The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  The islanders reluctantly began to disperse, still chattering and darting curious looks back at Lupus even as they disappeared into the night.

  When they had all gone, the leathery man pulled a wooden chair up to the battered wooden table under the arbour. He gestured for Captain Geminus and the children to sit.

  ‘Aphrodite!’ he said to the old woman. ‘Bring us wine. And food.’

  Lupus’s great-grandmother hobbled off and returned a moment later with a tray of cups and jugs. As the man began to mix wine with the water, she disappeared back into the house. When he had passed each of them a cup, he raised his own, then tipped it. A thin stream of liquid spattered onto the ground.

  ‘A libation to Poseidon,’ he said, ‘and to Apollo, in thanks for bringing Melissa’s son back to us.’ Lupus followed his example and the others poured out libations, too.

  Aphrodite returned a moment later with flat bread and olives and a bowl full of tiny pink shrimp. When they had all eaten and their cups had been refilled, the leather-faced man leaned back and nodded at Lupus.

  ‘My name is Andreas,’ he said, still speaking Greek. ‘I am one of the elders of this village. Before you sleep, Lukos, you must know the events of the last week.’

  Aphrodite started to say something in her quavering voice but Andreas silenced her with a patting motion of his hand.

  ‘Two weeks ago,’ he said. ‘The first ship of the season came from Rome, to trade with us for sponges. There was a man on board from Ostia, and he told us your story, Lukos. He told us that you were alive and that you had finally taken revenge on the one who murdered your father.’ Andreas turned his head and spat on the ground before continuing. ‘When your mother Melissa heard this, she was beside herself with joy. But then she grew very quiet. When we asked what the matter was, she told us that three years ago she had made a vow to Apollo.’

  Andreas reached for the jug and poured himself another cup of wine, then drank it down neat.

  In that brief moment of silence, Lupus heard the torches crackling. He heard Flavia asking her father in a whisper what the old man was saying. He heard his great-grandmother weeping quietly. He could even hear the faint sound of little waves sighing onto the beach.

  ‘Your mother thought you were in Italia,’ said Andreas quietly. ‘If she had known you were on your way here . . .’

  Lupus lifted his shoulders and stuck out his chin to ask: What?

  ‘Your mother Melissa left Symi three days ago.’

  Lupus felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

  ‘Melissa left Symi?’ repeated Flavia in Greek, and then said in Latin, ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘Where did she go?’ asked Captain Geminus in Greek.

  ‘She left on a ship bound for Rhodes,’ said Andreas, ‘but nobody knows where she might have gone from there. All we know is that it must have been a very solemn vow she took. She left all her belongings behind, and she told us she would never see us again.’

  Early the next morning, Lupus slammed his wax tablet down on the table before Captain Geminus. WHY AREN’T WE GOING TO RHODES?

  Flavia’s father slowly looked up from his chart. ‘Lupus,’ he said in a low voice, ‘it was your decision to come to Symi. We can’t go anywhere for the moment. There’s not a breath of wind. Even if they tow us out of the harbour, the current would only carry us onto the rocks. I warned you about this.’

  Lupus picked up his wax tablet and briefly thought about hurling it down. Then he remembered how his stylus had wounded Nubia, and he managed to resist the impulse. He let his arm drop.

  ‘Lupus.’ Captain Geminus stood and opened a small bronze box on the table. ‘Here. Take these coins. Go and make an offering at the sanctuary up there on the hill. Take Flavia and the others if you like. Ask the gods to send us Skiron or Zephyrus, or some other favourable breeze. Then spend an hour or two with your great-grandmother. Pay your respects at your father’s grave. Come back at noon. If Andreas and the other elders are correct, and if the gods answer your prayer, the breeze might have risen by then.’

  Lupus felt the captain’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Go on Lupus. Once we leave, who knows when we’ll come this way again?’

  In the end, Lupus went alone. He found his family tomb on the slope above the little house, and the tears came again as he read the inscription below his father’s urn. He had not thought to bring an offering so he went back out into the bright sunshine and gathered a handful of wild flowers: red poppies, white daisies, purple trumpets, and wild roses.

  Then he visited his great-grandmother. But she was old and tearful and illiterate. She could not read what he wrote, and she kept clutching at him with her claw-like hands.

