The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Between her and Lupus, Jonathan’s big puppy was still standing at the low marble parapet, his eyes half closed and his nose testing the air.

  As one, the gladiators stretched out their right hands towards Tigris.

  ‘Hail, Caesar!’ they cried. ‘We salute you!’

  Tigris wagged his tail at them. And then – for the first time in a month – he began to bark.

  Lupus grabbed Tigris’s lead and tugged, jerking the big puppy away from the balustrade.

  ‘Oh, Pollux!’ cursed Flavia. ‘The guards have seen us!’

  Lupus dragged Tigris down the polished marble stairs. As he ran down a narrow corridor he heard the slap of Flavia’s sandalled feet close behind him. Lupus led her in the direction of a pearly orange light and a moment later they charged out from one of the big arched exits into the overcast March sunset.

  Lupus could still hear the stamp of heavy hobnailed boots behind them.

  ‘There!’ cried Flavia. ‘We can run behind those sand carts.’

  He grunted and veered towards a line of carts waiting to unload.

  ‘Hey, you kids! What were you doing in there? Stop!’

  A soldier loomed up before him.

  Lupus went left and Tigris went right, so that the puppy’s lead was stretched taut. The soldier stumbled over it and pitched forward, coming down hard with a grunt and a clatter of metal armour.

  ‘By the – come back, you pests!’ he roared, struggling to his feet.

  But Lupus was sprinting after Tigris, in the direction of the Forum. Flavia was ahead of him now, making for the carts up ahead.

  They reached the carts and wove between one and the other until they reached the wet black marble cone. Lupus finally caught Tigris’s lead, wrapped it round his wrist, and crouched down behind the fountain. Then he grunted a curse. Tigris had started to bark again.

  ‘Shhh, Tigris!’ gasped Flavia. ‘We don’t want the guards to find us. Shhh! Why’s he barking now?’ she asked Lupus. She put her hand gently round the puppy’s muzzle, so that Tigris’s barks became a whine.

  Lupus shrugged. He was panting hard, too, and his heart was pounding, but he felt a grin spread across his face. He loved a good chase, especially when he escaped his pursuers.

  Then his grin faded as he heard the slap of running feet on the other side of the fountain.

  They had been discovered.

  ‘Oh, Nubia, it’s you!’ cried Flavia. ‘We thought it was the guard . . . What a relief!’

  Nubia nodded solemnly, and stared down at them. ‘I heard Tigris,’ she said. ‘I was seeing the gladiators all look at Tigris in the amphitheatre and how he begins to bark. Then you run away so I come out of amphitheatre and see you running fast behind this big wet thing.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said Flavia, standing up and looking around. ‘The sun is setting. It will be dark in less than an hour. I think the three of us had better get back.’

  ‘Where is the Caudex?’ said Nubia. ‘We cannot return without him.’

  ‘Nubia, you’re right! He was supposed to meet us here. Where can he be?’

  ‘Sisyphus!’ cried Flavia, rushing into Senator Cornix’s study. ‘Where is everybody?’

  ‘Finishing their dinner.’ He stood with his back to them, unrolling a papyrus scroll. ‘But I’m not speaking to you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You went investigating without me. I’m sulking.’ He glanced over his shoulder and Flavia sighed with relief. His dark eyes were sparkling.

  ‘Oh Sisyphus, I’m sorry! We were going to invite you but you weren’t here. And so we went with Caudex and Aulus to – are they back?’

  ‘Young Aulus is here, but I haven’t seen Caudex . . .’ He put the scroll back in its case and turned to them. ‘Now come along to the kitchen and I’ll see if Niobe can spare three bowls of soup,’ he said. ‘Then you can tell me what you discovered.’

  Early the next morning – before dawn – Nubia and her friends joined the senator and his family in the torchlit atrium for the first day of the inaugural games.

  Senator Cornix stood before the household shrine, his head covered by a fold of his toga. When he had invoked the protection of the family genius and household gods he uncovered his head and waited for each of his children to greet him.

  ‘Good morning, pater,’ they all said as they filed past him in the flickering torchlight, and each gave him a respectful nod. All except for Rhoda, who ran to her father and hugged his knees.

