‘Thank you,’ said Nubia. ‘I think I understand. Thank you.’
The old woman’s eyes were still closed and her face turned up to the mild winter sun. In its light her skin was as translucent as parchment. The spindle lay among the wool in her lap.
Nubia reached down and stroked the purring cat. Presently she rose to go, then gasped as the old woman clutched her wrist.
‘How old are you?’ said the Wise Woman, opening her one good eye.
Nubia was too surprised to speak for a moment. ‘Eleven,’ she finally said. ‘I’m becoming twelve in summer.’
The old woman nodded. ‘You also must beware of Cupid. You and your mistress. Neither of you are old enough yet. If you see him aim his bow, you must run. If by chance his arrow strikes, you must pluck it out, throw it far away and take whatever cure you can find.’
‘Bossy young mistress,’ sighed Flavia. ‘Is that how people see me?’ She had been hiding round the corner and had heard everything.
‘Little bit,’ said Nubia. Then, seeing Flavia’s expression, she quickly added: ‘Not so much.’
‘No.’ Flavia took Nubia’s arm as they turned onto Mulberry Street. ‘The old woman is right. I am bossy. But ‘I’m glad I listened to you and let you question her your own way. I must try that some time.’
‘What?’
‘Just sitting there and not saying anything.’
‘Silence is making people talk,’ said Nubia.
Flavia nodded. She could hear the faint sound of pipes and cymbals.
‘I wonder if she’s right about the motive,’ said Flavia presently. ‘Not greed, but passion. I need to think about that.’
The music was louder and as they turned onto Orchard Street they converged with a funeral procession making for the Laurentum Gate. The girls moved up onto the pavement. They stood, their pallas wrapped around them, resting against the red brick wall between shuttered shopfronts.
Weeping men and women led the procession and finally came the bier, a litter with the body of a girl whose profile looked very solemn and sad.
‘Oh, Nubia!’ whispered Flavia. ‘It’s Bruta, the daughter of Brutus the pork butcher. She was to be married next month.’
Marriage made Flavia think of Felix, as she did so many times each day, and she sighed. She closed her eyes and his face was there, as it always was. If you see Cupid aim his bow, the old woman had said . . . No use running now. Cupid’s arrow had struck her months ago and there seemed to be no cure. If anything, the sickness was getting worse. She could not even begin to think of marrying anyone else.
Flavia opened her eyes and shook her head.
‘Come on,’ she said, taking Nubia’s arm. ‘Hercules’ ninth task was to get the belt of the Amazon. I’ve just remembered something. In the Temple of Rome and Augustus, Rome is shown as a beautiful Amazon resting her foot on the world. Let’s go see if we can find our next clue there.’
Nubia looked up into the vast space of the temple. Green marble columns rose up as high as the tallest palm trees in the oasis. High above her, a dove fluttered from the top of one column to the next.
Two priests, their heads draped with togas, were placing incense balls on braziers before the statue of Rome and Augustus. Pale gold beams of winter sunshine pierced the smoke that rose above them.
‘There,’ whispered Flavia. ‘That’s Augustus. He used to be an Emperor but now he’s a god.’
‘Augustus who is wearing five tunics because of the cold? He is now a god?’
‘That’s right. And the woman beside him is Rome as an Amazon.’
‘Rome is a girl with one breast not being covered?’
‘Yes. That shows she’s an Amazon. A brave female warrior. Sometimes Rome is depicted as an Amazon. And see? She has her foot on the world.’
‘That ball? That ball is being the world?’ Nubia didn’t understand. The sickly-sweet smell made her head spin and she reached for Flavia’s hand.
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘And her foot shows that Rome has conquered it.’
Nubia squinted through the incense smoke at the statue’s lovely face. Then she turned to Flavia. ‘Rome-the-Amazon is looking familiar,’ she said.
‘I was just thinking that.’ Flavia lowered her voice to a whisper, because one of the priests had turned to glare at her. ‘Now who does she remind me of?’
Suddenly Nubia knew.
She turned to Flavia. ‘The Amazon is looking just like Cartilia’s sister, Diana.’
Flavia took a deep breath and rapped the doorknocker shaped like the club of Hercules. Nubia had been right. There was only one man-hating female warrior in the town. She knew the secret of the ninth clue – the clue of the Amazon’s belt – had to lie with Cartilia’s sister Diana.
