The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Wait! Can you bring Apollodorus, too? And Hesiod in translation?’

  Ascletario bowed and trotted off towards the Greek colonnade.

  They sat at the marble table and looked up and down the long room. A moment later Flavia felt Jonathan’s elbow in her ribs.

  ‘Josephus!’ he hissed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The man writing at that table over there – the man with the beard – I’m sure that’s Josephus.’

  ‘The man who exposed you and your uncle when you tried to sneak into the palace in disguise?’ asked Flavia.

  Jonathan nodded.

  They all stared at the bearded man. Suddenly he glanced up so all four of them dropped their heads, pretending to study the coloured swirls in the marble table top.

  A moment later his shadow fell across the table as he stood between them and the columns.

  Flavia studied the bearded man who was smiling down at Jonathan. She guessed he was about the same age as Mordecai: in his early forties.

  ‘You’re Jonathan, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Simeon’s nephew. We met a few months ago.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Jonathan coldly.

  ‘I am sorry.’ The man spoke with an accent like Mordecai’s. ‘I was only acting in the best interests of the Emperor.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jonathan, and examined the table top.

  The bearded man’s smile faltered and he looked at Flavia and the others. ‘My name is Josephus,’ he said. ‘I’m writing a history of the Jewish people, and the Emperor has put his library at my disposal. May I ask what you are doing here?’

  ‘We’re just doing some research for a project,’ said Flavia. ‘Um . . . a project on um . . . Greek tragedy.’

  ‘Well, if I can help in any way, don’t hesitate to ask.’ He looked at Jonathan. ‘You can find me here most days.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Ah,’ murmured Josephus. ‘Here comes Ascletario. You must excuse me. His chatter always gives me a headache.’

  A moment later Ascletario triumphantly deposited three scrolls and two scroll cases on the marble table.

  ‘Was that man bothering you?’ he said, narrowing his eyes at Josephus’s retreating back.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Flavia brightly and looked through the scrolls. ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘We have Aeschylus, Apollodorus and Hesiod. In both Greek and Latin. Thank you, Ascletario.’

  ‘I humbly bow.’

  Flavia glanced up at their guide, still hovering. She wasn’t ready to trust him.

  ‘Ascletario,’ she said sweetly, ‘could you please find us some pictures of Prometheus? Maybe on some vases?’

  ‘Certainly, certainly, certainly,’ he bobbed his narrow head. ‘Please to note the Emperor has a fine collection of Greek pottery. I will return shortly.’

  As soon as he was out of sight, Flavia turned to the others. ‘In order to discover who is the Prometheus in Titus’s dream, we need to find out what the mythical Prometheus was like. His character. For example, Nubia is gentle and good with animals. And Lupus is quick-tempered. I mean brave!’ she said hastily, as Lupus narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Very brave!’ She grinned. ‘So look for the qualities that make Prometheus special.’

  Jonathan stared at the black letters on the papyrus scroll of Hesiod.

  But he did not see the words.

  He was imagining how it might happen.

  His mother would be walking down one corridor of the palace and his father down another. Suddenly they would turn a corner, come face to face and instantly recognise one another. His father would be overcome by his mother’s beauty and would forgive her there and then. And she – finally free of her guilt – would beg him to take her back. They would go to Titus hand in hand, and the Emperor’s heart would be softened by their love and he would give Susannah his permission to leave.

  Then things would be right in the world. They would all return to Ostia where his father would cure people and his mother would cook and weave wool and sing in a voice half-remembered from so long ago. And they would be a family again.

  A tear splashed onto the papyrus and one of the words blurred as the ink dissolved: the word ‘chaos’. Jonathan hastily blotted it with the long sleeve of his winter tunic and glanced round guiltily, relieved to see no one had noticed his defacement of a priceless scroll.

  ‘Interesting,’ murmured Flavia. She looked up at her three friends. ‘Has anybody found any clues?’

  ‘I feel sick from the smoke,’ said Nubia quietly.