  The senator firmly detached her, but there was a twinkle in his eye and he kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Good morning, Uncle Aulus,’ Flavia said politely. ‘Thank you again for letting us stay and for taking us to the games today. Is Caudex back?’

  He frowned and shook his head. ‘We will make an offering and a prayer for his safe return. Good morning, Nubia.’

  ‘Good morning Uncle Aulus,’ said Nubia. The smell of smoke from the torches always made her think of adventure. At home in Ostia they only got up before dawn when there was a mystery to solve.

  The senator smiled with his eyes. ‘And good morning to you, Lupus.’

  The mute boy nodded respectfully.

  Like the rest of them, Lupus was wearing a white tunic for the games. Nubia thought it made him look quite noble. He could easily be mistaken for one of the senator’s own children.

  But there was sadness in Lupus’s face.

  Tigris was sad, too. Jonathan’s big puppy lay beside the impluvium with his chin on his paws, watching the torchlit activity around him with solemn eyes.

  As the others collected their cloaks and napkins from pegs in the shadowy vestibule, Nubia knelt and patted him.

  ‘I’m sorry Tigris,’ she whispered. ‘I know you like the gladiators but no dogs are allowed. You wait here and if Caudex comes back, tell him where we are.’

  Before Flavia, a bright lopsided moon hung in a vibrant, deep blue sky. Behind her the sun had not yet risen. But she saw that in spite of the early hour, the area outside the amphitheatre was packed with thousands of excited people.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Senator Cornix presently, looking from his ivory ticket up at the numerals above the arch. ‘Entrance number seventy.’ He led them through the arch and up stairs to the first level. ‘My dear,’ he gently guided his wife and children away from the flow of excited, chattering Romans, ‘let’s meet back here at the midday break. Over there by the statue of Orpheus.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Cynthia with a sigh.

  Flavia frowned. ‘Aren’t we going with you?’

  Aulus turned and smirked at her. ‘Pater and I are going to sit in the senators’ seats on this level,’ he said. ‘But women, slaves and children have to go up to the attic. Way, way up there. Too bad, isn’t it? You really won’t be able to see much at all.’

  Flavia stuck out her tongue at his retreating back and then turned with a sigh to follow the others.

  A chill breeze that often accompanied the sunrise touched in the highest level of the amphitheatre, and Nubia pulled her lionskin cloak tighter round her shoulders. She settled herself on the cushion Lady Cynthia’s slave-girl had placed on the wooden seat. She looked up above her. The stars in the dawn sky had all faded and the blue was growing brighter by the moment. She looked down at the arena below her.

  And her stomach did a flip.

  From this lofty seat, the arena was tiny. So small that she could blot it out with both hands extended at arm’s length.

  Flavia voiced Nubia’s thoughts. ‘Aunt Cynthia! From up here we won’t be able to see anything! Why do we have to sit so high?’

  Her aunt looked at her and sighed. ‘I know. It’s ridiculous. We might as well be watching ants scurrying about on an anthill. But it’s considered decadent for proper Roman matrons and highborn children to watch people impersonating other people. We should count ourselves lucky we’re here at all.’

  ‘Frankly I’m relieved,’ said Sisyphus, who had elected to come with the
m. ‘I can’t stand the sight of blood. It makes me nauseous! And at least we’re in the front row of this section, and none of those columns are blocking our view. Plus,’ he gestured at the wooden roof above them, ‘we’ll be in the shade. It’s chilly now but just wait until noon!’

  Nubia looked around. The wooden seats around and behind her were filling up quickly, mostly with chattering women and children. The only men up here were slaves.

  She turned to Sisyphus. ‘Why are there only women and childs up here? And slaves?’

  He arched one dark eyebrow. ‘My dear girl, the merest glance at the seats below you will teach you more about the Roman class system than seventy scrolls and ten tutors. See those coloured marble columns and pediment? Looks like a little temple? No, way down there. Right by the arena. The columns with garlands draped between them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Well, that’s the Imperial Box, where the Emperor will sit. The more important you are in Roman society, the closer you are to that box. All the other seats on that level are for senators. Except for the box which is opposite the Emperor’s. That’s for the Vestal Virgins. We can’t see them from here, their box is covered, like the Emperor’s.’

  Nubia nodded solemnly and he pointed.

