen?’ asked Jonathan.
‘Oh, he cheated,’ said Flavia. ‘He found a loaded dice, and . . .’ Her eyes opened wide. ‘If only we had a loaded dice,’ she breathed.
‘What is low dead dies?’ asked Nubia, with a look of concern.
NOT LOADED, SHAVED
wrote Lupus. Then, with a mischievous grin, he reached into the pouch at his belt and held up a small ivory cube with black dots painted on each face.
Flavia’s eyes grew wide as he blew on it and tossed it onto the bedroom floor. Then she squealed and gave Lupus a hug.
The dice had come up six.
‘Sex!’ cried Flavia Gemina.
‘Tres!’ said her father with a smile, relieved to see his daughter in good spirits again.
‘Quattuor,’ mumbled Caudex, standing in the wide doorway of the dining room.
‘Quinque,’ said Alma and nodded at the others. ‘It’s my lucky number.’
‘Duo,’ said Nubia, and looked expectantly at Aristo.
‘Your turn, Aristo,’ said Flavia.
‘What?’ He frowned absently and looked at them.
‘We’re throwing dice to choose the king of the Saturnalia,’ said Flavia patiently. ‘Choose a number.’
Aristo adjusted his ivy garland. ‘Sex.’
‘I’ve already chosen that number. The only number left is unus.’
‘Then I must be unus.’ He sighed.
‘Now where did I put those dice?’ muttered Captain Geminus. ‘They were here a moment ago . . .’
Lupus tried to look innocent.
‘Great Neptune’s beard! I put them right on this table. Have you seen them, Caudex?’
‘No, master.’ Caudex looked confused.
Lupus fished in his belt pouch, held up his dice, and raised his eyebrows at Flavia’s father.
‘Thank goodness someone has their wits about them,’ said Captain Geminus. ‘Lupus, would you do us the honour of throwing the dice?’
Lupus nodded, blew on the dice and threw it onto the marble-topped table. It came up six.
‘Euge!’ squealed Flavia. ‘I’m the king of the Saturnalia!’
‘Congratulations, Flavia!’ cried Jonathan, and Lupus clapped loudly.
Flavia’s father gave her a long look, then sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know how you did it, Flavia. But you managed to buy yourself five more days of freedom. I suggest you act wisely. I am still your father and the head of this household.’
‘Don’t worry, pater,’ said Flavia, lifting her chin. ‘I won’t be a tyrant. I promise I’ll use my powers for good.’
Lupus was glad to be wearing his new fur-lined boots. The first day of the Saturnalia had dawned clear and bright, but very cold.
Although Jonathan’s family didn’t observe the other traditions of the Saturnalia, Mordecai had given each of Jonathan’s three friends a seasonal gift of soft leather boots lined with fox fur.
The four friends stood on Flavia’s front porch. They wore their warmest clothes. Nubia had on all the tunics she owned, plus a pair of Captain Geminus’s woollen leggings which had shrunk at the fullers. She also had one of the captain’s old woollen cloaks wrapped round her.
‘Before we start investigating Cartilia,’ said Flavia, ‘we’re going to watch the ceremony at the Temple of Saturn. Pater gave me permission to go.’
Flavia stepped off the porch and started along the cold pavement towards the fountain. Lupus and the others fell into step beside her. Up and down the street, other people were emerging from their houses, their breath coming in white puffs as they called out the traditional greeting: ‘Yo, Saturnalia!’
‘Pater told me that Cartilia is a widow,’ said Flavia. ‘She grew up here in Ostia but then she married a lawyer and they moved to Rome. Pater said her husband died a few years ago and they never had any children, so she moved back here.’
Three men wearing colourful cloaks and soft conical hats were staggering towards them, going against the flow. ‘Yo, Saturnalia!’ they cried happily and Lupus could smell the wine on their breath.
‘Yo, Saturnalia!’ replied Flavia and Nubia.
‘They’ve started celebrating early!’ muttered Jonathan.
