The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Lupus grinned. And tested the next oyster.

  ‘Why are you putting vinegar on him?’ asked Nubia.

  To see if it’s still alive,’ said Cartilia. ‘Right Lupus?’

  Lupus gave her a thumbs-up. Then he tipped his head back and swallowed the second oyster.

  ‘They’re still alive?’ Jonathan had been examining an oyster. Now he hastily put it back on the plate and stared at it suspiciously.

  ‘Try it, Jonathan!’ said Cartilia. ‘Drop a little vinegar on the oyster. If it contracts, that means it’s still alive. They’re very good for you, aren’t they doctor?’

  Mordecai nodded. ‘I always recommend them for pregnant mothers and invalids. The fresher the better.’

  Lupus grinned as Jonathan dribbled some vinegar from the cruet onto his oyster.

  ‘Ahh!’ Jonathan started back. ‘It moved! It is alive. I’m not eating that!’

  ‘Come on, Jonathan!’ cried Flavia. ‘They’re good for you.’

  ‘I don’t want something alive crawling around inside me!’

  ‘They can’t crawl,’ laughed Cartilia. ‘They have no feet.’

  Lupus showed Jonathan his wax tablet.

  CAN I HAVE YOUR SHARE THEN?

  ‘Jonathan,’ said Mordecai. ‘It is extremely impolite to refuse a host’s food.’

  ‘All right,’ sighed Jonathan. ‘I’ll try one.’

  ‘Just free it from its shell,’ said Cartilia.

  ‘It’s attached by a little sucker,’ explained Aristo.

  ‘And swallow it down whole!’ said Flavia.

  ‘Shouldn’t I chew it?’ asked Jonathan, not taking his eyes from the grey blob glistening in its shell.

  ‘No!’ they all cried.

  ‘Don’t think about what you’re eating,’ said Cartilia. ‘Just do it.’

  Jonathan hesitated.

  ‘Jonathan!’ said Flavia firmly, ‘as king of the Saturnalia I command you to eat that oyster!’

  Everyone laughed and Jonathan gave them a queasy smile. Finally he took a deep breath, tipped back his head and bravely swallowed it whole.

  Everyone laughed again at the expression on Jonathan’s face and Lupus inclined his head in thanks as his friend grimly slid the plate of oysters towards him.

  Flavia was in the latrine when she heard the first chords of Aristo’s lyre and the warble of Nubia’s flute.

  She smiled. It was a new song Nubia had written for Aristo. She called it ‘The Storyteller’. Flavia heard the beat of Lupus’s drum and thought how much he’d improved in the past month. Then Jonathan came in on his barbiton, a steady thrum so low you hardly heard it, but missed if it wasn’t there.

  Flavia quickly finished her business and put the sponge-stick back in the beaker of vinegar. They needed her. It wasn’t right without the tambourine.

  She opened the door of the latrine and stepped out. Then she froze.

  The tambourine had just joined the other instruments, strong, steady, confident. And much better than she ever played it. Flavia took a step forward and looked through the ivy-twined columns towards the dining room.

  It was late: dusk was approaching. Beyond the blue-green garden, the dining room looked like an illuminated treasure box. A dozen oil-lamps filled the room with golden light and the two freshly painted walls glowed red. Jonathan was wearing his cinnamon kaftan. Lupus wore his sea-green tunic and a Saturnalia cap he had found somewhere; it was red felt, trimmed with white fur. Flavia could hear Nubia and Aristo; she didn’t need to see them. But she needed to know who was playing her part. She took another step forward and swallowed hard as the central couch came into view and she saw who was banging her tambourine.

  It was Cartilia. Cartilia had taken her place.

  For several days a particular sequence of notes – with what Aristo called a key change – had been sounding over and over in Nubia’s head. It was a passage where her flute and Aristo’s lyre played the notes above a strong deep beat of drum and barbiton, and a jingle of tambourine. Nubia had been craving the sound of it as she sometimes craved the taste of salt on bread. Now they were playing the song and the sequence was coming up. She could barely contain her excitement.

  She was here. Sitting cross-legged on the foot of the couch. In this red and gold room. About to hear and play the music she had been longing for. The anticipation was delicious.

  It was coming . . . coming . . . coming . . . and now!

