‘Perfect!’ said Flavia. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Seven spouts of water gushed from seven serpents’ heads at the hydra fountain. They found the old woman sitting nearby, on the porch of her house.
She was a tiny creature in black with a humped back and hands like claws. Her head was down, and patches of pink scalp showed through her thin white hair. A mass of grey wool was piled on a stool beside her and sleeping on top of it was a cat of the same colour. The old woman was spinning the wool, and Nubia was fascinated to see the twist of grey yarn emerge from between her gnarled fingers.
‘Hello,’ said Flavia politely. ‘Are you the Wise Woman of Ostia?’
The woman looked up at them sharply.
Nubia stifled a gasp. The old woman had one filmy grey eye and where the other should have been only an empty socket.
‘No one is wise.’ Her voice was high and clear, like a child’s. ‘But to some the gods give insight.’ She chuckled. ‘And others of us have just been around for a very long time.’
‘But are you the one they call the Wise Woman?’
‘Some call me Lusca, because I have only one eye. Others call me Anus, because I was born the year Octavian was proclaimed Augustus.’
Flavia gasped. ‘But that would make you . . .’
‘More than a hundred years old,’ exclaimed Jonathan.
‘Impossible!’ snorted Flavia.
Nubia caught her breath. It was unimaginably rude to contradict a grey-hair. In Nubia’s clan, the children were always taught to honour the old. So she stepped forward and clapped her hands together softly, letting her knees bend as she did so.
‘Thank you, Nubia, for showing me respect.’
‘How did you know her name was Nubia?’ gasped Flavia.
‘I listen. People talk when they come to the hydra fountain here.’
‘Please,’ said Flavia. ‘May we ask you a question?’
‘You may ask. But I may not answer.’
Flavia reached for her coin purse. Nubia put a restraining hand on her arm, but Flavia shook it off. ‘I can pay you,’ she said. ‘One denarius.’
With a sharp intake of breath, the old woman fixed her single eye on Flavia. ‘You think you can buy wisdom, Flavia Gemina? No! But because Nubia showed respect, I will answer one question.’
‘Thank you,’ said Flavia. ‘Can you please tell us where Cartilia—’
‘A question of my own choosing!’ said the Wise Woman.
Chastened, Flavia fell silent. Nubia held her breath and waited for a word of great wisdom.
‘Cartilia Poplicola lives on Orchard Street,’ said the Wise Woman. ‘The house with the sky-blue door. You can’t miss it: the knocker is in the shape of a club, like the one Hercules used to carry.’ The old woman held out a claw-like hand. ‘I’ll have that bit of silver now.’
‘The third task of Hercules,’ said Flavia to the others, when they were out of the old woman’s earshot, ‘was to capture the deer sacred to Diana. And I think we know who Diana is, don’t we?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Cartilia’s sister.’
‘We know where she lives,’ said Flavia, stopping in front of the house with the club knocker. ‘But we can’t just bang on the door and barge in. We need an excuse to visit. Luckily it’s the Saturnalia. We can take Cartilia a gift and then they’ll invite us in!’
‘What are we giving her?’ asked Nubia.
‘I’m not sure. Traditionally on the Saturnalia you give a sigillum – one of those dolls – or silver or candles or food . . . That’s it! We’ll raid the storeroom.’
‘While you’re doing that,’ suggested Jonathan, ‘should Lupus and I attempt the fourth task?’
‘Good idea,’ said Flavia. ‘Hercules’ fourth task was to capture the Erymanthean Boar. Now where will we find a boar in Ostia?’
‘Maybe we could go hunting?’ said Jonathan hopefully.
Flavia gave him a sharp look. ‘You’re not trying to get out of this, are you, Jonathan?’
‘Of course not!’
Lupus snapped his fingers and wrote on his wax tablet:
BRUTUS
‘That’s right,’ said Jonathan, ‘Lupus and I saw a huge boar outside the butcher’s shop two days ago. They say he caught it himself.’
‘That sounds promising,’ said Flavia. ‘Brutus always has the latest gossip. You boys go there while Nubia and I take a jar of prunes to Cartilia. We’ll meet back at my house at noon. All right?’
‘Great,’ said Jonathan dryly. ‘A visit to the pork butcher’s on the Sabbath. Father will be so pleased.’
