The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘We’re coming with you?’ asked Jonathan, his heart still thumping.

  Mordecai nodded. ‘Flavia and Nubia, too,’ he added, holding up the papyrus note. ‘The Emperor has requested all four of you by name. Apparently he has a mystery he wants you to solve.’

  ‘Pater, may Nubia and I go with Jonathan and Lupus to Rome?’ Flavia sat on her father’s knee and wrapped her arms round his neck.

  Marcus Flavius Geminus put down his quill pen. ‘I still can’t imagine why the Emperor wants you and your friends up in Rome.’

  ‘I told you how we saved his life a few months ago. He knows we’re good at solving mysteries. And I suppose he trusts us.’

  ‘What about the pestilence?’

  ‘Doctor Mordecai says it’s safe because we’ve already had the fever. Or at least I have. Nubia would have caught it by now if she was going to get it.’

  Her father hesitated.

  ‘We really want to go but if you say no I promise to obey you.’

  ‘I appreciate your obedience.’ Her father sighed and put down his pen. ‘And because I myself must show obedience to the Emperor . . . Yes, you may go.’

  Flavia squealed and hugged her father.

  ‘Besides,’ he said with a smile, ‘I’m busy getting the Delphina ready for the sailing season. She needs a lot of work done if I’m to transform her from a slave-ship to a merchant ship and I could use Aristo’s uninterrupted help.’ Flavia kissed her father’s cheek and noted with approval that he had been to the barber that morning. Recently he had begun skipping his daily visit, but today his cheek was smooth and the faint scent of his usual myrtle oil comforted her.

  ‘Pater, do you promise to take winter violets and hyacinths to mater’s tomb on the last day of the Parentalia if I’m not back? They were her favourites.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and patted her as she slid off his lap. ‘And you must promise not to catch the fever again. Or to get into any trouble.’

  ‘Don’t worry, pater!’ called Flavia, already on her way upstairs to pack. ‘I promise we won’t get into any trouble at all!’

  It was mid-afternoon when the imperial carriage began to pass tombs along the roadside, a sign that the city was not far off. Lupus caught the scent of imminent rain and – more faintly – the sweet smell of roasting meat. Among the tombs, cypress trees stood like tall dark flames which pointed accusingly up at the swollen sky. As the carriage topped a rise, Lupus saw something else. Something that had not been here the last time he came to Rome. Silhouetted against the grey sky were wooden crosses with men nailed to them. Three on each side of the road.

  The men’s naked bodies were covered with grime and blood and, as the carriage approached, Lupus saw that their faces were contorted in agony. A crow landed on the top of one cross and flapped its wings. With a thrill of horror Lupus saw the figure beneath it stir weakly: the men were still alive.

  Lupus heard Mordecai murmur a prayer and Flavia whispered to Nubia:

  ‘Probably runaway slaves. They’ve been crucified.’

  ‘That is being crucified? Being nailed to wood?’ Nubia’s voice was barely audible.

  ‘Yes,’ Mordecai answered her. ‘That’s what they did to our Messiah, God’s son.’

  ‘They did that to your god?’ Flavia sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes. He allowed them to do it. He sacrificed himself for mankind.’

  They were passing right below the crosses now and Lupus forced himself to look up. One of the crucified men had an open mouth which looked like a gaping wound. There was dried blood on his chin and throat and chest. Lupus knew with terrible certainty that the man’s tongue had been cut out.

  Abruptly, the imperial messenger twisted on his seat beside the driver. ‘Close the flaps of the cover, would you?’ he said. ‘We’re approaching Rome.’ Lupus scowled. It wasn’t raining and he wanted to see the piles of dead bodies everyone in Ostia had been talking about. But Mordecai was already following the messenger’s instructions.

  As Jonathan’s father let the flaps fall shut, the interior of the carriage grew dim.

  Lupus snorted with disgust. He wasn’t going to sit in the dark. He had only been to Rome once before. And he wanted to catch another glimpse of the city as they entered it. He pushed the front flap aside and squeezed onto the bench between the messenger and the driver. The messenger frowned down at him, but the driver laughed and ruffled Lupus’s hair.