‘Pater told me Cartilia is staying with her parents here in Ostia,’ continued Flavia. ‘But when I asked him where they lived he gave me one of his looks. I think he was beginning to get suspicious. That’s the first thing we need to find out: where Cartilia’s parents’ house is.’
‘Did you ask Alma?’ said Jonathan.
‘She doesn’t know anything.’ Flavia frowned. ‘Or she’s not telling. Even though I made her breakfast today.’
‘I helped,’ said Nubia. ‘We made the poculum.’
‘Pater’s gone to Laurentum again, but before he left I suggested he invite Cartilia to dinner this afternoon. He seemed pleased about that, and when I asked if we could go and watch the sacrifice this morning he said yes. He said we didn’t even have to take a bodyguard. Since Venalicius died there hasn’t been a single kidnapping!’
As they turned into Bakers Street, two pretty young women danced out of a tavern.
‘Yo, Saturnalia!’ they giggled. One of them darted forward to kiss Jonathan on the cheek.
‘Yo!’ He jumped back surprised, and then blushed as she smiled at him.
The other woman patted Lupus’s head. ‘Sweet little boy!’
Lupus snarled at her and the two of them ran giggling towards Ostia’s main street.
‘I’ve decided I like the Saturnalia,’ remarked Jonathan. Lupus scowled.
‘Great Neptune’s beard!’ exclaimed Flavia.
They had come out onto the Decumanus Maximus. It was full of people, all making their way towards the temple. The people of Ostia – both slaves and free – were dressed in their best winter clothes: long tunics, soft leather shoes, and thick woollen cloaks. Many of them wore the conical felt hats which slaves wore after they had been set free. The hats were red, blue, green and yellow.
‘Yo, Saturnalia!’ came the cry on all sides.
As the friends approached the theatre, Lupus heard the sound of drums, flutes and bells. Soon they caught up with a troupe of musicians playing a discordant tune with a strong beat. There were four men and a woman, all dressed in green tunics with matching leather boots. The woman wore an anklet of bells which jingled rhythmically as she danced. Lupus stopped to watch her for a moment before the crowd swept the four friends along with it.
Presently they found themselves in a sacred precinct just past the theatre. Before them were four small temples.
Lupus snarled again as a man stepped on his new boot. Lupus hated crowds. Looking around, he caught sight of a covered fountain built against a wall. In a moment he had clambered up onto its vaulted roof.
That was better. Now he had a perfect view of the little Temple of Saturn with its black marble columns and the cult statue.
‘Hey, Lupus!’ cried Jonathan. ‘Give me a hand up.’
A moment later the four friends all sat on the fountain’s roof, looking over the heads
of the crowd as the priest of Saturn appeared beside the cult statue.
The priest was intoning something. Lupus caught a phrase above the excited babble of the crowd: ‘. . . today when the old order is restored so that the sun may return and the days grow longer . . .’ Most people ignored the priest to catch up on gossip. But the happy buzz of the crowd grew quieter as the priest’s assistants brought a dozen sacred piglets forward. This was of interest to them: after the piglets had been sacrificed their flesh would be roasted for a public feast.
Lupus knew that sacrificial animals were usually drugged to make them sleepy, but the small pink creatures seemed unusually nervous. As the piglets were carried up the steps, Lupus caught a glimpse of their rolling eyes and twitching noses. Suddenly one of them uttered a high-pitched squeal and writhed free.
There were screams of laughter as the rogue piglet charged the crowd.
‘Come back, you!’ shouted the attendant. ‘We want to read your entrails!’ He plunged into the crowd after the piglet. Lupus could see the crowd parting before the fugitive.
‘Dignity!’ bellowed the priest of Saturn from the top of the temple steps. ‘Dignity and decorum. Nothing must spoil the sanctity of the sacrifice!’
Ignoring him, two other piglets also squirmed out of the arms locked round them.
One disappeared down a side street and the other set off back towards the theatre, his little trotters twinkling as he ran.