  ‘Equestrians and government officials sit on that level, too, but behind the senators. Then, on the next tier up you have the well-to-do plebs: merchants, soldiers, successful freedmen and wealthy foreigners. Finally, on the third level – the one just below us – are the poorest people and slaves. They are the lowest in the pecking order.’

  ‘Why are we very higher than poor slaves?’ asked Nubia. ‘Are we below the lowest pecking?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Sisyphus. ‘A senator’s wife – for example – is worth far more than a male slave. No, the reason women and children are way up here is so they won’t be corrupted by the violence and blood.’

  Nubia nodded and glanced at the twins, who had decided to sit either side of her. They both wore identical tin gladiator helmets with coloured pigeon feathers, red for Quintus and yellow for Sextus. On Nubia’s right – on the other side of Quintus – sat Lupus, Flavia and Sisyphus. Then came Lady Cynthia with Rhoda on her lap. To Nubia’s left – on the other side of Sextus – sat Hyacinth and a slave-girl called Prisca.

  Quintus was stroking Nubia’s lionskin cloak. He gazed up at her with huge eyes from under the brim of his tin helmet. ‘Did you kill this lion?’ he lisped.

  Nubia shook her head. ‘No. This cloak is gift. It is thanks for when I was conquering a lion. But he is most tame lion called Monobaz.’

  ‘Monobaz?’ cried Sisyphus. ‘He’s mentioned on the programme.’

  ‘Oh, let me see!’ cried Flavia, snatching the sheet of papyrus from Sisyphus. He gave a mock sigh and winked at Nubia.

  Flavia held out the programme at arm’s length in order that they could all see. Nubia tried to follow as Flavia read in her clear voice:

  * * *

  PROGRAMME OF EVENTS

  INAUGURAL GAMES DAY I

  TO BE HELD AT THE NEW AMPHITHEATRE

  OPENING PROCESSION

  TIGHTROPE WALKERS

  BEAST COMBAT

  featuring Monobaz v Saevus

  A HUNT OF EXOTIC BEASTS

  including camelopard, lions and unicorn

  PARADE OF INFORMERS

  EXECUTION OF CRIMINALS

  a parricide will die re-enacting the abduction of Ganymede

  a thief will die re-enacting the death of Laureolus

  Jewish zealots will fight bears with curved daggers

  COMBAT OF NOVELTY GLADIATOR PAIRS

  featuring women

  COMBAT OF GLADIATORS

  AWNINGS AND DRINKS WILL BE PROVIDED

  PRIZES WILL BE DISTRIBUTED

  * * *

  Nubia looked at Sisyphus. ‘Women are fighting as gladiators?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s another reason the women are way up here,’ he whispered. ‘The senators are afraid their wives might get ideas!’

  Nubia gazed at Sisyphus.

  ‘It’s a novelty act to whet the appetite. To amuse the crowds before the real competitions start. Sometimes they have pygmies or cripples fight each other.’

  Nubia shuddered and looked around. It was only an hour past dawn but already the amphitheatre was nearly full. Wherever she looked she saw people.

  On their level but across the vast space in between, she caught sight of a dark-skinned family. They looked Nubian. It was a mother with her three children and two fair-skinned slave-girls attending them. Nubia swallowed and blinked back the tears blurring her vision. She would never sit laughing with her mother and brothers again.

  Then she felt a small hot hand slip into hers. It was five-year-old Quintus, on her right. He had been watching her. At the same moment she felt Sextus grip her left hand and – as if they had rehearsed it – they both leant their tin-helmeted heads against her shoulders.

  This made Nubia want to cry even more and she felt the familiar tightness in her throat. But a blare of trumpets made her forget her sadness. The games had begun.

  ‘Look!’ Flavia pointed down into the arena. ‘Titus is marching in the procession!’

  Sisyphus nodded. ‘I wonder where his brother is. There’s a rumour Domitian is sulking because Titus is getting so much glory.’

  ‘How do you know so much?’ whispered Flavia.

  ‘I keep my eyes and ears open.’ Sisyphus leaned forward in his seat. ‘But I don’t know everything. For example, I don’t know which one of those men down there is the notorious Fabius.’

  Flavia pointed down into the arena. ‘There. The man with the ponytail in the white tunic, walking behind the trumpet players.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Sisyphus, his dark eyes fixed on the distant figure.