  Lupus endured this without snarling. If they allowed him to stay here then it was worth it.

  They let him stay.

  Now the carriage was moving between the graves of the rich. The winter sun had momentarily dropped beneath the clouds and it glazed the white tombs around them with a watery orange light. Lupus’s nostrils flared: the scent of roast pork was stronger now. But when he saw plumes of dark smoke rising behind the graves, Lupus knew it wasn’t pork he smelled. His throat contracted. Between the tombs he caught a brief glimpse of a dark body burning fiercely in the pale flames of a funeral pyre.

  As they drew closer to Rome the graves became more impressive; these were the tombs of wealthy families. But the columns of smoke rising among them showed that the fever was striking down rich as well as poor.

  Presently they passed beneath the pyramid-shaped tomb of Cestius, and now the three huge white arches of the Trigemina Gate lay before them. There were only a few carts and carrucas waiting outside. Lupus knew that most wheeled traffic was forbidden to enter Rome during the day, but the imperial carriage was an exception. The guards at the gate waved them through.

  Lupus tipped his head back and watched the arch fill the sky above him and dim the world for a moment. Then the light grew brighter again as they came out the other side. Into Rome.

  The big square with the fountain in the middle was almost deserted, but here and there people were scavenging among garbage heaps. Lupus looked again and grunted with satisfaction. What he had first taken for piles of clothes were dead and bloated bodies. Two soldiers were piling them onto carts. Beside Lupus, the messenger made the sign against evil. Lupus saw fear in his eyes.

  But Lupus was not afraid. He had already had the fever and survived. The knowledge of that made him feel powerful. He noted with approval the envious gazes of two youths searching another pile of bodies for coins or jewellery. They must be wondering who he was: the boy in the sea-green tunic and fur-lined boots, sitting so proudly in the imperial carriage, obviously on his way to see the Emperor.

  Presently the carriage emerged from between tall apartment blocks and the long Circus Maximus lay before them on the left. Beyond it rose the Palatine Hill, with the colourful columns and domes of the Imperial Palace partly screened by cypress, palms and umbrella pines.

  Lupus sat up with interest. The broad street was suddenly full of people, mostly women and girls. Despite the heavy sky and the stench of death they seemed excited, even cheerful.

  ‘Pollux!’ cursed the messenger. ‘I’d hoped we would avoid it.’

  ‘No such luck,’ growled the cart-driver.

  ‘Imagine them coming out today.’

  ‘I know,’ said the driver, and added, ‘my wife’s probably here. As if we don’t have enough mouths to feed already . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ Flavia’s head pushed through the gap in the canvas and she peered over Lupus’s shoulder.

  ‘Today’s the Lupercalia,’ said the imperial messenger. ‘The ceremony’s not quite finished. You’d better get back inside. Here come the wolves.’

  In the dim interior of the imperial carruca, Nubia shivered and pulled her lionskin cloak tighter round her shoulders.

  She had been glad when they closed the flaps of the carriage. The sight of the men on their crosses and the terrible sweet scent of burning corpses had brought a deep sense of dread upon her. She wished she was back in Ostia. She and Flavia could be at the baths now, sitting in the hot laconicum with its resinated scent of baking pinewood.

  Flavia was telling her about the Luperc
alia, explaining that it was a festival for fertility, but Nubia wasn’t listening. And she was only vaguely aware of the sound of women’s shrieking laughter outside the carriage.

  She was worried about Nipur. Would Alma remember to let him out for his afternoon romp in the woods?

  Suddenly light flooded the interior of the carriage as one of the canvas flaps was thrown aside. Flavia squealed and Jonathan uttered an exclamation of surprise. Nubia looked up to see a blood-smeared teenager framed in the opening, naked apart from a leather loincloth and a wolfskin over his shoulders. The youth’s laughing mouth was open and she could see his sharp little teeth and the whites of his eyes. He flicked something at Nubia and she flinched. Then he was gone and the carriage was dim again and everyone was looking at her. Nubia looked round at them and then down at herself.

  She burst into tears.

  Her precious lionskin cloak was spattered with bright red drops of fresh blood.