As Flavia banged the knocker on the sky-blue door, Nubia looked around. The shutters of the shops either side of Cartilia’s house were pulled down, but music was coming from a tavern further down the road, and groups of rowdy people were spilling onto the street outside it.
‘These houses are the oldest in Ostia,’ Flavia said to her. ‘Pater told me they were here even before the town wall was built.’
It was beginning to rain. Nubia shivered and pulled Captain Geminus’s old nutmeg-coloured cloak tighter. Flavia banged the knocker again and glanced at Nubia.
‘We’ll just wait a little longer. The household slaves are probably down the road there at the Peacock Tavern.’
Sure enough, a moment later they heard the scraping of the bolt and the door swung open. A tall woman with an elaborate hairstyle opened the door. Although there was no grey in her hair, Nubia guessed she was over forty.
‘Hello, girls, may I help you?’ she asked.
‘Is this the house of Quintus Cartilius Poplicola?’ asked Flavia politely, and held out the ceramic jar of prunes. ‘We’ve come to bring a Saturnalia gift for his daughter Cartilia.’
The woman’s face lit up. ‘How kind!’ she said. ‘Which of my Cartilias do you mean: Diana or Paula?’
Nubia and Flavia exchanged a quick glance. ‘Paula,’ said Flavia.
‘She’s not here at the moment . . .’ The woman tipped her head to one side. ‘Am I correct in thinking you’re Captain Geminus’s daughter?’
‘Yes.’ Flavia nodded. ‘My name is Flavia Gemina, and this is my friend Nubia.’
‘Then come in! I’m Paula’s mother, Vibia.’
She stood aside with a smile and beckoned the girls in. Nubia smiled back at Cartilia’s mother as they moved through the vestibule. The woman’s eyes were warm and kind, and although her complicated hair style was out of fashion it was still very impressive.
‘My husband’s not here right now,’ said Vibia. ‘He’s entertaining his clients at the Forum of the Corporations. Both my daughters are out, and of course the slaves are out too, celebrating the festival.’
She led them through a bright, chilly atrium into a red-walled tablinum which smelled of cloves and parchment. Nubia went straight to the bronze tripod full of glowing coals and warmed her hands over it.
‘Yes,’ said Vibia. ‘I feel the cold too. This is my husband’s study, but he won’t mind us sitting here.’
‘Oh,’ said Flavia, going to an open scroll on the table. ‘He’s been reading Apollodorus.’
‘No,’ said Vibia with a smile. ‘I have.’
‘The story of Diana?’ asked Flavia, scanning the scroll.
‘Yes. Hot spiced wine?’ Vibia gestured towards a silver jug.
Nubia nodded.
‘Well-watered, thank you,’ said Flavia, and added, ‘I’m studying the myth of Hercules at the moment.’
Vibia’s face lit up as she poured the steaming wine into glossy black cups.
‘My father claims Hercules as his ancestor,’ said Vibia. ‘Do please sit.’ She handed them their cups and added, ‘I find Hercules a very complex hero, and not always likeable.’
Nubia sniffed the spicy wine and took a sip. It was nice: not too sweet and not too strong.
‘I’m especially interested in the twelve tasks of Hercules,’ said Flavia.
Vibia nodded. ‘They say he had twelve but when you count up
all his exploits, there were many more.’
‘Were there?’ said Flavia with a look of dismay.
‘Roast chestnuts!’ cried Vibia.
‘Hercules had to roast some chestnuts?’
‘No, no. Let me roast you some chestnuts. My middle daughter used to love them but the rest of the family doesn’t share my passion for them. I bought a basket of them last week and I’ve been waiting for someone to share them with.’ She put down her cup. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’
Vibia went out of the room. As soon as she was gone Flavia stood and wandered round the study, cup in hand, lightly touching the objects on the desk and reading the labels on the scrolls in their niches. Nubia looked around, too, but she remained in her chair, sipping her wine. The study, like so many in Ostia, had cinnabar red walls and a few elegant pieces of furniture. A black and white mosaic floor was mostly hidden by a threadbare eastern carpet. It occurred to Nubia that this was the home of someone who had once been wealthy but could not afford to replace expensive items.
