The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

Then Lupus caught the rancid odour of vomit and he turned away with mixed relief and disgust. It was only a reveller who had passed out after drinking too much spiced wine.

  He stood up again and his fingertips on the cold marble wall guided him around the back of the shrine. He sensed rather than saw the two trees ahead of him.

  Suddenly, in the darkness, he heard a woman’s voice, low and urgent.

  ‘Aristo?’ said the voice. ‘Aristo, is that you?’

  Lupus pressed himself against the trunk of one of the trees and held his breath.

  ‘Aristo?’ repeated the voice.

  Lupus’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure she must be able to hear it. The crunch of her foot on a twig alerted him and he moved round the trunk, keeping it between them.

  ‘Aristo? Stop playing games with me . . .’

  Silence.

  ‘I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.’

  Lupus tipped his head back and closed his eyes, listening with all his might: ready to move one way if she moved the other.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me? Aristo, I love you. I love you so much . . .’

  From the road a flicker of lamplight and the crunch of military boots on paving stones. Another pair of vigiles were approaching.

  Lupus heard the woman curse softly and move away.

  After a moment he heard a man’s deep voice. ‘Hey, miss. You shouldn’t be out after dark. This is a favourite hiding place for robbers.’

  ‘Can we escort you home?’ said the other watchman.

  ‘Yes . . . yes please!’ Her voice was trembling.

  It was easy to follow her after that. The flickering torches lit the three figures as they moved down the centre of the road: the woman between the two big watchmen.

  Once she turned to look back, but Lupus quickly pressed himself into the inky black shadows of a shop-front.

  Presently, as he had expected, they stopped in front of Cartilia’s house. He heard the brass knocker resound and saw a path of light pour out from within as the door opened almost immediately. There were relieved voices and the woman stepped inside.

  Lupus was almost certain the woman had been Diana. But he was not positive: she had worn a long cloak, and a hood which covered her face.

  Nubia held her hands over the glowing coals and rubbed them together. It was just before dawn on the third day of the Saturnalia. The dogs were snuffling in the dark garden, eager to be off for the hunt. The four friends stood in the kitchen, warming themselves by the hearth while Lupus and Jonathan waited for Aristo to come out of the latrine. Captain Geminus and the slaves were still asleep.

  ‘You’re sure Aristo was here yesterday at dusk?’ Jonathan whispered.

  Flavia nodded. ‘He came in right after you left. He’d caught some rabbits and we put them in the stew. Why do you ask?’

  Jonathan lowered his voice even more: ‘Yesterday, while we were setting up the net, Lupus saw Diana slip Aristo a note. She wanted him to meet her at the shrine of the crossroads. She came to the shrine but he never appeared.’

  ‘Why did she want to meet him in such a strange place at such a strange time?’

  ‘We think she’s in love with him,’ said Jonathan.

  Nubia felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Cartilia’s sister loves Aristo?’ Flavia’s eyes opened wide.

  Lupus nodded emphatically and wrote on his tablet.

  LYSANDER LOVES DIANA.

  DIANA LOVES ARISTO.

  BUT ARISTO DOESN’T LIKE DIANA.

  ‘Who is Lysander?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘He’s Aristo’s Greek friend,’ said Jonathan. ‘Short. Dark. They often hunt together.’

  ‘It’s the classic love triangle,’ said Flavia, nodding wisely.

  ‘Why triangle?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Well, A loves B and B loves C. It’s a triangle.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s a V. If C loves A, then it’s a triangle.’

  ‘Good point.’ Flavia turned to Lupus. ‘How did you know what Diana’s note said?’ she asked him.

  Lupus presented the scrap of papyrus with a flourish.

  Flavia grabbed the note and held it close to the red hearth-coals so she could read it. Nubia peered over her shoulder.

  ‘But it’s signed Cartilia.’ Flavia frowned and straightened up. ‘Are you sure it was Diana who came to the shrine?’

  Lupus looked at her. Then he shrugged.

  SHE WAS WEARING LONG CLOAK he wrote on his tablet.

  ‘Grey cloak with hood?’ whispered Nubia.

  Lupus nodded and gave her his bug-eyed look.

  ‘How did you know what she was wearing?’ asked Flavia.

  They all looked at Nubia.