  Flavia was trying to comfort Nubia. They had arrived at the Imperial Palace and their messenger had led them up a set of marble stairs to a suite of elegant rooms around a rectangular courtyard. A slave-girl had taken Nubia’s cloak away to be cleaned.

  But Nubia had found a spot of blood on the back of her hand and was washing it in the almond-shaped fountain at the centre of the courtyard.

  ‘It won’t hurt you, Nubia. It’s just goat’s blood. If it touches you it means you will be fruitful and have lots of babies. Most women want to be spattered by the wolf-boys. That’s why they dressed up and came out even during the fever.’

  But Nubia’s golden eyes were full of tears now. They spilled over and wet her cheeks. She was shivering, too.

  ‘Oh, Nubia!’ Flavia put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘Are you cold without your cloak? Here, come back into our room. Wrap this blanket around you. Look at the beautiful frescoes on our wall. They’re the stories of Prometheus and Pandora. Do you want me to tell you?’

  Nubia gave a little nod, but Flavia could feel her friend’s shoulders still trembling under the soft blanket.

  ‘Prometheus was a Titan,’ began Flavia. ‘One of the old gods that came before Jupiter, Juno, Minerva and all the other gods we have now. Prometheus brought fire down from Olympus because mankind didn’t have fire and had to eat raw meat with the blood still in it. But Jupiter got angry with Prometheus. He didn’t want man to have fire—’

  ‘Why not?’ whispered Nubia. ‘Why did Jupiter not want man to have fire?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe because if man had fire he would be able to forge weapons and challenge the gods. Jupiter was so angry that he decided to punish Prometheus for bringing down fire and man for accepting it.’

  Nubia had stopped trembling. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How did he punish?’

  ‘That panel shows how Jupiter punished man,’ said Flavia. ‘He did it by making a woman.’

  ‘He punishes man with a woman?’

  ‘Yes. Her name is Pandora. See how beautiful she is?’

  Nubia nodded.

  ‘Jupiter gave her a box full of hatred and envy and fear and disease and death.’

  ‘Why? Why is he giving her a box with terrible things inside?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that either. But in the story, Jupiter tells Pandora that she must never, ever open the box. Not under any circumstances. And of course she eventually does, because if you tell someone not to do something, well . . . that’s all they think about doing. And when Pandora finally opens the box, she lets all the horrible things out into the world. Things like disease and death and grief.’

  Flavia gestured towards the next panel.

  ‘Pandora realises her mistake too late, and slams the lid shut. She’s managed to trap one thing in the box. “Let me out,” it cries. “I’m hope. Without me, people won’t be able to bear the terrible things you’ve let loose!” At first Pandora doesn’t believe it, but at last she does.’

  ‘And is the one thing in the box really hope?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘Without hope we couldn’t bear all the sadness and sickness in the world. And look at that panel! Jupiter is punishing Prometheus by chaining him to a column and sending a vulture to peck out his liver – that’s one of the organs near your stomach. But because Prometheus is immortal and can’t die, his liver grows back every night and then the vulture comes and pecks it out again during the day and he suffers unbearable pain forever.’ Flavia pointed. ‘See the drops of blood?’

  Nubia nodded.

  ‘There!’ said Flavia, patting Nubia’s back. ‘Did that story cheer you up?’

  Jonathan looked round the room he and Lupus were to share. It was next to the girls’ room and he could hear Flavia’s voice, though he couldn’t make out her words. His father’s room was across the courtyard; Mordecai had been unpacking his medical equipment when two imperial slaves had hurried him away to meet the other doctors.

  Jonathan’s heart was racing. At last. His father and mother were in the same city. Not only in the same city but within the same square mile. So close to one another that the distance could be measured in feet.

  Lupus grunted at him, and Jonathan realised he’d been standing with a folded tunic in his hands for some moments.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said in response to Lupus’s questioning look. ‘I was just thinking.’ He put his spare tunic in the cedarwood box at the foot of his bed.

  Lupus patted his bed and grinned at Jonathan.

  ‘I know,’ said Jonathan. ‘Feather mattress. It’s a bit too soft for me. I prefer a hard mattress.’