Vibia returned with a bowl of chestnuts and a sharp little kitchen knife.
Flavia glanced over from beside the scroll shelves and said, ‘I see you’ve got Euripides’ play about Hercules.’
‘Yes,’ said Vibia, making an incision in one of the chestnuts and tossing it on the coals. ‘I love plays, and that’s a particularly good one.’ She tossed another chestnut on the embers and smiled. ‘It does please me to meet a girl who is literate,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried to teach my three daughters the classics.’
‘Hello, mater!’
Nubia turned her head to see a slim boy of about sixteen enter the study. He wore a short red tunic. In one hand he held a bow and in the other a brace of long-beaked woodcock.
‘Hello, dear,’ said Vibia guardedly.
The boy slung the dead birds onto the desk and turned his long-lashed eyes on the girls. Nubia stared. She had never seen such a pretty boy. He had full lips and his tanned cheeks were smooth as marble. His short hair was brown and feathery, the same colour as the birds’ breasts.
Flavia was staring too, at the boy’s chest, and suddenly Nubia realised why.
‘Girls,’ said Vibia, with a sigh, ‘I’d like you to meet my youngest daughter Cartilia, whom we call Diana.’
‘Great Neptune’s beard!’ breathed Flavia. ‘You have short hair!’
She had never seen short hair on a freeborn girl before. She had read about it, knew that women often shaved their heads in extreme cases of grief or mourning, but to see a highborn girl with her head uncovered and a slave’s haircut was shocking.
‘Who did it to you?’ she blurted out.
Diana turned her large brown eyes on Flavia and lifted her chin a fraction. ‘I did it to myself last month,’ she said. ‘I hate men and I never want to marry. I want to be like Diana, the virgin huntress.’
Vibia smiled apologetically. ‘My daughter has radical beliefs,’ she said. ‘Spiced wine, dear?’
‘No, thank you mater, I’m just off to the tavern to meet my friends. Then I’m going hunting again.’
‘Dressed in that short little tunic?’ said Vibia.
‘Yes, mater,’ said Diana coolly. ‘Dressed in this short little tunic.’
‘Any luck?’ asked Flavia as she tipped the roast chestnuts out of their papyrus cone onto the couch.
Jonathan took a chestnut and shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘We just stood around for an hour listening to all the men tell their wild boar stories.’
Flavia peeled a chestnut. ‘I guess we need to find another boar.’
It was noon and once again the four friends were sitting on one of the couches of her triclinium watching Hercules the wall-painter. A brazier glowing in the centre of the room did little to warm the cold air.
‘He’s very good,’ whispered Jonathan, nodding at the little man, who had his back to them.
Lupus nodded enthusiastically.
Hercules was dabbing his brush rapidly on the damp wall, applying the colour before the plaster dried. He was painting the fourth task of Hercules. In this task, the hero was shown carrying a boar over his shoulders.
‘Why is Hercules having no clothes?’ asked Nubia. ‘Isn’t he cold?’
‘That shows he’s a hero,’ explained Flavia. ‘A hero is someone who is half mortal and half divine. Remember? Hercules was the son of Jupiter.’
‘Yum,’ said Jonathan. ‘These chestnuts are delicious! Did you have any luck this morning?’
Flavia nodded. ‘We met Cartilia’s younger sister Diana. She dresses like a boy and she has short hair!’
Lupus pointed at Nubia’s head and raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, I know Nubia has short hair, but she used to be a slave and anyway it looks right on Nubia. Diana looked very strange.’
Jonathan shelled another chestnut. ‘Does she look like a really pretty boy?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then I think I’ve seen her hunting in the woods once or twice. In Diana’s Grove.’
‘That’ll be her,’ said Flavia. ‘I’d love to know her story!’
Nubia sighed with pleasure.
She and Flavia had lingered in the pink marble sudatorium of the Baths of Atalanta for nearly an hour. Now she was standing over a drain with three leaf-shaped holes and scraping her skin with a bronze strigil.
At first she had found it strange – almost uncomfortable – scraping the oil-softened dead skin from her body, but now she hated to go more than a day or two without scraping down. With satisfaction, she watched the grey sludge drip from the strigil into the drain. In a minute she and Flavia would visit the cold plunge to wash off the residue, followed by a brisk rubdown with a towel. But first they always scraped each other’s backs.