  ‘What? Oh, the incense in that brazier is to purify the air. So we don’t catch the plague. Did you find anything?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia. She had been reading the easiest text: Apollodorus translated into Latin. ‘I find that Prometheus he brings fire in a stalk of fennel. Like the fennel Alma puts in stew.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia slowly. ‘You said Prometheus is being tied or chained, but I think this word means “nailed”. He is nailed to a mountain.’

  Flavia leaned over to look. ‘You’re right, Nubia. That word means nailed.’

  ‘Like men on the road to Rome,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Crucified,’ murmured Jonathan. ‘Prometheus suffers eternal torment.’

  ‘How about you, Lupus?’ said Flavia. ‘I’ve just reached the lines in the play where Prometheus says he gave mankind medicine and prophecy. Have you got to that part?’

  Lupus shook his head, pointed at the scroll and gave an exaggerated shrug.

  ‘Is the Greek too difficult for you?’

  Lupus swivelled his open hand at the wrist, as if to say: A bit.

  ‘Did you find anything, Jonathan?’

  Jonathan shook his head.

  ‘Well, I did,’ said Flavia. ‘Listen to this: “There was no help for man, no healing food, unguent, or potion, until I showed him how to mix mild medicines which fight all sorts of sickness.”’

  Flavia looked round at them, her eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘Don’t you see? Prometheus was the first doctor. I’ll bet a million sesterces that our “Prometheus” is a doctor. Maybe even one of the doctors with your father, Jonathan. I think that’s where we should begin our investigations.’

  ‘Behold!’ cried Nubia. ‘Boat with trees and temples on it. It is the biggest boat I have ever seen.’

  Ascletario shook his narrow head. He had led them down the Palatine Hill, past the Forum Boarium and through the River Gate of the town walls. Now they were walking beside the river, with the milky green water flowing on their left and the stalls of the medicine market on their right.

  ‘No, no, no, Miss Nubia. It is not a boat,’ said Ascletario. ‘It is the Tiber Island.’

  ‘The Tiger Island?’ Nubia’s heart stuttered.

  ‘No, no, no. The Tiber Island. The Tiber is the name of this river: Tiber, Tiber, Tiber. It is not a ship. No. It is a small island. It was already boat-shaped so they built a giant prow on the front, a stern at the back, curved sides between. Then they erected that obelisk – seventy feet tall – to give the appearance of a mast. Now the island resembles a ship, a ship, a ship.’

  They stared at him.

  ‘A ship,’ said Ascletario.

  ‘Why does it resemble to a ship?’ Nubia looked towards the red-roofed temples among poplars and plane trees on the boat-shaped island.

  ‘Three hundred and seventy years ago there was a terrible plague in Rome. The first plague ever. They tried to discover its cure, or at least its cause. And so they consulted the Sibylline books—’

  ‘The what books?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘The Sibylline, Sibylline, Sibylline . . . The Sibyl is the priestess who lives in Cumae near the Bay of Neapolis.’

  ‘Remember when we read Virgil’s Aeneid to Nubia last summer?’ cried Flavia. ‘The Sibyl was the priestess who guided Aeneas to the underworld.’

  ‘I remember!’ said Nubia with excitement. ‘She g
ives Cerberus a sleepy honeycake.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Ascletario. ‘This same Sibyl foretold everything that would happen to Rome in the future, and she wrote it down in scrolls. Those are the Sibylline books. They told the city fathers how to cure the plague.’

  ‘Then why don’t they consult them now?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘The Sibylline books were kept in a stone chest underneath the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. Right up there!’ Ascletario turned and pointed at the temple visible above the city wall on their right.

  ‘The pink temple again!’ said Nubia, shading her eyes. ‘I see the stripes now. It is very charming with the blue sky behind.’

  ‘Although it looks old, that temple is new,’ said Ascletario. ‘Please to note it was rebuilt to look exactly like its Etruscan predecessor. The Sibylline books were destroyed when the temple burned down the first time. The Emperor Augustus tried to reconstruct them.’ Ascletario heaved a deep sigh. ‘Please to note they are now no longer useful. Do you remember the gold box at the foot of Apollo in the Temple on the Palatine Hill?’

  They nodded.

  ‘That is where the new books are kept.’