  She took a breath. ‘Two days after Miriam’s betrothal . . .’

  ‘The first day of the Saturnalia?’ asked Flavia.

  Nubia nodded. ‘On that afternoon when I take the dogs in woods, behold! I see Aristo and woman in cloak.’

  ‘What were they doing?’ asked Jonathan.

  Nubia felt her face grow hot. ‘Kissing. Very kissing.’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock,’ whispered Flavia. ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

  Nubia hung her head. She herself wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Flavia. ‘But who was she? Did you see her face?’

  Nubia shook her head and looked up at Flavia. ‘No. I did not see her face. She was wearing cloak. Grey cloak with hood.’

  ‘Man-eating horses,’ said Flavia. ‘Where will we find man-eating horses in Ostia?’

  ‘Stables?’ suggested Nubia.

  ‘I suppose we could try the Laurentum Gate stables again. Or the other ones: the Cart Drivers’ stables . . .’ Flavia’s voice trailed off.

  It was an hour past dawn. The boys and Aristo had gone off to hunt their ostrich and once again the two girls were sitting on a dust-sheet covered couch in the dining room. They were sipping milky spiced wine and watching Hercules prepare the last wall. He was using a wide brush to cover the old mustard-yellow plaster with a thin coat of lime mixed with plaster. When this dried it would make a brilliant base for the new images.

  ‘We need to find mad horses,’ said Flavia. ‘Or maybe someone called Diomedes. That was the name of their master. He used to feed chopped-up people to his horses. That’s what drove his horses mad. So Hercules completed the labour by killing Diomedes and feeding him to his own horses. Then they were so full and sleepy that Hercules was easily able to capture them.’

  ‘In baths?’ said Nubia hopefully. ‘Maybe mosaics of man-eating horses in baths.’

  ‘I don’t know of any,’ said Flavia.

  ‘There’s a retired legionary named Diomedes,’ said Hercules the wall-painter. ‘New in town. Belongs to one of those new religions.’

  ‘What?’ cried Flavia. ‘What did you just say?’ It was the first time she had heard him speak.

  Hercules turned to look at them. His watery eyes twinkled and his rubbery mouth curved in a smile.

  ‘Diomedes,’ he said in a squeaky voice. ‘He’s a retired soldier and he’s the priest of a new cult. They worship a young god who was born near the end of December. Once a week his followers gather to share bread and wine, in order to remember the last supper he ate before he ascended to a higher plane.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flavia. ‘Diomedes must be a Christian. They worship a shepherd named Jesus. They call him the Christ or Messiah.’

  ‘No,’ said Hercules, dipping his brush in the whitewash mixture, ‘Diomedes certainly isn’t a Christian; I would know. The name of his god is something else. Starts with M . . . Menecrates? Marsyas? Mithras? That’s it. Diomedes is a priest of Mithras. He lives not far from here, in a house just off Fuller’s Street. I often pass that way. I see them gathering to observe their special meal on Sunday mornings.’

  ‘But it’s Sunday morning now!’


  ‘Yes it is,’ said Hercules. ‘If you hurry, you might catch them . . .’

  ‘My dear boys,’ said Lysander, ‘What are you doing with bows and arrows? You know we’re using the net today. And I’ve got my hunting-spear.’

  ‘Oh leave them alone,’ said Aristo. ‘We may never catch this ostrich and at least they might bring home a rabbit or two.’

  ‘Very well,’ Lysander sighed. ‘You boys need to move slowly towards the net. Let the dogs bark and make as much noise as you can. Can you count as high as three hundred?’

  Lupus nodded. Nipur was tugging at his lead, but Lupus was strong enough to hold him. Jonathan was in charge of Tigris and Aristo held Scuto. The three dogs were wheezing with eagerness to be off.

  ‘Good,’ said Lysander. ‘Don’t start beating till you’ve reached three hundred. That will give me time to take up position by the net.’

  ‘What?’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re going to sit by the net while the rest of us do all the work?’

  ‘That’s the way it works,’ said Lysander with a grin. ‘Diana. Would you like to join me?’

  ‘Why don’t you stay with the boys?’ Diana said to Lysander. ‘Aristo and I can wait by the net.’

  Lysander’s grin faded and Aristo looked up sharply.