‘He’s off to Rome!’ quipped a woman.
‘You’re too late for the races!’ a man called after the piglet.
The crowd laughed.
Then a woman screamed. Below Lupus a man uttered an oath and pointed towards the temple steps. A tawny beast had appeared from behind a black column.
‘Lion!’ came a woman’s hysterical voice. ‘It’s the escaped lion!’
‘Lion!’ screamed a voice in the crowd. ‘Run for your lives.’
As the people below them started to run, Nubia turned to her friends.
‘Don’t go down!’ she cried. ‘We will be squashed!’
Lupus was halfway off the fountain, about to drop to the ground. He stared wildly up at Nubia, then nodded. They helped him back up.
Within moments the square before the temple was deserted, apart from half a dozen people who’d been trampled in the stampede. One of them was a little boy, no more than four years old. He lay on the cold paving stones, whimpering for his mother.
Nubia kept her eyes on the lion. He was padding slowly down the temple steps. The priest had disappeared. His attendants, too.
‘Look at his stomach,’ Nubia said to the others. ‘He is very fulled.’
‘She’s right,’ gulped Jonathan. ‘Either that or she’s pregnant!’
‘Not she,’ said Nubia. ‘He. Behold the . . . hair?’ Nubia didn’t know the Latin word.
‘The mane?’ Flavia was trembling. ‘That means it’s a boy lion?’
Nubia nodded.
‘Can lions jump up?’ asked Jonathan nervously.
Nubia shook her head. ‘Lions are not so good climbers.’
The lion had reached the bottom step of the temple. Even from across the square Nubia could smell his strong musky scent. He lifted his nose and tested the air, just as her puppy Nipur sometimes did.
The boy’s crying was louder now. The lion turned his head, then began to move towards the child.
Nubia’s heart was pounding. She knew she had to act now. The lion had obviously eaten recently, so he was probably not hungry. But a wounded creature was always of interest to a meat-eater. She hoped her father’s advice for stopping a lion was correct.
Nubia slipped off the fountain and landed lightly on her feet. The lion stopped and slowly turned his big head. For a moment his golden eyes locked with Nubia’s, but they betrayed no flicker of interest in her. He turned his head again and padded slowly towards the little boy.
‘Nubia!’ hissed Flavia. ‘What are you doing?’
Slowly and without taking her eyes from the lion, Nubia unwrapped the nutmeg-coloured cloak from her shoulders. Then she walked cautiously towards the boy on the ground. He had stopped crying but was shaking in terror. The lion glanced at her but did not stop moving forward.
Nubia and the lion converged, and when she and the lion were no more than two yards from the shivering child, Nubia tossed her cloak. The lion froze as the cloak fell over his head and shoulders. For a moment he remained motionless. Then he slowly lifted one great paw and tried to pull off the cloak.
‘Get him, boys! Now!’ The voice came from behind Nubia, along with the sound of running footsteps and the grating of wheels on paving stones. She turned to see a squad of six soldiers run forward. They were pulling a large wooden box on wheels. A brown-skinned man with a whip ran after them.
‘Stop there, boys!’ he cried. ‘Wait for my order!’
The soldiers stopped and the man – he looked Syrian – cracked his whip. ‘Stay, Monobaz!’ he cried. ‘Stay!’
The lion stopped trying to paw the cloak from its head and waited obediently.
‘Put the cage right in front of him,’ commanded the Syrian, ‘and raise the door.’
The soldiers obeyed. Then one of them fainted.
‘Good boy,’ murmured the Syrian, while the soldiers attended to their fallen comrade.
The tamer moved towards the lion. ‘Good Monobaz.’
Slowly he pulled Nubia’s cloak from the lion’s massive head. ‘Good boy. Into your cage, Monobaz. Nice piece of calf’s liver in there for you.’
The lion looked up at him with yellow eyes, blinked, and disappeared into the box. Now only his tail was visible, writhing and twitching like a tawny snake. The tamer pushed the lion’s curling tail in and slid the door shut. Then he turned to Nubia and held out her cloak.