  In response Lupus jumped onto his bed and sank into it, completely disappearing.

  ‘Oh, look!’ said Flavia, coming into the boys’ room with Nubia. ‘You’ve got the Sack of Troy on your walls.’

  ‘I know what “sack” means,’ said Nubia. ‘It means the destroying of the town by warriors.’

  ‘We have Prometheus on our wall,’ said Flavia.

  ‘He is having his liver pecked out by a bird,’ added Nubia.

  Lupus raised his head with interest from the feather bed.

  ‘Jonathan,’ whispered Flavia, coming closer. ‘You said we might get to meet your mother if we came to Rome. When can we see her?’

  ‘Soon, I hope,’ said Jonathan, lowering his voice, too. ‘Uncle Simeon will know where she is. If he’s here in Rome. It’s probably too late to go to the Golden House today,’ he said. ‘But maybe we can go tomorrow.’

  ‘Your uncle is not in Rome this week,’ said a gruff, well-educated voice from the doorway.

  They all turned to see a tall, grey-haired man with a large nose and bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Agathus!’ exclaimed Jonathan.

  Agathus inclined his head. ‘Welcome back to the Imperial Palace, Jonathan ben Mordecai,’ he said with a smile. ‘I hope your quarters are more acceptable this time?’

  Jonathan grinned and said to his friends, ‘The last time I visited the Emperor I ended up scrubbing latrines in the Golden House. Agathus was kind to me.’ He turned back to Agathus. ‘Did I ever thank you?’

  ‘No need,’ said Agathus. ‘Especially to a fellow Jew. Tell me,’ he glanced across the courtyard, ‘have they taken your father to the island?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I think he’s gone to meet some other doctors.’

  ‘Then he is at the sanctuary,’ said Agathus. ‘The Emperor has set up a clinic there to find the best treatment for the pestilence. Your father won’t be back for an hour or two.’

  Jonathan’s heart was pounding again. ‘Agathus,’ he whispered. ‘Do you know where my mother is?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the old steward. ‘She is here on the Palatine. And she has just invited the four of you to dine in her quarters.’

  As Agathus led the way through a maze of columned corridors, Nubia stared in wonder. The walls of the Imperial Palace were inlaid with panels of coloured marble – red, yellow, grey, pink, buttermilk and green. The floor was blue-grey marble, so highly polished
that it looked wet. Above them a high vault was painted with panels matching the colours of the marble. The tops and bases of the columns they passed were gilded, and details on the wooden doors were also picked out in gold.

  Nubia and her three friends followed Agathus up several flights of stairs, occasionally passing slaves wearing black tunics, scribes in grey or watchful guards in red tunics and gleaming armour. Presently they reached another long corridor with wine-coloured columns running before a white and cream marbled wall.

  At the end of this corridor were double doors of oak, carved with cupids and doves. There were no soldiers standing at these doors.

  Agathus scratched the door softly with his fingernails, then pulled open the right-hand door and stood back. ‘I will take my leave of you here,’ he said, and gave a little bow.

  Nubia followed Jonathan and the others through the doorway. She found herself in a room with coloured mosaic floors and blue silk divans against red-painted walls. The violet chinks of evening sky gleaming through the sandalwood window-screens showed her that they must be on one of the upper floors of the palace. A large standing loom stood in the centre of the room and near it coals glowed red in a copper brazier. As Nubia looked at the brazier, a woman dressed in a long tunic of midnight blue stepped out from behind the loom.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful, thought Nubia, just like Miriam. She had the same wide-spaced eyes and full mouth, the same flawless complexion, the same exquisite curve of cheekbone and chin. But where Miriam’s hair was curly, this woman’s hair was as smooth as black silk.

  ‘Mother!’ cried Jonathan, and ran to her.

  ‘Jonathan, my son,’ said his mother in Hebrew. She took a step back to look at him. ‘You look well: I’m glad to see you’ve put on weight. You were far too thin before.’

  She put her hand up to his cheek and although her fingers were cool and smooth, he felt the callous of the weaver’s shuttle. Up close he could see a few threads of silver in her hair and fine lines around her eyes and mouth.