  Finally he squirmed free of her embrace and went to stand on the beach, at the spot where he and his father had pulled up the boat that fateful morning. He looked out over the water and in his mind he said ‘Farewell.’

  Half an hour later he walked up the gangplank of his ship, and as he stepped carefully down with his right foot he felt a cool breeze touch his cheek.

  The Delphina was ready to sail.

  But it was not the wind they wanted. As soon as they left the protection of Symi’s harbour, a short, choppy sea began to batter the Delphina. The dolphin on the sail shuddered and writhed and the ship moved forward with an uneasy twisting motion.

  Lupus climbed the rope ladder up to the masthead, but the Delphina was yawing so wildly that at times there was nothing between him and the cobalt-blue sea far below.

  The wind buffeted them past more landmarks remembered from his childhood. The tawny strip of mainland which his father had called Lizard’s Tail passed on his left and straight ahead he saw Poseidon’s Road. This latter was a strange, perfectly straight line of dark water and breaking surf in the middle of the sea. It caused no harm to ships but nevertheless the sailors all made the sign against evil when they left it behind.

  As he gazed down to the deck below, he could see Flavia and Jonathan at the port rail. Nubia stood in the V of the prow, helping Zosimus send a message. She laughed as the ship reared like a horse and she almost lost hold of the pigeon. But a moment later he heard the flutter of wings and Zosimus’s usual cry of ‘Go with Hermes!’

  As he watched the pigeon fly up and up into the sky, then wheel to the southeast, Lupus wished he could fly to his mother.

  But even if he had wings like a bird he would not have known where to find her.

  Flavia and Jonathan had moved back to the stern platform, and Lupus saw Nubia beckon him down before she joined them. Now their three heads were bent over something.

  Lupus let himself carefully down the rope ladder, then staggered over the bucking deck to the stern.

  ‘Is it in code?’ Jonathan was asking, as Flavia unrolled a tiny scrap of papyrus.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She reached out to clutch the rail as the ship lurched. ‘The writing’s just very small and it’s in Greek. It talks about Symi and Rhodes. I think that word means “moon”. Oh, there you are, Lupus! Can you read this?’

  Lupus took the papyrus. The wave of nausea that rose up in his throat was not caused by the ship’s twisting motion, but by the message he held in his hand.

  ‘What?’ hissed Flavia. ‘What does it say?’

  Lupus took out his wax tablet and began to write. He noticed his hand was shaking as he translated the message taken from the pigeon’s leg:

  LEFT SYMI MIDDAY. I WILL TRY TO DELAY THEM BUT IT WILL BE DIFFICULT WITHOUT AROUSING MORE SUSPICION. BEWARE. WE COULD BE IN RHODES BEFORE THE FULL MOON. I WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED. Z.

  ‘Zosimus is the traitor!’ said Bato as he read the message on the scrap of papyrus. He winced as he sat forward on one of the bags of salt in the dim hold. ‘He must be spying for Magnus. You’re sure he didn’t see you take this?’

  ‘I am most sure he did not see me,’ said Nubia.

  ‘What aroused your suspicions?’

  Flavia replied. ‘Zosimus sent a pigeon this mor
ning, while we were still in port. Why send another this afternoon? Also, they always head in the opposite direction from Ostia. They’ve been flying to Rhodes, haven’t they?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Bato.

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Flavia, ‘Zosimus is one of the most experienced sailors on board. He could easily have loosened the halyard and untied the skiff’s rope. Earlier in the voyage he probably oiled other ropes to make them slip out of Silvanus’s hands. I think that’s what Silvanus was going to tell me before he disappeared. Also, Zosimus can read and write. If I hadn’t been so suspicious of Floppy, I would have realised that Zosimus was the culprit a long time ago.’

  ‘And he was in a position to make sure Silvanus didn’t return to the ship,’ said Bato grimly. ‘I should have seen it, too! We must seize him quickly. If Zosimus suspects that we’re onto him and alerts Magnus in Rhodes we’ll never crack this ring.’

  The Delphina lurched and Bato winced as he fell sideways against a bag of salt. ‘I can’t do much, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I think my collar-bone is cracked.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Flavia. ‘Pater is strong.’