‘My dear girl,’ he said, ‘I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but you deserve a golden victor’s wreath. That was the wisest thing you could have done. And the bravest!’
Flavia hugged Nubia. ‘You’re a hero,’ she said. ‘You saved us all!’
The little boy’s hysterical mother had carried her child away without even thanking Nubia, but the lion tamer stayed to express his gratitude.
‘You saved my skin,’ he said. ‘My name’s Mnason. I’m Monobaz’s owner.’
Flavia looked him up and down. He had light brown skin, dark hair slick with oil, and a neat pointed beard.
‘I’m Flavia Gemina,’ she said, ‘daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain. This is Jonathan, Lupus and Nubia the heroine.’
‘Delighted to meet you all. Especially you, Nubia. May I ask how you knew to throw a cloak over his head?’
‘My father told me,’ said Nubia solemnly.
‘I’d like to congratulate him on the bravery of his daughter!’
Nubia dropped her head and Flavia whispered, ‘You can’t. Her father’s dead.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Mnason. He tugged his ear and Flavia noticed he wore three gold earrings in it.
The people were beginning to return. Vigiles were putting the injured people on stretchers, and the head priest had poked his head cautiously round the side of the temple.
‘Listen,’ said Mnason to Nubia. ‘I’d like to reward you. But I see the magistrate is coming my way. Can you meet me at noon in the Forum of the Corporations? At the corporation of beast importers?’
Nubia looked at Flavia.
‘Of course!’ said Flavia.
‘Good. Now, before he gets here, tell me. You four haven’t seen a camelopard anywhere around here, have you?’
Lupus knew that the Forum of Corporations was behind the theatre near the river. He led his friends through the arched entrance. A porter appeared and Flavia stepped forward.
‘We’ve come to see Mnason,’ she said politely. ‘He’s expecting us.’
‘At the Corpse of the Beast Importers,’ added Nubia.
‘Hey! You’re the brave girl who caught the lion! Everyone’
s talking about it!’ said the porter. ‘Mnason and his lion are just over there. Near the temple.’
He gestured towards a pretty temple in the middle of a grassy rectangle. Lupus knew it was the Temple of Ceres, the goddess of grain. Grain was Ostia’s lifeblood, and the main reason for the town’s existence. Without a port to receive the grain ships from Egypt, docks to unload it and warehouses to store it, Rome’s million inhabitants would go without bread.
Around the grassy precinct of the temple was a three-storey colonnade which housed Ostia’s various corporations. Flavia’s father had once told Lupus that ‘corporation’ meant a group of people. There were the shipbuilders and owners; the tanners, rope-makers and sailors; the measurers and importers of grain; and the importers of other useful products: olive oil, wine, honey, marble and exotic beasts.
Lupus liked the Forum of the Corporations because of the black and white mosaics beneath the covered colonnade at ground level. He often copied the pictures of animals, ships, and buildings onto his wax tablet. There were mosaics of tigers, lions, hunting dogs, and his favourite, the elephant. To his delight, he saw that was where Mnason sat: at the corporation of beast importers. The tamer sat just outside the colonnade on a folding leather chair, his eyes half closed in the thin winter sunshine. He had a cup of steaming wine in one hand and a wax tablet in the other. Monobaz the lion paced up and down in his wooden cage nearby.
When Mnason saw them approaching his dark eyes widened and he leapt out of his chair.
‘Welcome, young friends,’ he greeted them. ‘A cup of hot wine? It is the Saturnalia, after all!’
Flavia shook her head. ‘I need a clear head,’ she said. ‘But thank you.’
Lupus stepped closer to the lion’s cage and the others followed.
‘Nubia,’ said the lion tamer. ‘Thank you again for your bravery. Monobaz is gentle as a lamb, but people don’t know that. Someone might have killed him. How can I reward you?’
Nubia looked at him shyly. ‘May I stroke him?’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 71