  ‘Er . . . no,’ he said. ‘I’m the boys’ tutor. It’s my job to protect them. I’ll stay with them. Diana, you wait by the net with Lysander.’

  Diana turned wounded brown eyes on Aristo. For a moment their gazes locked. Aristo looked away first, guiltily it seemed to Lupus.

  Diana turned on her heel. ‘Come on then, Lysander!’ she snapped over her shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

  Diomedes, priest of Mithras, stood in his open doorway and gazed down at Flavia. Although he was quite an old man – in his early fifties – he was still lean and muscular.

  ‘Cartilia Poplicola,’ she repeated. The stench of urine from the nearby fullers was so strong that Flavia had to breathe through her mouth.

  Diomedes snorted. ‘Don’t mention that woman to me! Her husband Caldus was one of our new initiates. But he’s not with us any more.’ Diomedes shook his head angrily. ‘And it’s her fault,’ he muttered.

  Flavia’s eyes opened wide. ‘It was her fault?’

  ‘That’s what I was told.’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Flavia Gemina, daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain.’

  ‘I don’t know the name. Is he one of our followers?’

  ‘No, I just—’

  ‘Young lady. I am very busy today. I thought you were bringing a message from one of our members. That’s why I opened the door to you. May I ask you to come back later?’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Flavia politely. ‘I won’t bother you again. Thank you very much. You’ve just told me what I needed to know.’

  Jonathan shook his tambourine with one hand and gripped Tigris’s lead in the other. They were moving slowly through the pine grove making as much noise as possible. Over on his right, Lupus was beating his goatskin drum.

  ‘Steady, Tigris!’ called Jonathan, feeling the tug on the lead. ‘We want to take it slowly. Give the big bird time to hear us coming . . .’

  He glanced at Aristo, just visible through the trees on his left. Aristo held Scuto’s taut lead and occasionally he clattered some castanets.

  Jonathan looked up. It was morning now, with a high clear sky which would deepen to blue as the day progressed. He sucked in a lungful of air, as cold and intoxicating as the snow-chilled wine he had tasted once at a rich man’s house. It was good to be out in the woods hunting with his friends and the dogs.

  Hunting helped him forget the worries that were as constant as the throbbing of the brand on his left arm.

  Worries about how he and his father would cope when Miriam was married and living in Laurentum. Worries about Lupus, who occasionally still disappeared without a word. Worries about Aristo, who seemed so distracted lately. Worries about Flavia, who was becoming exactly what she had sworn not to become: a tyrant.

  And the biggest worry of all, the subject that was always there, drawing his thoughts towards Rome . . .

  ‘Jonathan! Look out!’

  Aristo’s voice clear across the glade and a crashing from the thicket ahead and there was the ostrich. The bird seemed confused by the din and in spite of Tigris’s hysterical barking it took a flapping step towards Jonathan.

  Jonathan lifted his tambourine and gave it a shake. ‘Go the other way, you stupid ostrich,’ he muttered. The other way! Towards the net!’

  But the ostrich didn’t understand Latin.

  It charged straight at him.

  Jonathan reacted by instinct. He dropped the tambourine and Tigris’s lead. In one fluid motion he lifted the bow from across his body with his left hand and plucked an arrow from his quiver with the right. There was no need to take careful aim. The enormous flapping bird was almost upon him.

  Jonathan fired straight into its chest and then threw himself out of the way.

  The ostrich’s forward momentum carried it past and Jonathan lifted himself – gasping – on one muddy elbow. He was just in time to see the creature swerve towards Aristo, who threw his javelin.

  The bird flapped, staggered, then veered again to receive a second arrow – this one in the neck – from Lupus’s bow. Now the dogs were upon it and Jonathan was almost sorry as he watched them bring the bird heavily to the ground.

  ‘Get the dogs away,’ cried Aristo. ‘The feathers are worth a fortune!’

  Jonathan had trained the puppies well; they obeyed his command immediately and quickly backed away. But Scuto wanted to play with the giant thrashing bird. Suddenly one of the ostrich’s powerful legs caught Flavia’s dog in the chest. With a yelp, Scuto went flying through the air and Jonathan heard the terrible thud as he fell.

  Aristo ran forward, hunting knife in hand, and stamped hard on the bird’s neck just below the head. Then, with one swift, slashing movement, he ended the creature’s misery.