  ‘Why is he notorious?’ asked Flavia.

  Sisyphus pressed his lips together.

  ‘Why?’ she persisted. Lupus, Nubia and Hyacinth leaned in, too.

  ‘My dears, I don’t know if I dare tell!’

  ‘Oh please, Sisyphus!’

  ‘Very well.’ Sisyphus lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. ‘They say Fabius used to be a Stoic, like poor old Seneca. He always objected to the spectacles on moral grounds, because he thought bloodshed was barbaric. Then one day his friends forced him to come along with them. He went, but he refused to watch. He kept his eyes closed right through the acrobats and the animal fights. Then – during the beast hunt – the crowd gave such a resounding yell that he opened his eyes to see why they were shouting.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘The moment Fabius opened his eyes and saw the blood, he fell in love with it!’ said Sisyphus, keeping his voice as low as the crowd’s cheering would allow.

  Lupus gave Sisyphus his bug-eyed look and Nubia said, ‘He fell in love with blood?’

  Sisyphus nodded and widened his kohl-rimmed eyes. ‘Bloodlust. It happens to some people,’ he said. ‘Now Fabius can’t get enough blood. He longs for the beast fights when tigers and lions fight with dripping teeth. He craves the violent death of criminals, ripped apart by wild animals. And most of all he loves the gladiator fights. He always puts his thumb down because he wants to see blood.’

  Flavia realised her mouth was hanging open. She closed it and glanced round. Her aunt was arranging Rhoda’s hair, which had come unpinned, but Lupus, Nubia, Hyacinth and even the twins were all watching Sisyphus wide-eyed.

  Sisyphus nodded sadly. ‘That was why Fabius became an organiser. Because of his bloodlust. Once he was watching a particularly violent combat between gladiators. The secutor cut off the net-man’s head and the blood pumped out like a fountain, making a big red pool as the headless man sank slowly to the sand.’

  ‘Ewww,’ said Flavia

  ‘Tac!’ Sisyphus put up a hand to still her. ‘They say that Fabius was so overcome by the sight of all that blood that he rushed forward, knelt on the sand and lapped it up like a
dog!’

  ‘EWWW!’ everyone cried.

  Nubia looked at Sisyphus. ‘Why are they doing this? Why are Romans always making the blood to flow?’

  ‘Blood pleases the dead,’ said Sisyphus. ‘Games like these were first given at funerals, to appease the dead person.’

  Nubia frowned. ‘But why blood?’

  ‘It’s always blood,’ said Flavia.

  Sisyphus nodded. ‘Blood is power.’

  ‘Blood is life.’ Aunt Cynthia’s voice from the end of the bench was husky.

  They all looked at her, but she kept her eyes on the arena.

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ said Flavia after a moment’s thought. ‘Admiral Pliny says the cure for epilepsy is to drink a cup of warm gladiator’s blood. Some barbarians drink horses’ blood. And Christians drink the blood of their god. Jonathan told me that.’

  IT’S REALLY WINE wrote Lupus.

  Sisyphus nodded. ‘Some people believe the strength – the essence of a person – lies in their blood. Drink the blood, get the power.’

  Lupus wrote on his wax tablet:

  HOW DO YOU GET BLOODLUST?

  ‘It comes in through your eyes,’ said Sisyphus, lowering his voice. ‘And it often possesses the gentlest, the kindest, the most refined people . . .’ He darted a look at Lady Cynthia, who had bent her head over Rhoda again.

  Flavia glanced at her aunt and raised her eyebrows at Sisyphus.

  He gave a tiny nod, almost imperceptible, then leaned over to whisper in Flavia’s ear. ‘That’s the real reason the Senator is leaving town tomorrow.’

  The sun was well up when the tightrope walkers concluded their display with an act that brought fifty thousand Romans gasping to their feet.

  It was a tightrope-walking elephant.

  Nubia found herself standing, too.

  ‘Behold . . . look!’ she cried. ‘The elephant walks on rope!’

  ‘Melephant!’ squealed Rhoda, jumping up and down on the bench beside her mother.

  ‘He’s wonderful,’ said Hyacinth.

  ‘Melephant!’ laughed the twins, and then chanted: ‘Melephant, melephant!’ along with Rhoda.