‘Just say “look” like any normal person. Uh-oh. Beggars.’
Three men in tattered clothes had appeared and were making for them with hands outstretched. ‘Coppers for the poor,’ one of them pleaded in a quavering voice.
‘Shards for sale,’ said another, and Nubia stared in horror: someone had cut off his nose.
Caudex stepped forward to drive the beggars away, but Flavia put a restraining hand on his muscular forearm. Then Nubia saw her reach under her cloak and fish in her coin purse.
‘Don’t give them anything!’ hissed Aulus. ‘You’ll just encourage them.’
Flavia ignored him. She held up a small silver coin for the beggars to see.
‘I’ll give this denarius,’ she announced in a clear voice, ‘to anyone with information about a boy with dark curly hair who lives on that hill.’
The beggars stared at her, then glanced at one another.
‘They say,’ continued Flavia, ‘that he was the one who started the fire last month.’
As one, the beggars turned and fled.
‘Are you stupid?’ said Aulus to Flavia. ‘I thought you just wanted to see Potsherd Mountain, not get us all arrested. Why did you mention the fire? Are you a complete blockhead?’
Flavia stared at him. Beside her, Caudex stiffened.
Aulus rolled his eyes. ‘Listen: if they suspect you had anything to do with the fire they’ll cart you off to the prison. You know what they do to arsonists, don’t you?’ He spoke slowly, as if addressing an idiot.
Flavia shook her head.
‘They throw them to the beasts.’
Flavia felt a tug at her tunic. She looked away from Aulus’s angry face. ‘What is it, Lupus?’
Lupus pointed to a narrow alley between two workshops. It was full of rubbish.
‘What?’ repeated Flavia, looking back down at him.
‘Beho – look!’ said Nubia. ‘There is someone there.’
Then Flavia saw it. The gleam of eyes in a grubby, feral face. It was a boy in a striped skullcap, crouching in the alley and watching them. As their eyes met, the urchin beckoned her with a finger.
Flavia glanced at the others. ‘Wait here with Caudex,’ she commanded.
Aulus snorted. ‘Who died and made you emperor?’ he asked.
‘Wait here,’ she repeated coldly, narrowing her eyes.
Aulus glared back at her but she ignored him and picked her way through the rubbish in the alley. For a moment she thought the beggar had gone. Then a small hand gripped her wrist and pulled her down out of sight, behind some planks of rotten wood and a broken cartwheel.
‘I heard what you asked those men,’ whispered the urchin. Flavia could see now that it was not a boy, but a girl who had pushed her hair up into her skullcap. ‘A boy has been living on Potsherd Mountain,’ said the girl. ‘Since the fire.’
Flavia’s eyes grew wide. ‘A boy with dark curly hair? About eleven years old.’
The beggar-girl nodded.
‘Is his name Jonathan?’ Flavia’s heart was pounding.
The girl shrugged. ‘It may have been. They call him Hilarus, because he’s funny.’
‘Which part of Potsherd Mountain does he live on?’
The girl held out her hand.
‘Oh,’ said Flavia, and placed a silver denarius in the grubby palm. ‘Now tell me: where is he?’
‘He’s not here any more. He’s at the new amphitheatre. Some soldiers arrested him yesterday morning.’ The girl showed sharp little teeth in a smile and then giggled. ‘They’re going to throw him to the beasts.’
‘So now you’re dragging us along to the new amphitheatre?’ said Aulus. ‘What is this? A tour of Rome?’
Flavia ignored him. ‘I wonder,’ she mused, ‘where they keep the prisoners?’
‘Prisoners?’ said Aulus. ‘Why do you want to know about the prisoners? And what was all that about a boy with dark curly hair?’
Flavia hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Aulus the real reason for their quest.
‘We’re just trying to find out who started the fire last month,’ she said.
‘You’re what?’
‘We’re detectives,’ said Flavia. ‘We solve mysteries.’
‘That’s stupid,’ said Aulus.
They had just passed the Circus Maximus and were walking with the green Palatine Hill on their left and the brick-red aqueduct straight ahead. Flavia put her hands on her hips and turned to face Aulus. Caudex, Lupus and Nubia stopped, too. Tigris investigated the base of an umbrella pine.