  As she played the key change, the notes inside her head fused with the notes outside her, notes so real that she physically felt them. Her body gave an involuntary shudder as they played the passage. How could that happen? How could you crave a melody as you craved a type of food? It was as if her heart had been hungry for the song.

  Nubia turned her head as she played, and looked at her friends. Lupus, his head tipped to one side as he drummed away. And Jonathan, smiling up at her from his deep barbiton. Cartilia was a revelation, her eyes were closed and there was a sweet smile on her face as she shook the tambourine.

  And Aristo – the storyteller – lost in the music. Nubia hadn’t told him that the song was about him; she had been too shy. His curly head was down but she could see his thick eyelashes and as she watched his fingers moving swiftly over the strings, a huge wave of affection washed over Nubia. The music which had arisen in her heart now flowed back to her from him. He and the music were one. And because she loved the music, she loved him, too.

  Suddenly her fingers were trembling too much to play. The notes of her flute hesitated, faltered and failed. Her heart was pounding louder than Lupus’s drum.

  The others stopped playing, too, and the music died.

  ‘Are you all right, Nubia?’ Aristo looked concerned. Nubia nodded and dropped her flute and pressed her cool hands against her hot face.

  Oh no, she thought. It can’t be.

  ‘Nubia?’ It was Mordecai’s voice. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I am just feeling . . .’ She knew they were all staring at her – that he was staring at her – and she couldn’t bear it. Without looking at any of them, she slipped off the couch and ran out of the dining room.

  Jonathan watched Nubia run out and opened his mouth to say something. But he closed it again as Flavia stalked in. Her face was pale as she went straight to the central couch and held out her hand.

  ‘That’s my tambourine,’ Flavia said to Cartilia. ‘Please give it to me.’

  ‘Flavia!’ Captain Geminus’s voice was angry but Cartilia answered calmly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Flavia. I didn’t mean to take what was yours. Shall I bring my own next time?’

  Jonathan saw the fury flicker in Flavia’s eyes and he knew she was about to say something they would all regret.

  ‘Aaaaah!’ he yelled, and clutched his stomach. ‘Owwwwww!’ He writhed realistically on the couch, careful not to knock his barbiton onto the floor.

  ‘Jonathan!’ cried his father. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘My stomach!’ cried Jonathan, and then. ‘Aaaaah! Feels like I’ve swallowed shards of clay! Urrrrgh!’

  ‘Great Neptune’s beard,’ exclaimed Flavia’s father.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Cartilia said. ‘Oh dear!’

  Flavia’s face had gone blank for a moment, but now there was a look of concern on it. ‘Jonathan!’ she cried. ‘It must have been a bad oyster! Oh Jonathan! I’m so sorry I made you eat it!’

  His ploy had worked. Her anger was forgotten.

  ‘I forgive you.’ Jonathan smiled, then remembered he was supposed to be in agony. ‘Ahhhh!’ He writhed again and curled up into a ball so they wouldn’t see his expression. He had caught a glimpse of Lupus’s narrowed eyes. One person, at least, had seen through his ruse.

  Jonathan knew that if he looked at Lupus again he would burst out laughing. So he pressed his face into one of the cushions on the dining couch and bit it hard.

  The next morning Jonathan and Lupus found Flavia in the dining room. She was sitting in her usual place o
n one of the dining couches, sipping her poculum and watching Hercules. It was a lovely morning: bright and clear and almost mild.

  ‘Are you feeling better today, Jonathan?’ asked Flavia after she had greeted the boys. She patted the dust sheet beside her and Jonathan and Lupus hopped up onto it.

  ‘Yes, I’m much better,’ said Jonathan. The look of genuine concern on her face made him feel quite guilty. ‘Father gave me an infusion of camomile mixed with syrup of figs. He said it probably wasn’t the oyster, just indigestion from eating while reclining.’

  ‘But everybody knows it’s better for you to eat lying down. Anyway,’ Flavia lowered her voice, ‘I’m glad you had a stomach-ache when you did. I almost got myself locked up for the rest of the year, Saturnalia or no Saturnalia.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Jonathan innocently.

  ‘I was about to tell Cartilia where she could put her tambourine.’

  Lupus held up his wax tablet:

  WHERE IS NUBIA?

  ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘Is she all right? Yesterday evening, she ran out of the room in the middle of a song.’