  Nubia glanced at Flavia. She knew they were both thinking the same thing.

  ‘Has that box been opened recently?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘It is opened daily,’ sighed Ascletario. ‘Please to note the priests are scouring the books for some wisdom about this pestilence. But there is nothing in them. The original books would have told us what to do . . .’ he sighed again.

  Flavia turned to Ascletario. ‘Could the old books really tell the future?’

  He nodded. ‘The Sibylline books said that the first plague would end when Aesculapius came from Greece to Rome.’

  ‘What is eye school ape pee us?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘Aesculapius is the god of healing. Beg pardon.’ The crowd before them had parted and their Egyptian guide extended his arms protectively as a cart full of dead bodies passed by. Around them, men and women were making the sign against evil. Nubia did so as well.

  ‘The story of how Aesculapius came to Rome is told by Ovid,’ continued their guide, when the cart had passed by.

  ‘Pater won’t let me read Ovid,’ said Flavia. ‘He keeps it on the top shelf behind the Catullus. But I do know that Aesculapius was the son of Apollo. And that he became such a good doctor that one day he brought a man back from the dead!’

  Ascletario nodded. ‘Please to note that the gods could not allow a mere mortal to perform such a godlike act.’

  Lupus flicked open his wax tablet to the word he had written earlier:

  HUBRIS

  ‘Correct,’ said their guide, ‘and so Jupiter killed Aesculapius with a thunderbolt.’

  ‘Jupiter and his thunderbolts again,’ muttered Jonathan. ‘Blasting another person who just wanted to help.’

  ‘Poor Aesculapius,’ said Nubia.

  ‘He became a god of the underworld. And so did his pet snake.’

  ‘Of all creatures, I do not like the snake,’ Nubia said in a small voice.

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Ascletario. ‘The snake is benevolent, benevolent, benevolent.’

  ‘That’s right, Nubia,’ said Flavia with a smile. ‘Everybody knows snakes bring good luck and protection.’

  ‘And healing,’ said Ascletario. ‘When the wise men of Rome went to the sanctuary of Aesculapius in Epidauros, they brought back the god in the form of a snake. As the returning boat sailed into Rome, it passed this island, and the snake slithered off the boat and swam ashore. That very hour the plague stopped. In gratitude, the Romans built a temple to Aesculapius and placed his statue inside. They even made the island look like the boat, so that the snake would feel at home. Here we are.’ He paused and gestured to the island, whose bridge they were just about to cross. ‘This is Snake Island, where Romans come if they are too poor to afford a doctor.’

  Nubia looked at him. ‘We are going to Snake Island?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Nubia shuddered. The feeling of dread had returned.

  Now that he was a ship-owner, Lupus knew the front of a ship was called the prow and the back the stern. The road which crossed over the bridge divided the boat-shaped Tiber Island into two sections: the prow was about a third the length of the island and the stern the remaining two thirds. The obelisk, trees and biggest temple were at the prow, which pointed downstream, towards Ostia.

  ‘Stay close, watch out for pickpockets,’ warned Ascletario, as they were jostled across the bridge by the crowds funnelling onto the island.

  Presently Lupus found himself standing in a crowded space near the obelisk. Up above, big seagulls wheeled silently in the clear blue sky.

  ‘On your left is the Temple of Aesculapius,’ said their guide. ‘Please to note that people with incurable diseases bathe in the water from the well and sleep near the sacred grove, in a precinct called the abaton. They hope that the god will visit them in their dreams and cure them. And here on your right is the Temple of Jupiter.’

  Lupus frowned, tugged Ascletario’s long tunic and pointed back towards the pink temple on the Capitoline above the city wall.

  ‘What? Oh, you want to know why there is a temple to Jupiter down here as well as up there?’

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘There are many temples to Jupiter here in Rome. That is because Jupiter has many aspects. Behind this Temple of Jupiter are more porticoes for the sick who cannot afford doctors. That is where the Emperor has set up a clinic. You find your doctors there. Priests in the sanctuary,’ he gestured with one hand, ‘doctors in the clinic,’ he gestured with the other. ‘Priests, sanctuary; doctors, clinic. The sanctuary, the clinic.’