‘Our stupid detective work saved the Emperor’s life last year,’ Flavia said to Aulus. ‘And he asked us to solve a mystery for him last month.’
‘But you didn’t solve the mystery, did you? You never found out who Pygmalion was.’
‘Prometheus,’ said Flavia, ‘we were trying to find a Prometheus. And we still are,’ she lied.
Aulus snorted.
‘If you think our investigation is stupid,’ said Flavia coldly, ‘why don’t you just go home?’
‘I think I will!’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘I need to pack my things. Because we’re leaving the day after tomorrow and that’s good. It means I won’t have to see you again.’
‘That’s fine with me.’
‘Fine with me, too!’ Aulus Junior turned and stalked off towards the Caelian Hill.
Nubia gazed in wonder at the huge amphitheatre before her.
It was immensely tall, with four storeys. The three lower levels were pierced with rows of arched niches framed by half columns. Each niche held a statue or group of statues and each statue was painted, so that it really looked as if a hundred colourful gods and heroes stood in the massive structure and gazed out over Rome.
‘Look, Nubia,’ said Flavia beside her. ‘There are some of the types of columns that Aristo was teaching us about: Tuscan, Ionic and Corinthian at the very top.’
Nubia nodded and tipped her head back.
The plain top storey of the colossal monument was covered with scaffolding and she saw slaves moving about up there. She wasn’t sure what they were doing but she heard the sound of hammering drifting down. On the ground were more slaves. Some carried twig brooms or clay pots of paint, some drove carts which arrived full of pale yellow sand and went away empty. Others knotted ropes to marble posts. Nubia’s head went back again as she followed the lines up to the very top of the monumental building.
It was impossibly high and vast. Did mere humans really build it? Was Jonathan really alive in there somewhere?
Nubia closed her eyes for a moment and reached out with her intuition, trying to see if she could feel his presence.
Nothing.
So she focused on her other senses. She could smell animals. She could hear an elephant’s echoing trumpet from within. And she could feel warm drops falling on her face and arms.
Nubia opened her eyes. And cried out in horror.
It was raining blood.
‘Nubia! What’s wrong!’ cried Flavia Gemina.
Nubia pointed to the reddish brown drops spattering onto her lionskin cloak. ‘It is raining with blood!’ she cried. ‘Blood!’
Flavia laughed. ‘It’s not blood. It’s only rain.’
‘But it is even warm like blood!’ Nubia made the sign against evil.
‘No, no, Nubia! It’s only dust in the rain. Sometimes when the wind is from the south it brings red dust. Pater says it’s from a great desert across the sea. When it rains, the dust fills the raindrops and it looks like blood.’ She rubbed one of the marks on Nubia’s cloak. ‘See? That will come out easily.’
‘It will?’ asked Nubia in a small voice.
Flavia nodded. ‘Come on, everyone. Let’s wait under that tree. This rain doesn’t look as if it will last.’ She looked up at the grey sky. ‘Now that Aulus is gone we can concentrate on finding – Caudex, do you have any idea where they would keep the people they intend to throw to the beasts?’
The big bodyguard stared at
her stupidly.
Flavia sighed. ‘Caudex,’ she said. ‘There’s a chance – a very small chance – that Jonathan might be alive.’
Caudex’s small brown eyes widened. ‘But you said . . .’ he trailed off in confusion.
‘I know we said he died in the fire last month and yes – we saw his charred rings. But we never actually saw his body. And there have been rumours that a boy with dark curly hair started the fire and that he was hiding on Potsherd Mountain. But that beggar-girl I was talking to just now said they’ve taken him to the amphitheatre to throw to the beasts. Caudex, if it’s Jonathan we’ve got to save him. Do you understand?’
Caudex nodded. His big, square jaw was set.
‘Caudex, you used to be a gladiator, didn’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘Never fought,’ he mumbled.
‘But you trained, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Then tell us. Where would they keep the gladiators before they fight the animals?’