  Flavia frowned. ‘She’s still in bed. She said she wasn’t feeling well. Maybe it was something we ate.’ Then her eyes widened. ‘Maybe Cartilia is trying to poison us!’ Flavia pressed her hand experimentally against her stomach and frowned. ‘Do I feel sick?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s trying to poison us,’ said Jonathan. ‘You know, Flavia . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ Flavia turned her head to look at him. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think Cartilia is evil. I think she’s quite nice. In fact . . .’his voice trailed off.

  ‘What?’ Flavia narrowed her eyes. ‘What in fact?’

  Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘She reminds me a bit of you.’

  Flavia opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Nubia came into the room.

  Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘I’ll ignore Jonathan’s last remark,’ said Flavia coolly. ‘Now that Nubia’s here, let’s review the facts. In my dream, Hercules told me I must complete twelve tasks. I believe the tasks are clues to solving a mystery which will save my father from Cartilia’s evil clutches.’

  The four friends were still in the dining room, watching the wall-painter work on the last wall. Now Flavia twisted to look at the wall behind them and gestured towards the fresco of Hercules wrestling a lion. ‘After we captured the lion,’ she said, ‘we learned that Cartilia was one of three daughters, and that the one nicknamed Paula was a bit strange.’

  Flavia pointed to the next painting. It showed Hercules cutting snaky heads off a dog-like creature.

  ‘Then we visited the Wise Woman of Ostia near the hydra fountain. She directed us to Cartilia’s house. So that was the second task completed. The third task of Hercules was to capture the deer sacred to Diana. We found Diana, rather than the deer, but we discovered that Cartilia’s nickname is Paula.’

  ‘And that her sister Diana is a bit strange, too,’ said Jonathan.

  I DON’T THINK SHE’S STRANGE wrote Lupus.

  Jonathan grinned.

  Flavia gestured at the last scene painted on the wall behind them. ‘Hercules’ fourth task was the boar,’ she continued. ‘At the Baths of Atalanta, near a boar mosaic, Nubia and I overheard a conversation and discovered a possible motive. Cartilia might be planning to marry my father and then kill him off to get her hands on his supposed wealth.’

  Jonathan folded his arms, ‘So far,’ he said, ‘all this is theory. And some of your informants were drunk as weasels.’

  ‘In vino veritas,’ quoted Flavia. ‘In wine there is truth.’

  Lupus nodded his agreement and Flavia pointed to the central wall. ‘Hercules’ fifth task led us to the stables, where we found out that Cartilia had been asking which baths Taurus the gladiator used!’

  ‘I do have to admit that’s strange,’ said Jonathan, unfolding his arms.

  ‘And while you were hunting the Stymphalian bird – task number six – you discovered that Cartilia is a greedy old witch.’

  ‘According to her sister,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Meanwhile, at the Forum Baths, we discovered that Taurus the Cretan Bull – obviously our seventh task – was selling his bath scrapings. And that Cartilia bought not one, but two bottles.’

  Jonathan shuddered. ‘And again I say: ewww.’

  ‘Task number eight,’ said Flavia, ‘led us to Diomedes the priest of Mithras. He gave us our most crucial piece of evidence. “It was her fault,” he said. And he clearly meant the death of Cartilia’s first husband, because he mentioned Caldus.’

  ‘That is a pretty serious accusation,’ said Jonathan. ‘Was he drunk?’

  Flavia shook her head. ‘Sober as a Vestal.’

  Jonathan sighed.

  ‘So we have four tasks left,’ said Flavia, opening her wax tablet and leaning back against the red wall. ‘The Amazon’s belt, the Red Cattle, the Golden Apples and Cerberus the Hound of Hades. Before we investigate them, I want to know what you think.’

  Lupus started writing on his wax tablet.

  SOMETHING NOT RIGHT ABOUT CARTILIA

  SHE IS NICE EVEN WHEN FLAVIA IS RUDE

  ‘I’m not that rude to her,’ protested Flavia.

  ‘Yes you are,’ said Jonathan. He ignored her glare. ‘I like Cartilia. I think she really loves your father, and the fact that she’s being so nice to you is proof of that.’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ said Flavia briskly. ‘What about you, Nubia? You’re good at sensing when people are hiding things.’

  Nubia was quiet for a moment. ‘Cartilia is being very nice to me. But when you were asking about her dead husband on first night, her face is pale. As if guilty.’

