The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

But Flavia had risen from the bench and was standing on tiptoe to see over the port rail. It was an hour past dawn and they had just passed the Bay of Naples, with Vesuvius still smoking under its angry cloud. Now a jewel-like villa on the Cape of Hercules was coming into sight. Flavia’s heart was beating fast, for the Villa Limona was the home of the first man she had ever fallen in love with. Was he there? She could clearly see the painted columns and domes and the tops of palm trees. But there was no smoke from the bath house – nor any other sign of life – and she wondered if he had gone to Rome for the games.

  ‘Flavia?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry.’ She lowered herself back onto the bench and gazed down at the scroll. ‘Um . . . it says that Orpheus played music to drown out the siren’s deadly song. But why are we reading this part?’ she said, looking at the number on the end of the scroll. ‘We’ve jumped ahead to book four.’

  Aristo smiled. ‘Today we’re studying this passage of the Argonautica because we’re about to pass the Island of the Sirens.’ He pointed with his chin. ‘There it is. Caprea.’

  Aristo laughed as they all left the table and ran forward to gaze over the starboard rail. The breeze whipped their hair and tunics.

  ‘Look, pater!’ cried Flavia, pointing. ‘The Island of the Sirens!’

  ‘Better be careful,’ joked scrawny Zosimus from the rigging. ‘I think I see some lovely ladies on the rocks there. And they’re not wearing much.’

  Flavia laughed, then clapped her hands in delight. ‘Let’s play music like Orpheus did. To drown out the seductive song of the sirens.’

  Lupus nodded and Jonathan raised both eyebrows. But Nubia began to cry softly.

  ‘Nubia!’ said Flavia, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I am tired,’ she whispered. ‘All night long I can not sleep.’

  ‘Poor Nubia!’ Flavia put her arm around her friend. ‘Don’t you like sleeping in a hammock? I love it. I slept like a rock. Or a fluffy cloud!’

  ‘I do not sleep like a fluffy rock,’ said Nubia quietly. ‘The boat does not like me.’

  Lupus’s head jerked around and Jonathan said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Aristo, joining them at the rail. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘There is something bad on this boat,’ said Nubia, pulling her lionskin cloak closer round her shoulders. ‘Something evil.’

  Later that afternoon the sky grew cloudy and a shower came weeping down from the north, sending them down into the hold. The squall passed, but the temperature had dropped and the wind had veered. Now the Delphina began to pitch and roll, and when they went back up the wooden stairs Jonathan had to grip the rail with one hand and help Tigris with the other.

  Up on the breezy deck, Jonathan saw Punicus at the tiller and Captain Geminus coming down the rope ladder. ‘We’re about to pass between “Scylla and Charybdis”,’ said the captain, jumping onto the deck. ‘Look! There’s Sicily.’

  The dark bulk of land seemed to rise and fall beyond the starboard rail as the ship yawed. Jonathan took a deep breath and made his way across the swinging deck to join Aristo and the two passengers.

  Flaccus and his slave-boy were sniffing wedges of an expensive yellow fruit called lemon.

  ‘You look slightly green, Jonathan,’ said Aristo. ‘Are you feeling nauseous?’

  ‘Hey!’ cried Flavia brightly. ‘The word “nauseous” actually comes from the word naus, which means “boat” in Greek. So nauseous literally means boat-sick.’

  ‘Are you boat-sick, Jonathan?’ asked Nubia.

  He shrugged.

  Flaccus extended his lemon wedge. ‘Smell this lemon,’ he said. ‘I bought it specially for sea-sickness.’

  ‘No,’ said Bato. ‘It’s better to have a good vomit. Drink some seawater. That works best.’

  Jonathan shook his head. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up. Since his return from Rome the month before, he had been training himself to stop eating at meals before he was satisfied, like a wolf whose hunger makes him constantly alert. But he had felt slightly sick ever since they boarded the Delphina and hadn’t eaten anything in nearly two days. Jonathan patted his stomach. Beneath his tunic it felt flat and rock hard. He had the usual headache, dry lips and tender skin that accompanied a fast, but even so he felt good. Good because he had vowed never to be chubby again and he did not have a spare ounce of fat on him.

  Leaving Tigris with the others at the rail, Jonathan found an empty patch of deck to do his exercises. He had learned them at the gladiator school and performed them twice a day to stay in shape.