Now Flavia’s heart was pounding. What if Cartilia answered the door? Flavia knew she had been very rude to her the night before. She should never have revealed her true feelings like that. Now she must pretend to be sorry.
Perhaps nobody was home. That would almost be a relief.
The door swung open and a woman in a fine mesh hair-net stood looking at them. It took Flavia a moment to recognise Cartilia’s mother, Vibia. Without a wig, her natural hair was straight and grey.
‘Oh. Hello, Flavia.’ Vibia’s voice was flat. ‘Nubia. Please come in.’
‘Thank you,’ said Flavia, and took a deep breath. ‘Is Cartilia here. I mean Cartilia Paula?’
‘No. My eldest daughter is at the baths.’ She led them through the atrium and into the study. There were no scrolls open on the desk and no pitcher of spiced wine.
‘Do have a seat.’
‘Thank you.’ Flavia and Nubia sat in the same chairs they had sat in on their previous visit. This time Vibia did not offer them any refreshments. She sat stiffly in her chair and looked at the girls. Flavia thought she looked vulnerable without her elegant wig.
‘Um . . . Does Cartilia Paula go to the Baths of Atalanta?’ said Flavia, twisting the hem of her palla.
‘Why do you suppose that?’ replied Vibia, almost sharply. She shook her head. ‘No, both my daughters frequent the Baths of Minerva, a respectable establishment.’
‘Oh. Well, I wanted to see Cartilia because . . . I want to apologise to her. I was rude last night.’
Vibia let out a breath. ‘I’m glad to hear it. You hurt my daughter deeply. She was weeping last night.’
‘What? Cartilia was crying?’
Vibia nodded. There were tears in her own eyes. ‘She has tried so hard to win your affection. Your approval.’
‘I made her cry?’
‘Does it surprise you that a grown woman can cry?’ Vibia’s voice faltered. ‘You should have seen her when she got home, after your father said goodbye. She told me how angry you were about the tambourine. She thought you were just beginning to warm to her—’ Vibia patted her hair and stood. ‘Oh dear. I shouldn’t be telling you all this. But when she hurts, I hurt. She’s still my little girl, you know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Flavia. She felt sick. ‘I really didn’t know . . . I’m sorry.’
Vibia looked down at Flavia. ‘Paula desperately wants your approval, Flavia. She loves your father so very much. The day she met him – a few weeks ago – she came back here and I saw that for the first time in years the sparkle had returned to her eyes. Since then she’s seemed to grow younger and happier. Until last week. I asked her what was wrong. At first she wouldn’t say. Finally she said: “His daughter hates me and I don’t know why.”’
‘I think,’ said Flavia, rising to her feet, ‘I think we have to go now.’
‘Wait.’ Vibia stepped forward and took Flavia’s cold hands in her warm ones. ‘Thank you so much for coming to apologise. I can’t tell you how much it will mean to Cartilia Paula. And how much it means to me.’
‘Yes. Well. We must go now. Come on, Nubia.’
She was almost out of the front door when she felt Nubia catch her hand to stop her. Flavia turned, a rebuke on her lips
, but she was silenced by Nubia’s discovery: several cloaks hanging in the vestibule.
‘That is a very nice cloak,’ Nubia said, pointing towards one in particular. ‘Is it Diana’s?’
Vibia glanced at the cloaks hanging by the door. ‘What? The grey one with the hood?’
Nubia nodded.
‘No,’ said Vibia with a smile. ‘That cloak belongs to me. Isn’t it lovely? It’s made of special wool from the goat’s stomach and it’s very warm. It was a gift to me from my husband.’
‘Behold, Flavia! Mushrooms!’ Nubia bent and lifted the basket from the front porch. A red ribbon was tied round the basket’s handle and a papyrus label attached to it.
‘Oh Pollux,’ said Flavia. ‘They’re from her. Now I really do feel bad.’
Nubia looked at the papyrus label as Flavia read it out:
MUSHROOMS WILL MAKE YOU A GOOD SATURNALIA
THEY ARE STUFFED BY MY OWN HAND WITH LOVE
FROM PAULA
‘They look tasty,’ said Nubia.