‘Gladiators don’t fight animals,’ said Caudex slowly. ‘Gladiators fight other gladiators. Beast-fighters fight beasts. And criminals,’ he stopped to think, ‘especially the people who set fires –’
‘Arsonists,’ said Flavia.
Caudex nodded. ‘They throw them to the lions.’
‘We’ve got to work fast,’ said Flavia to her friends. ‘In four hours it will be dark and tomorrow the games begin. I suggest we split up and try to get any information we can. Lupus, you can go almost anywhere without people noticing you. See if you can find where the prisoners are held. Nubia, why don’t you find out where the beasts are kept and ask there? Caudex, you trained as a gladiator, so maybe you can pretend to be a gladiator who’s lost his way. We’ll meet at sunset, over there by the meta sudans.’ Flavia pointed to a large, wet black marble cone.
They all nodded and then Lupus pointed at Flavia and raised his eyebrows as if to say: What will you do?
‘I’m going to spy on that man with the ponytail over there. He seems to be ordering all those slaves around so he must be in charge. He’ll know where the convicted criminals are kept. I’ll take Tigris with me.’ She looked at each one of them. ‘Remember: the trick is to act like you belong. I know it’s scary, but if the curly-haired boy really is Jonathan then this may be our last chance to save him.’
Lupus had been writing something. Now he tugged Flavia’s palla and held up his wax tablet almost apologetically.
WHAT DO WE DO
IF WE FIND HIM?
Flavia stared at the tablet, and then at her friends. They were all gazing at her, waiting for her to tell them what to do. Even Tigris had fixed his liquid brown eyes on Flavia’s face and was panting hopefully. She forced herself to smile. ‘I’m not sure what we’ll do if we find him,’ she admitted, ‘but I promise you this: I’ll think of something!’
It had been a long time since Nubia had smelled camel dung.
The scent grew stronger as she moved towards the south side of the huge amphitheatre, and it brought memories rushing back.
One memory was particularly vivid.
The year before, Nubia’s family had been travelling in the spring caravan to the Blue Oasis where the annual spice market was held. She and her elder brother Taharqo had been sharing a ride on Nubia’s camel. Siwa was named after the famous oasis of date palms, because – like Nubia – he adored dates.
‘Siwa!’ she would call, and toss a date from where she sat on his high back. The camel would turn his big head and catch the date neatly in his mouth. A moment later he would spit out the stone.
Nubia proudly showed Taharqo this trick. He had been so impressed that he grabbed Nubia’s bag of dates.
‘No!’ cried Nubia and tried to retrieve her dates. But Taharqo held the bag up high, out of her reach.
‘Siwa!’ he cried, and tossed a date to the camel’s right.
Siwa lurched right to catch the flying date. Nubia yelped as she almost fell off the camel’s lofty hump.
‘Siwa!’ cried Taharqo and threw a date to the left.
The camel veered left and with a squeal Nubia clutched at her brother to stop herself falling off. The dunes were soft but they were a long way down.
‘Siwa!’ laughed Taharqo.
‘Stop, Taharqo!’ But Nubia was laughing, too.
‘Siwa!’
Left.
‘Siwa!’
Right.
Taharqo was laughing so hard now that his throws were wild and the camel’s movement even more violent.
‘Siwa!!’
The camel had to make such a violent lunge to catch the tasty morsel that he almost lost his balance. He righted himself at the last moment, but Nubia and Taharqo tumbled off his back and landed on the soft dunes.
Right in a pile of camel dung.
They had still been laughing as Siwa happily devoured the scattered dates around them.
But the whole caravan had been forced to halt and as punishment, Nubia’s father refused them permission to change their clothes. They arrived at the Blue Oasis three hours later smelling of camel dung.
Nubia’s smile grew broader.
Taharqo had been furious. A girl he liked had taken one sniff and run giggling back to her friends.
Their father had laughed and said the test of true love was the ‘camel-dung test’. And Nubia’s mother had replied with a solemn face, ‘Yes, my husband. And I have passed that test many times.’
Nubia’s smile faded and her eyes filled with tears. Her father was dead and her mother, too. Slaughtered by slave-traders. The familiar tightness closed round her throat. Her family would never laugh together like that again.