  Jonathan ran to Scuto. Flavia’s dog lay motionless in the mud and pine needles. Nipur and Tigris were sniffing him and whimpering, and Lupus already had his ear against Scuto’s chest.

  Jonathan stopped and looked down at Lupus. ‘Is he . . . Is he dead?’

  Doctor Mordecai lifted his head from the patient and smiled. ‘He’s going to be all right. He may possibly have cracked a rib or two, but there’s not much we can do. He just needs to rest until it heals.’ Scuto lay panting quietly on Flavia’s bed.

  ‘Oh, Doctor Mordecai!’ Flavia threw her arms round Mordecai’s waist and squeezed. ‘Thank you! Did you hear that?’ She turned to the others and the look on her face made them all smile, even Aristo.

  ‘We have to celebrate tonight!’ Flavia cried. ‘Alma, I know it’s the Saturnalia, and I’m supposed to be cooking but I want to nurse Scuto back to health and would you mind?’

  ‘My dear, I’d like nothing better!’ cried Alma. ‘We’ll chop up that big bird and eat him for weeks.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Jonathan. ‘We can’t just go chopping it up. Aren’t we supposed to share it out with Lysander and Diana?’

  ‘Dear Apollo!’ cried Aristo. ‘I’d forgotten all about them.’ He glanced out through the lattice-work screen of the window. ‘It’s almost noon. I hope they haven’t been sitting out there this whole time! I’d better go tell them. Lysander will be furious.’

  Lupus snorted and Jonathan nodded his agreement: ‘He’s not the only one.’

  Lupus loved oysters.

  They were cool and slippery and he could easily swallow them whole. He often had good dreams after eating them, and he was always full of energy the following day.

  And so he was delighted when Alma set a plate of oysters before his couch.

  It was mid-afternoon on the third day of the Saturnalia. They were celebrating the capture of the ostrich and Scuto’s survival. Lupus reclined next to Jonathan a
nd Mordecai. On the couch opposite him were Aristo, Flavia and Nubia. Flavia’s father and Cartilia Poplicola shared the central couch.

  Flavia had been in a good mood when she handed them their garlands of ivy and mistletoe. She didn’t even seem to mind Cartilia’s presence. Lupus saw the reason at once: Scuto lay in his usual place under the central couch.

  Flavia’s father was in a good mood, too. He’d spent the day with his twin brother Gaius a few miles down the coast at Laurentum. Gaius’s landlord, a young man named Pliny, had sent a Saturnalia gift of three dozen fresh oysters in a cask of seawater.

  OYSTERS ARE MY FAVOURITE Lupus wrote on his wax tablet and held it up for all to see.

  ‘Oh! What a good idea!’ cried Flavia. ‘Let’s all say what our favourite food is! As king of the Saturnalia, I command it! Mine is roast chicken. And salad. What about you, Jonathan?’

  ‘Venison stew,’ he said, ‘especially if I caught the deer myself.’

  ‘I love mushrooms,’ said Aristo.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘My favourite food is salted tuna,’ said Flavia’s father. He laughed. ‘How about you, Cartilia?’

  ‘I love salads,’ she said. ‘But I also adore oysters. The first time I—’

  ‘Next!’ cried Flavia. ‘What about you, Doctor Mordecai?’

  After a short hesitation and a glance at Cartilia, Mordecai said softly: ‘I am very partial to lamb. Roast lamb in particular.’

  Flavia turned to Nubia and laughed. ‘And I think we all know Nubia’s favourite food . . .’

  ‘Dates!’ they all cried together, and Nubia smiled.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am loving dates. But now I am loving them even more with almond inside.’

  ‘And that brings us back to Lupus and the oysters!’ said Flavia. ‘Let’s eat!’

  Lupus reached for the tiny glass jug of vinegar. He dribbled a few drops onto the first of his oysters.

  The oyster twitched.

  Lupus grunted with approval. Using his spoon, he freed the oyster from its shell, tipped his head back and let it slip down his throat. Then he tossed the shell into the centre of the room. It fell with a clatter onto the marble floor. Nipur trotted forward, sniffed it, then sneezed. Scuto yawned and remained where he was. He knew oyster shells weren’t edible.