‘Pater’s not here tonight,’ said Flavia. ‘He’s dining at Cartilia’s. But Jonathan and Aristo like mushrooms. Why don’t we invite the boys and Doctor Mordecai round? Our storeroom is getting bare. They can bring the meat.’
‘Any luck with task number ten at the Red Cow Dairy?’ asked Flavia.
Jonathan shook his head but Lupus nodded.
‘Oh yes,’ said Jonathan with a grin. ‘Lupus won at dice.’
‘How much?’ asked Flavia, arranging the stuffed mushrooms on a platter.
Lupus emptied a papyrus cone of almonds onto the wooden cutting board.
‘Euge!’ said Nubia. ‘I can prepare almond dates for dessert.’
‘Any luck finding clues about Cartilia?’
‘No,’ said Jonathan. ‘But did you know there’s a new tavern up by the river called the Atlas Tavern?’
‘And . . .?’ Flavia added some dried parsley to garnish the platter of mushrooms.
‘Well. When Hercules performed his eleventh task, to find the golden apples, didn’t he get some help from Atlas?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘He held the world on his shoulders while Atlas went to get the apples from the garden of the Hesperides.’
‘So shouldn’t we try the Atlas tavern? We could go now!’
Lupus shook his dice box and nodded enthusiastically.
‘No,’ sighed Flavia. ‘I’m thinking of calling off the whole investigation. We talked to Cartilia’s mother today. It seems Cartilia really does love my father. Oh, and apparently her mother is Aristo’s secret lover.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know, Jonathan!’ Flavia turned to look at him. ‘I’m so depressed. Brutus’s daughter died and I made Cartilia cry and everything’s so confusing. Let’s just have a nice feast tonight and play some music and forget about our woes. Can you all come?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Lupus and I can come but father said he wouldn’t be home till late. He has lots of sick patients at the moment.’
‘Can you bring some meat?’
Jonathan nodded again. ‘One of father’s patients paid him with a leg of wild boar. Father doesn’t really like pork, so we’ll bring that.’
Suddenly there was a clatter from the dining room, then a thud.
‘What was that?’ cried Jonathan.
Nipur skittered out of the kitchen and Scuto limped after him. The four friends followed them through the garden.
‘In here!’ Caudex the door-slave was bending over a body on the floor of the triclinium.
It was Hercules the wall-painter.
‘Dear Lord, not another one.’ Mordecai straightened from the dining couch upon which they had laid Hercules. ‘I’m afraid he’s got the fever, too. This is the sixth or seventh case this afternoon. He won’t be going anywhere for at least two days. We need to get him home. Do any of you know where he lives?’ There was a pause. Lupus looked up from examining Hercules’ paintbrush. Everyone was looking at him.
Lupus shrugged.
‘We only know his name,’ said Flavia, then added, ‘Hercules.’
‘I know where he lives,’ said Caudex, scratching his armpit. ‘I can carry him.’
‘But who’s going to finish painting the wall?’ cried Flavia.
As they carried the wall-painter out of the room, Lupus looked down at the paintbrush in his hand. And smiled.
Jonathan took a mushroom from the platter and nodded at Scuto.
‘He seems better now.’
It was late afternoon and they had all gathered in Flavia’s triclinium for dinner.
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘He was resting earlier but Nubia and I took him for a short walk in the woods about an hour ago.’
‘See anybody “very kissing”?’ grinned Jonathan. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth and looked at Aristo.
Flavia glanced at Aristo, too, but he was staring wide-eyed at the wall behind her.
Flavia twisted to look over her shoulder.
Somehow, the fresco had been completed and the sketches of the last two tasks expertly filled in with colour. In the eleventh labour Hercules strained to hold the sky on his lion-covered shoulders while Atlas stood before him with three golden apples. In the final scene Hercules led a three-headed dog towards a man cowering in a huge jar.
‘Hey!’ said Jonathan, his mouth full. ‘Those two Herculeses look a bit like you, Flavia! Apart from the beard and muscles, of course.’
‘Very kissing?’ said Aristo suddenly. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Flavia ignored him. ‘It is me!’ she cried. ‘But we took Hercules the wall-painter home! How did he manage to finish . . .?’ She stopped and slowly turned her head to look at Lupus.
Lupus was staring at the ceiling, whistling a little tune.