Lupus rubbed dirt into his hair and over his cheeks, glad that he had worn his plain travelling tunic. Then he watched from behind an umbrella pine. Presently one of the slaves left his twig broom leaning against a wall and disappeared under a marble arch to relieve himself. Darting forward, Lupus snatched the broom. Head down, sweeping as he went, he moved along to another of the arched entrances. Before he entered, he glanced up, just to get his bearings. The Roman numeral XXIIII was incised above it and picked out in red paint. Twenty-four. He was entering the amphitheatre at gate number twenty-four.
Flavia pulled her dove-grey palla over her head; the low clouds were still spitting rain. She allowed Tigris to pull her nearer to the man giving orders, and watched him from behind a cart full of sand. She guessed he was about her father’s age, maybe younger. He wore a cream tunic with two dark vertical stripes. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Although he was not tall, he gave the impression of absolute authority, giving orders with cheerful abuse or slaps on the back.
When a couple of highborn women walked past he called out: ‘Looking for a date with a gladiator, ladies? I can fix you up!’
The two women hurried off with scandalised expressions and Ponytail roared with laughter. Then he whirled and pointed at the cart behind which Flavia was hiding.
‘You! Scaevus!’ he yelled. ‘Get that sand in the arena before it soaks up another ton of rainwater.’
The driver cracked his whip and the cart rolled slowly towards gate number forty. Flavia and Tigris moved along with the cart and at the last minute slipped into the shelter of the arched gateway next to it. From here Flavia was close enough to see that the man with the ponytail had brown eyes and pockmarked skin.
A bald man and two girls of about Flavia’s age approached Ponytail, and stood waiting as he signed a wax tablet held by a scribe.
Ponytail turned away from the scribe and looked the girls up and down. ‘Water nymphs for the Orpheus routine?’ he asked the bald man.
Baldy grunted yes.
‘They look the part,’ said Ponytail. ‘What’s your name, darling?’ he said to one of the girls. Flavia didn’t hear her mumbled reply.
‘What are you? About twelve?’
The girl nodded and looked up at Ponytail with solemn blue eyes.
‘Freeborn?’
/> The girl nodded.
‘Parents still alive?’
‘My mother is.’
‘Blastus, you fool!’ said Ponytail to the bald man. ‘The Emperor’s brother wants slaves and orphans. Get me fair-haired girls who are slaves or orphans. Sorry, darling, you’d best run along home.’
The girl burst into tears and ran off.
‘What about you?’ said Ponytail to the other girl. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Marcia,’ said the girl in a clear voice.
‘How old?’
‘Ten.’
‘Parents alive?’
‘No. I’m an orphan. I live by myself.’
‘Looks like it, too,’ said Ponytail. ‘But you’ll do. By this time on the day after tomorrow you’ll have a thousand sesterces in gold coins. Not bad for a few hours’ work, is it?’ He patted her on the head and turned to Blastus. ‘Tell Mater to get her bathed, perfumed and looking beautiful. Then go out and find me one more. I want a nice half dozen.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Blastus and the girl called Marcia walked away, they passed by the arch where Flavia and Tigris were hiding. Marcia was saying something to Blastus, and smiling with sharp little teeth. Flavia pressed herself against the painted stucco wall, her heart beating fast. She had just recognised the blonde. Marcia was the beggar-girl from the foot of Potsherd Mountain.
Nubia stood among a crowd of Romans watching a processional of carts make their way to the processional entrance of the amphitheatre. The carts had been passing for nearly an hour, and she had counted more than fifty exotic beasts go past, among them giraffes, elephants, tigers, bears and lions. Now the crowd gasped as a sloshing cart full of water brought a huge grey creature towards the main entrance.
When Nubia had first arrived the crowd had been sparse. Now it was big, and getting bigger.
‘It’s a hippopotamus,’ shouted a man. ‘A river-horse!’
The crowd surged forward to see it.
‘Back!’ shouted the man walking beside the cart. ‘These creatures are extremely dangerous!’
A few moments later Nubia heard the distinctive jingling stomp of a unit of marching soldiers. They began to take up position in front of the crowds.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 99