  He lay face down on the moving deck, put his hands beneath his shoulders and pushed himself up. His left shoulder still ached from an old brand and a recent wound, but he ignored the pain. He inhaled as he lowered his forehead until it was just above the deck, then exhaled as he pushed back up. He could now do almost one hundred of these before the muscles of his arms and shoulders burned with cold fire.

  Jonathan ignored the jokes of the sailors as he did his squats. He had learned to shut out the world and focus on his body. Stretching his arms out before him and lightly touching the rail he sat on an imaginary bench, then stood, then sat, then stood. It was hard to do this on the swaying deck but he knew it was good for his balance as well as his muscles.

  Finally, he tried the new task he had set himself. He had seen Zosimus go up one of the thick ropes called ‘stays’ as nimbly as a monkey. One end of the stay was knotted around a heavy bronze pin fixed to the rail, the other attached to the top of the mast. Now Jonathan approached the slanting rope, wrapped his legs around it and started to pull himself up. It was harder than it looked and he had only pulled himself a yard or two before his left arm started to tremble. The breeze was stiff up here. He paused for a moment, then forced himself to go higher.

  Suddenly he stopped as a terrible smell filled his mouth and nose. It was the hot stench of rotten eggs. His heart was beating hard, now, but not with the exertion of the climb. It was pounding with fear.

  Jonathan knew that sulphur smelled like rotten eggs. He also knew that for those like him who suffered from asthma, the smell of sulphur could mean death.

  Lupus sniffed the air like a dog, then looked at the girls in alarm. The last time he had smelled sulphur a volcano had erupted. They all heard the cry and the thump, but Lupus was the first to reach Jonathan.

  His friend lay on the deck, eyes fixed and chest rising and falling as he breathed in great tearing gasps.

  ‘Dear gods! What’s wrong with him?’ said Flaccus.

  ‘Is it his asthma?’ said Captain Geminus.

  Lupus nodded at them, and as Nubia knelt behind Jonathan and lifted his head onto her knees, he quickly found the herb pouch and held it close to his friend’s nose.

  ‘I’ll get his medicine,’ cried Flavia, and ran towards the hold.

  Jonathan’s chest rose and fell and his face was white, tinged blue around the mouth.

  ‘By Hercules,’ said Bato, ‘He’s like a fish out of water.’

  Lupus kept the herb pouch close to Jonathan’s nose and gently pushed a whining Tigris away. He knew his friend needed every ounce of concentration to suck air into his lungs. Jonathan had once told him that when the attacks came it was as if his lungs were wet sponges. And that huge gulps of air brought only tiny sips of relief.

  At last Flavia was kneeling on the other side of Jonathan, bringing a copper beaker to his mouth and helping him take little sips. The tincture of ephedron was ten times as powerful as the herb pouch and presently Jonathan’s breath began to come more easily. Finally, he relaxed onto Nubia’s lap and closed his eyes. He was still wheezing, but Lupus knew he would be all right.

  Suddenly, Zosimus uttered a strangled cry from the rigging above them. ‘It’s an omen!’ he cried, ‘A bad omen!’

  Lupus looked up at his pointing arm, then ran to the rail.

  The late afternoon sun threw shafts of orange light through breaks in the clouds so that the bubbling
water was an unnatural bronze. But it was not the strange colour of the sea that had alarmed the sailors. Hundreds of fish had risen to the surface and were floating on their sides in the turbulent water.

  ‘Charybdis!’ Flavia cried, rising to her feet. ‘It’s the whirlpool Charybdis! It’s going to suck us under!’

  ‘By all the gods,’ Lupus heard Bato utter an oath and saw him make the sign against evil.

  ‘The fish look as if they’ve been boiled alive,’ said Aristo.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Jonathan wheezed, and Nubia helped him sit up.

  ‘I’ve seen this before,’ called Captain Geminus. ‘It’s not a whirlpool. Just bubbling water. Keep calm, everybody! Punicus! Hold your course. We should be fine once we’re through the straits.’

  Lupus leaned over the Delphina’s rail. He was fascinated by the variety of creatures floating in the sea. As well as the corpses of fish, he could see eels and a turtle and something else. Something enormous. It might have been a small whale or a huge shark. Whatever it was, it was almost as long as the Delphina and it was so close it nudged the ship’s hull. Lupus leaned further over the rail, to try to get a better look.