  ‘We’ll need someone else to help your father,’ said Bato. ‘Cornered men can be surprisingly vicious.’

  ‘Flaccus is strong,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘I don’t like him and I still don’t trust him,’ said Flavia. ‘Look at that nasty black eye he gave you.’

  ‘That wasn’t his fault,’ said Jonathan. ‘I let my guard down when we were boxing.’

  ‘I think it’s time you trusted Valerius Flaccus,’ said Bato to Flavia, and he stretched his good hand towards Jonathan. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘help me up.’

  ‘Wait!’ cried Flavia. ‘We should send another message. Something that will make Magnus – or whoever it is – think there’s no problem. That other pigeon flew off without its message.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Bato. ‘But it’s my writing arm that’s been hurt. I don’t know if I can imitate this handwriting, especially as it’s written so small.’

  ‘Lupus can do it, can’t you, Lupus?’

  Lupus nodded, his eyes bright for the first time since they’d left Symi.

  They bent their heads over his wax tablet and presently they composed a response in Latin. Flavia went to find pen, ink, and papyrus while Bato and Lupus translated the message into Greek. Then Lupus carefully copied the Greek translation onto a scrap of papyrus the same size as the stolen one.

  ‘Perfect!’ said Bato. ‘Here, Nubia. Wrap this around the copper wire.’

  While Nubia was doing this, Flavia picked up Lupus’s wax tablet and re-read their new message:

  UNDERGOING MAJOR REPAIRS HERE IN SYMI. WE WILL BE AT LEAST A WEEK. I WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED. Z.

  Nubia moved carefully towards the prow. In this strange choppy sea, the deck was not always where her foot expected it to be. Far above her, a feathery glaze of clouds had turned the sun to copper and made the sea the colour of lead. The sound of the wind in the rigging was a note higher than it had been when she went below. And she felt the familiar pressure on the top of her head that told her a storm was coming.

  She picked her way among the ropes and anchor to the prow and knelt before the pigeon cage. Down here at the front of the Delphina it was sheltered, and she felt the sun’s faint warmth on her back. Folding back the cloth that covered the cage, Nubia opened the wicker door. The pigeons cooed and puffed at her, their red eyes blinking. She almost chose Agamemnon, the biggest, but Odysseus was her favourite, so she took him instead. She held him close to her chest the way Zosimus had taught her, and closed the door again. Then she stood up and started to fix the papyrus-wrapped wire around his foot, staggering a little as the ship rocked.

  She was dreading the moment when Zosimus would notice her, and presently he did.

  ‘What are you doing, Nubia?’ she heard him call down from the masthead. ‘Sending a message to my old mum?’

  Nubia kept her head bent over the pigeon, pretending not to hear him. Her hands trembled as she hurried to attach the papyrus-wrapped wire to the pigeon’s leg.

  ‘Nubia? Nubia!’ she heard his voice moving down from the sky behind her, felt the faint vibration as he jumped down onto the deck. She did not hear his bare feet above the sound of the wind and the crack of canvas, but she did hear a startled grunt just as she finished securing the message to Odysseus’s foot. She tossed the pigeon into the air and watched it fly towards Rhodes. Then she turned to see Captain Geminus tying Zosimus’s hands behind his back.

  ‘What are you doing, sir?’ asked the little sailor with a nervous laugh.

  ‘Maybe this will help you understand,’ said Bato, limping forward and holding up the original message in his left hand. He winced as the Delphina bucked and it was obvious to Nubia that his injured arm still hurt. It must have been obvious to Zosimus as well, because quick as lightning he writhed free of the captain’s grip and charged Bato with his head down.

  Nubia gasped as Bato collapsed onto the rolling deck, retching and gasping. Flavia screamed and Tigris began to bark.

  But Flaccus had seized the little Rhodian in a powerful grip and now Captain Geminus was beside him, breathing hard, and here was Atticus in his leather apron with a bloody cleaver in his hand.

  All three were tall, strong men but even so, they had difficulty subduing Zosimus. Presently their captive stopped struggling and stared panting round at them with the same wild look Nubia had once seen in the eyes of a cornered jackal.

  Flavia’s father must have seen it, too, for he shouted to Lupus to bring a strong cord. Lupus ran to get a length of rope while Flavia and Nubia helped Bato to his feet.