  Flavia nodded. ‘And there’s something else we’re forgetting,’ she said.

  They all looked at her.

  ‘The note. Diana gave Aristo a note asking him to meet her at the shrine.’

  Lupus wrote on his tablet:

  THAT’S NOT STRANGE

  DIANA LOVES ARISTO

  ‘And yet the note was signed Cartilia. Doesn’t it seem odd that Diana signed her note Cartilia?’ ‘Her name is Cartilia, too,’ said Jonathan. ‘I know. But why sign it Cartilia instead of Diana?’ Flavia lowered her voice. ‘I have a theory. What if Diana was only the messenger, even if she loves Aristo? Lupus says Aristo doesn’t even like Diana. So what if the note was really from Cartilia? Cartilia Paula, I mean.’

  They stared at her.

  ‘But Cartilia loves your father,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Does she?’ Flavia thoughtfully sucked a strand of hair. ‘Lupus, could the woman at the shrine have been Cartilia?’

  Lupus shrugged and then nodded. He wrote on his wax tablet.

  THEIR VOICES ARE VERY SIMILAR

  ‘But why?’ said Jonathan. ‘Why would Cartilia want to meet Aristo?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to discover,’ said Flavia. ‘Nubia. The woman in the woods. The one kissing Aristo. Is there any chance she could have been Cartilia?’

  ‘Yes, there is any chance,’ said Nubia. ‘It could be any woman, if slim and not so tall.’

  For a moment they were all silent, watching Hercules spread fresh plaster on the last wall of the dining room.

  Then Lupus held up his wax tablet apologetically:

  EVEN MIRIAM?

  ‘Lupus!’ cried Flavia and Jonathan at the same time.

  ‘Don’t be yelling at Lupus,’ said Nubia quietly. ‘Everybody knows Aristo is loving Miriam.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been Miriam,’ said Jonathan. ‘She’s been at my aunt’s house since the morning after the betrothal ceremony. And Nubia saw Aristo kissing the woman the following afternoon.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Flavia, ‘Miriam loves my uncle and I’m sure she’s faithful to him.’

  They all nodded.

  Jonathan raised his hand. ‘Um, Flavia? Why don’t we just ask Aristo who he was kissing?’

 
; ‘We can’t ask him,’ whispered Flavia. ‘What if Cartilia is using her love potion to enchant him, too!’

  Nubia gasped. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘So that he’ll be under her spell and help her accomplish her evil scheme!’

  The Wise Woman sat in the weak winter sunshine and spun her grey wool. As Nubia’s shadow fell across her lap the old woman squinted up at her. Nubia clapped her hands softly and let her knees bend.

  ‘Ah, the lovely Nubia!’ Lusca showed her single tooth in a smile. ‘Come, sit beside me. Shoo there!’ She put the mass of soft wool on her lap and pushed the grey cat off the stool. The cat landed on the cold paving stones, blinked up at them with green eyes, then nonchalantly began to clean itself.

  Nubia sat on the stool and extended a small papyrus parcel.

  ‘Halva!’ The papyrus crinkled as the old woman undid the folds. ‘Very tasty and easy on my gums. Thank you my dear.’

  The Wise Woman peered about. ‘Where’s your bossy young mistress?’

  ‘She is not my mistress,’ said Nubia quietly. ‘She set me free three months ago.’

  ‘Loyalty.’ The old woman nodded. ‘I like that. But I think she is still your mistress in many ways.’

  Nubia was silent. The grey cat rubbed itself against her leg and purred.

  ‘Your friend is a truth seeker,’ said the old woman, ‘and she has a warm heart. But she has not yet learned that the truth can be dangerous. And sometimes painful. Also she tries to control people. This is never good. She must learn to trust the gods.’

  ‘I want to help her,’ said Nubia. ‘To help her find the truth.’

  ‘Then tell her this. Most of the evil in the world arises from two sources: greed and passion. She has been looking for actions motivated by greed. But in this particular case the troublemaker is Cupid, not Divitiae.’

  ‘Who is Divity Eye?’

  ‘Not who. What.’ The old woman closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Though it should be a god. “Divitiae” means wealth and only one deity has more power in the hearts of Romans: Cupid, the god of desire. Sometimes called Amor. Or Eros. Your friend Flavia should look to him.’