  ‘Lupus, you fool!’ bellowed Captain Geminus. ‘Get down from there!’

  Lupus was used to the Delphina’s swinging motion by now, but he did not expect the violent forward jerk. He only managed to keep his balance for a heartbeat.

  Then he felt his stomach lurch as he lost his grip on the polished rail and plunged towards the boiling sea.

  ‘Boy overboard!’ squealed Punicus from the helm. ‘Boy overboard!’

  Flavia got to the rail just in time to see Lupus’s startled face speeding out of sight behind them.

  ‘Pater!’ she screamed. ‘Do something!’

  But her father was in complete control.

  ‘Hang on everyone!’ He ran to the helm. ‘I’m going to bring her about! Atticus! Prepare to drop anchor!’ Captain Geminus took the tiller from Punicus and pushed it hard to the right. The Delphina groaned and tilted sickeningly as she swung round into the wind. The stifling smell of warm sulphur filled Flavia’s throat and made her retch. She gripped the rail with white-knuckled hands. A moment later the Delphina shuddered as the wind spilled from her sail.

  ‘Drop the anchor, Atticus!’ she heard her father’s strong voice. ‘Zosimus! Silvanus! Take in the sail!’ And then, ‘Punicus, take the helm. I’m going down to the skiff.’

  Flavia watched her father slide down the rope which attached the small rowing boat to the Delphina. When he was in the skiff he quickly untied the rope that attached it to the ship and soon he was rowing away from them with long, deep strokes, striking dead fish with every sweep of his oars.

  ‘Look!’ cried Nubia. ‘There he is! I see the head of Lupus.’

  Despite her father’s powerful strokes, the skiff seemed to crawl across the seething, fish-choked water.

  ‘Oh hurry, pater!’ cried Flavia. ‘Hurry!’

  ‘Lupus . . . is a good . . . swimmer,’ gasped Jonathan, now on his feet and gripping the rail.

  ‘But who knows how hot the water is,’ said Flaccus, absently sniffing his piece of lemon. ‘It seems to have cooked those fish.’

  Flavia shot him a furious look.

  ‘Perhaps the water is only warm,’ said Aristo. ‘It might be the sulphur fumes making it bubble.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bato, ‘and that might be what killed the fish.’

  ‘He’s there . . .’ Jonathan wheezed. ‘Your father’s reached him!’

  ‘Oh, please let him still be alive,’ whispered Flavia, as she watched her father pull the small form into the skiff.

  ‘I think I see him move!’ whispered Nubia.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ came Silvanus’s breathless voice behind them. ‘The rope slipped out of my hand and it made the ship peck like . . . like a chicken! And I saw him fall . . . Oh dear gods!’ He buried his beautiful face in his hands.

  ‘Wasn’t your fault,’ said Zosimus, taking off his felt cap and making the sign against evil. ‘It’s this ship. She’s ill-omened. This voyage is doomed.’

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed Flavia angrily. ‘Don’t say that!’ But she couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread as the little boat carrying her father and Lupus slowly approached the Delphina. Presently Flavia felt the skiff bump up against the side.

  Zosimus cast down the rope ladder and climbed over the rail. A moment later he passed Lupus up to the strong brown arms of Punicus, who lowered the dripping boy carefully onto the deck.

  ‘He’s alive! Oh, Lupus, you’re alive!’

  ‘And you are not cooked!’ said Nubia.

  ‘Back . . .’ wheezed Jonathan, ‘Give him . . . air.’

  Flavia saw Flaccus turn and frown at Jonathan. ‘I think you’re the one who needs air.’ Flaccus dropped his lemon and reached out just in time to catch Jonathan as he collapsed again.

  Three days later, Flavia sat cross-legged on the stern platform in the shelter of the swan’s smooth neck and gazed down at her friends. The three of them were in the skiff with Atticus and the beautiful slave-boy Zetes, fishing for sardines. Tigris lay panting beside Flavia, and the rattle of dice and click of counters from the deck told her that the three men were gaming at the table.