  Lupus’s head was beginning to throb when he heard the faint sound of music.

  ‘Hark!’ said Nubia. ‘I am hearing flutes and drums.’

  Lupus pointed back towards the bridge they had just crossed. He jumped up a few times, trying to see between the people crowding the square.

  ‘Behold!’ said Nubia, as the crowd parted. ‘Men leading a bull. And the Titus is among them.’

  ‘He’s going to sacrifice it, isn’t he,’ asked Flavia. ‘And ask Aesculapius to stop the plague.’

  Ascletario rubbed his hands together and bobbed his head. ‘Yes. Please to note Titus has sacrificed a bull here every day for the past week.’

  Lupus wanted to see the bull sacrificed, so he tugged Flavia’s tunic and pointed hopefully towards the temple.

  ‘Are we allowed to watch?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘We are not allowed in the sanctuary but we can look over the wall here. Follow me, follow me, follow me.’

  *

  Nubia liked the honey-coloured, red-roofed Temple of Aesculapius. It stood against a backdrop of green poplars, chestnuts and plane trees. Among the trees and around the temple were dozens of statues and markers, dedicated by those who had been healed, according to Ascletario.

  In front of the temple – near the slender obelisk – was the altar, a long block of creamy yellow marble the same colour as the temple, carved and painted with scenes from the life of Aesculapius. On top of the altar Nubia could see offerings of honeycakes and garlands.

  To her left, musicians led the procession through the sanctuary gate. Nubia watched the flautist with particular interest; he played an aulos, or double flute. She liked the buzzing sound it made and one day she hoped to own one. Behind the musicians came the priest, his assistants, a pretty black bull with gilded horns, and finally the Emperor.

  ‘Behold!’ said Nubia. ‘Why does the bull wear a crown of flowers, like a bride?’

  ‘The garland shows the animal is perfect, perfect, perfect,’ said Ascletario.

  ‘He dies because he is perfect?’

  ‘That is correct. You must give a perfect offering to the gods.’

  ‘Why is the Titus now also putting on a crown of leaves? Is he perfect, too?’

  ‘The Emperor has recently accepted th
e office of Chief Priest. He is going to perform the sacrifice. Please to note the garland separates one thing from all the others. Titus’s garland shows that he is set apart, chosen, holy.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a priest wear a garland before,’ said Flavia.

  ‘You are correct. It is unusual for a Roman to wear the crown while sacrificing. This is the Greek way. But Coronis – the mother of Aesculapius – appeared to one of the Emperor’s advisors in a dream.’

  ‘Coronis!’ cried Flavia. ‘Her name means “garland”.’

  ‘Correct. In this dream Coronis warned Agathus that unless Titus wore a garland whenever he acted as priest, then the plague would not end.’

  ‘Agathus?’ said Jonathan sharply.

  ‘Another dream!’ exclaimed Nubia.

  Ascletario nodded and pointed. ‘Now Titus covers his head with his toga so that he will not accidentally see or hear anything of ill omen. That is why the musicians play that shrill air, to cover any unhappy groan the bull might make. The victim should go willingly to the sacrifice or the god will not accept it.’

  ‘They drug the bull, don’t they?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ascletario. ‘The bull’s last meal was fine grain with herbs that make him tranquil and stop him feeling pain. And there! Did you see how deftly the priest’s helper strikes the back of the bull’s head? So that the creature sinks gently to his knees? He is dazed and now Titus can cut his throat.’

  As the blood spurted out, Nubia turned her head away. She hated to see any animal die, especially a beautiful bull like this one, with his crown of sweet-smelling flowers slipping down over his rolling brown eyes.

  ‘Now the priest will cut open the bull and examine his inner organs. After that they will butcher him. The good parts of his meat will be roasted and fed to the sick here in the sanctuary. Usually it goes to the priests, but they have more than enough this week.’

  ‘I know what happens next,’ said Flavia. ‘They wrap up the gristle and bone in fat and burn it on the altar. Just like Prometheus taught them to do. And that’s another reason Jupiter was angry with Prometheus; he tricked the gods into thinking they were getting the best part.’