‘Aha!’ cried Jonathan, holding up Lupus’s right hand. ‘The proof! Paint on his fingers!’
‘Lupus, did you finish those paintings?’ said Flavia.
Lupus nodded and started writing on his tablet.
‘They are wonderful,’ said Nubia. ‘Almost as good as wall-painter.’
Lupus held up his wax tablet:
I HAD TO FINISH IT
PLASTER DRIES FAST
‘He’s right,’ said Aristo, leaning forward to take a mushroom. ‘If you don’t finish painting a fresco before the plaster dries you have to redo the whole wall. Or leave it unfinished.’
‘Well, I like them,’ said Jonathan, popping another mushroom into his mouth. ‘I think a beard suits Flavia.’
‘Who is man hiding in big jar?’ asked Nubia.
‘King Eurystheus,’ said Flavia. ‘He’s the person Hercules had to serve for eight years while he did the tasks.’
‘He is looking a bit like your pater,’ said Nubia.
‘Great Neptune’s beard! Lupus! You’ve made him look like pater!’
Lupus grinned and nodded.
‘These mushrooms taste a bit odd.’ Aristo frowned.
Jonathan nodded. ‘Did you make them, Flavia?’
‘No.’ Flavia turned away from the fresco. ‘They’re from Cartilia.’ She reached for one. ‘Her note said she stuffed them herself.’
‘But what is the stuffing?’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s something brown . . .’
‘Olive paste?’ suggested Aristo.
‘Or thick fish sauce?’ said Jonathan, chewing thoughtfully.
Suddenly Flavia’s blood seemed to go cold.
‘STOP!’ she cried. ‘Don’t eat them! They’re poisoned!’
‘What?’ everyone cried. ‘Poisoned?’
‘Yes!’ said Flavia. ‘The mushrooms are poisoned! Cartilia is trying to kill us off because we’re getting too close to the truth! She chose the one afternoon when pater was out to murder us! I was right about her after all.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Aristo, sniffing a mushroom. ‘This doesn’t smell very nice but I don’t think it’s poison. It smells like oil, and cumin perhaps?’ He paused and sniffed
again. ‘Cumin smells like sweat . . .’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia. ‘It’s the love potion!’
‘Love potion?’ Aristo frowned.
Jonathan looked green. ‘You don’t mean?’
‘Yes,’ Flavia nodded grimly. ‘You’ve been eating mushrooms stuffed with gladiator scrapings!’
‘Argghhh!’ cried Jonathan. ‘Love mushrooms! I’d rather be poisoned!’
‘By Apollo!’ cried Aristo suddenly. ‘I’m going to murder her!’ He slid awkwardly off the couch, jostling the table and causing the plate of mushrooms to clatter to the floor. The damp note had stuck to the bottom of the platter and now it lay on the floor, still attached to its red ribbon.
Aristo bent, picked up the papyrus and read it. Breathing hard, he looked at the dogs gobbling up the love mushrooms at his feet. Then he crumpled up the note and threw it to the ground.
‘I swear I’m going to murder her!’ he repeated, and rushed out of the room.
Flavia Gemina sat up straight on her banqueting couch and turned to Lupus.
‘Follow him!’ she hissed. ‘And don’t let him see you.’
Eyes bright, Lupus nodded, then jumped down from the couch and slipped out of the room.
Flavia looked round at the others. ‘Whoever Aristo goes to is the one behind all this,’ she said. ‘If Lupus doesn’t lose him, we might finally solve this mystery.’
Lupus followed Aristo through the dusk as silently as a shadow. Once he lost him in a crowd of revellers but by then he suspected where Aristo was going, so he took a short cut. He was already hiding behind the column of a neighbour’s porch when Aristo banged on the door with the club door-knocker.
Lupus listened with all his might, shutting out the sound of the wind in the trees and the singing from the Peacock Tavern.
He heard Aristo’s voice, low and angry, then a woman’s voice. The wind died for a moment and he faintly heard the woman call out, ‘Mater, may I borrow your cloak?’
Lupus took a breath and slipped closer, to the porch of the nearest neighbour. The twilight around him was a vibrant blue. Nubia called it ‘hour of blue’.
He listened, and suddenly heard the crunch of boots on the paving stone and Aristo’s voice almost in his ear. They were just the other side of the column!
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 77