‘Ready, Nubia?’
Nubia nodded and handed Flavia her strigil. Then she turned her back. Flavia had always done Nubia first, since the first day she had demonstrated how to use the strigil. In a moment, Nubia would return the favour. But for now she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of having her back gently scraped.
Once again, Nubia sighed with pleasure.
Behind her Flavia laughed. ‘They say Romans love wine, the pleasure of Venus, and the baths, but you just love the baths!’
Nubia nodded happily. In the last month, she had learned the names of each of Ostia’s twelve public baths. And over lunch she had remembered that one of them was called after the heroine who killed a foaming boar.
‘This was a brilliant idea of yours to come to the Baths of Atalanta,’ said Flavia. ‘I’ve never been here before. They’re so luxurious . . .’
Located near the Marina Gate, the Baths of Atalanta were exclusively for women. All the frescoes and mosaics showed Atalanta beating men at various tasks. On the wall of the frigidarium, a frescoed Atalanta ran a race far ahead of her gasping male competitors. On the domed ceiling of the caldarium she smugly watched her father execute the suitors who had failed to win her hand in marriage. And here in the tepidarium – right at Nubia’s feet – a black and white mosaic Atalanta speared a big, hairy boar while her male companions lay impotently around her.
Not only were the baths beautiful but so were the women who frequented them. Two exceptionally pretty women were oiling each other nearby. On the wall behind them was a fresco of Atalanta kissing Hippomenes, the youth who’d finally won her heart. It reminded Nubia of what she’d seen in the woods and she wondered again whether she should tell Flavia she had seen Aristo kissing a mysterious woman. But she found the words wouldn’t come.
Behind her, Flavia stopped scraping.
‘What?’ Nubia turned her head.
‘Shhh!’ hissed Flavia, and put her mouth right in Nubia’s ear. ‘Listen to them.’
‘Glycera only married him for his money,’ the redhead was saying. ‘She’s already buried three husbands.’
‘I don’t know how she does it,’ said the blonde. ‘Glycera’s not half as pretty as you are. I simply don’t se
e the attraction.’
‘They say,’ murmured the first woman, and Nubia had to strain to hear her words, ‘they say she’s a witch, that she enchanted him.’
‘That would explain a lot,’ said the blonde in a less cautious tone of voice. ‘She uses one potion to win them and another to kill them off!’
‘And then,’ said her friend, ‘she collects the legacy!’
‘And then,’ said Jonathan, ‘after he stopped screaming, he burst into tears. Imagine: a big old gladiator crying like a baby.’
The four friends were having a conference at Jonathan’s house before resuming their investigations.
‘What was your father doing to him?’ Flavia asked Jonathan. ‘Amputating a limb?’
He shook his head. ‘Just burning off a little mole. The gladiator said it spoiled his looks.’ Jonathan snorted as he spread some soft cheese on the flat bread. ‘And I’m telling you: that brute is not pretty.’
Flavia’s eyes opened wide. ‘Is he a famous gladiator? It wasn’t Rodan, was it?’
‘Taurus,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s called Taurus. He’s here in Ostia, visiting his mother for the holidays.’
‘Wait!’ cried Flavia. ‘His name isn’t Taurus, is it?’
‘That’s what I just said.’
‘He’s the one they call the Cretan Bull!’
Jonathan stared at her. ‘That’s a coincidence.’
‘What coincidence?’ asked Nubia.
‘Hercules’ seventh labour was to capture the Cretan bull,’ said Flavia, her grey eyes bright. ‘And Jonathan’s father just treated a famous gladiator called the Cretan Bull!’
Lupus whistled softly.
Jonathan scratched his curly head. ‘Did you find out anything this afternoon?’
‘Yes. Nubia had the brilliant idea of going to the Baths of Atalanta and we overheard someone talking about a woman who marries men and then poisons them to inherit their wealth.’
‘You don’t think they were talking about Cartilia, do you?’ asked Jonathan.
‘No. The woman they were talking about was called Glycera and she was on her fourth husband. But apparently it’s quite common. Women marry rich men, then kill them off. Or vice versa.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 73