  Flavia had wanted to be alone to collect her thoughts. She was making a list of all the accidents which had occurred in the three days since they had encountered the sulphur water. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks to Castor and Pollux for saving Lupus from the water and Jonathan from the fumes. Then she frowned down at her wax tablet. Apart from ropes that constantly seemed determined to trip them and odd lurching movements of the ship that often threw them to the deck, there had been a fire in the galley and two separate incidents of the water barrel breaking free of its rope. Two nights ago, Punicus – who knew the night sky like the back of his hand – had fallen asleep at the helm. Was Zosimus right? Was the voyage ill-omened? Had they set out too soon without waiting for divine approval?

  Flavia shook her head. They had carefully performed the lustratio, purifying the Delphina with the ashes of a bull, a fabulously expensive sacrifice. Her father made his offerings morning and night at the little shrine beside the swan’s neck.

  Was the ship itself evil, as Nubia thought?

  Then a new idea occurred to her. Maybe it wasn’t the ship itself that was malevolent, but something on board. She had heard stories of how lemures, the spirits of the dead, sometimes haunted a place where they had been unhappy. The Delphina had carried many slaves. And some must have died on board.

  Flavia shivered and made the sign against evil. Almost three days ago they had left the safety of the coast. For two days and nights they had seen no land, just the vast plate of blue around them and the immensely high bowl above. They had been alone in the world and although the wind filled the Delphina’s sails and the water hissed constantly along her bow, there had been little sensation of progress.

  Flavia knew this was the most dangerous part of the voyage, when there were no landmarks to be seen. Luckily, the night skies had been clear and the constellations had pointed the way. For the hundredth time she wondered: would they ever see land again?

  This time, her question was answered by a cry from above.

  ‘Land ahead!’

  She looked up to see Zosimus pointing towards the horizon before them.

  Her father left his place at the tiller and ran up the rope ladder as nimbly as a boy. ‘Praise the Twins! It’s Greece, all right!’ he called down to them. ‘The island of Cephalenia.’ He laughed. ‘We’ll be passing Ithaca soon.’

  Flavia knew his last remark had been for her benefit. Ithaca. The island of the Greek hero Odysseus.

  She slipped her wax tablet into her belt pouch and left Tigris keeping watch on the stern platform. As she emerged from behind the mainsail she saw that Bato, Aristo and Flaccus had left their game and beaten her to the prow. She hesitated. She liked Bato and Aristo, but she couldn’t bear Fla
ccus. He was spoilt and arrogant and he had ignored her from the first moment he came on board. But unless she wanted to climb the rope ladder, the prow was the only place to catch her first glimpse of Greece. Quietly she stepped up onto a coil of rope directly behind Flaccus, so that he wouldn’t see her from the corner of his eye. She was so close to him she could see the sheen of oil he had rubbed on his smooth tanned neck and she could even smell its musky cinnamon fragrance.

  Aristo was pointing and Flavia looked over Flaccus’s muscular shoulder to see a smudge on the horizon.

  That must be it.

  Greece. The land of myths and heroes. The land of gleaming cities, sacred groves and breathtaking wonders. Soon she would set foot on Greek soil for the first time in her life. She was pleased to find her heart beating fast.

  ‘When you set sail for Ithaca, pray that the journey will be long, full of adventure, full of discovery.’ Flaccus was reciting a poem in his deep, soft voice. ‘Pray that the voyage will be a long one, with many a summer’s evening when, with such pleasure, such joy, you enter harbours you have never seen before. May you visit Phoenician markets and Egyptian ports to buy pearls, coral, amber, ebony and gems of wisdom. As you sip heady wines from the west and inhale sensual perfumes from the east, always keep Ithaca in mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for.’

  Flavia shivered with the beauty of the verses, and Bato voiced her thoughts.

  ‘That’s superb,’ he said.

  ‘Whose is it?’ asked Aristo, ‘I’ve never heard it before. Is it Horace? Or Ovid?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ said Flaccus, and added, ‘One day I hope to win the ivy crown.’

  Flavia could hardly believe what she was hearing: Flaccus wanted to be a poet.

  ‘Don’t be afraid of Scylla and Charybdis,’ Flaccus continued. ‘The Sirens and the Harpies, and even the Cyclops hold no danger for you. You won’t find such monsters, unless you erect altars to them in your heart.’

  Flavia didn’t entirely understand the verses he had just recited, but there was something so profoundly beautiful about them that tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away angrily. How could someone so arrogant write such moving poetry?