  As the three men pulled Zosimus to the mast, he started thrashing again and uttered a stream of oaths that made Nubia’s face grow hot. Only when they had lashed him to the mainmast with thick cord did he stop shouting.

  Nubia felt the tears fill her eyes. She had liked him and trusted him.

  ‘Tell us what you know,’ said Bato, his face pale and his good hand pressed to his stomach. ‘Tell us who your patron is and what you’re planning.’

  Zosimus spat at him. ‘I won’t tell you anything.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Flaccus, stepping forward and drawing back his fist.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Flavia’s father, and when Flaccus looked at him for an explanation, he said: ‘Not in front of the girls.’

  Flaccus nodded at Captain Geminus and glared at Zosimus. ‘You’re lucky he stopped me,’ he growled, clenching his fists to make his muscles look bigger.

  In the struggle Zosimus’s striped felt cap had been pulled down over one eyebrow. He reminded Nubia of a funny acrobat she had once seen in Ostia’s forum. That – and the release of tension – gave her a sudden urge to giggle. As she caught Flavia’s eye she knew her friend was thinking the same thing. It was like a scene from a comic play: the outraged young hero about to pound the wily slave.

  The two girls hugged, and each buried a giggling face in the other’s shoulder. When Nubia heard Bato say, ‘You Rhodian dog! You’ve made those little girls cry!’ her shoulders shook even more.

  But she stopped laughing when she heard Zosimus cry, ‘No! Not my pigeons! Don’t hurt my birdies!’

  Lupus ignored Flavia’s scream and twisted the pigeon’s head from its body. Then he tossed the twitching, bubbling bird at its owner’s feet.

  ‘No!’ cried Zosimus, and as Lupus reached into the cage and grimly removed another bird: ‘I’ll tell you! Magnus! I work for Magnus.’

  ‘And he lives on Rhodes?’ Bato’s face had regained some of its colour and now he stepped forward.

  ‘Yes,’ said Zosimus. ‘Rhodes Town. Below the sanctuary of Helios. He . . . His house is on the Street of the Coppersmiths. He has a factory there, a carpet factory.’

  ‘And that’s where he takes the children?’

  Zosimus hung his head. ‘Yes. Most of them. They have sharp eyesight, clever fingers.’ He looked up
at them. ‘They’re well-treated. They’re fed and clothed and they sleep all together in a nice big room. They make beautiful carpets. And after a few years we let them go.’

  ‘Then why do none of them ever return?’ asked Bato.

  ‘Most of them? What do you mean “most of them”?’ said Flaccus at the same time.

  Zosimus looked from one to the other.

  ‘What did you mean when you said “most of them”?’ repeated Flaccus, stepping forward and clenching his fists again.

  ‘I . . . We . . . Magnus sends some of them on to Asia. To a buyer in Caria,’ said Zosimus. ‘I don’t know his name.’

  ‘Which ones?’ said Flavia’s father.

  Zosimus stared down at the deck as it rose and tilted and sank beneath them.

  Lupus held out a pigeon and slowly started to twist its head.

  ‘The pretty ones!’ screamed Zosimus.

  Lupus eased his grip on the pigeon’s neck and stared.

  ‘We send the pretty ones to Asia.’ Zosimus dropped his voice so that it was barely audible above the sound of the wind in the rigging. ‘Pretty girls and pretty boys, that’s who we send.’

  ‘You vile dog,’ growled Flaccus.

  ‘Hypocrite!’ Zosimus lifted his angry face towards Flaccus. ‘You think you’re better than the rest of us, but you’re not.’ He spat on the deck. ‘Where do you think your pretty slave-boy came from?’

  Flaccus froze, and in the brief silence Lupus heard the wind moan in the rigging.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flaccus glanced at Zetes, who stood quietly against the rail watching them. The wind whipped his silky golden hair across his beautiful face. ‘What do you mean by that?’ repeated Flaccus.

  ‘He’s one of ours,’ laughed Zosimus. ‘Nine or ten years ago. I’d never forget that one. He was about four or five. Beautiful even then. Where did they tell you he was from? Gaul? Britannia?’

  ‘Germania,’ Flaccus’s voice was trembling. ‘He was a gift on my ninth birthday. My father told me he was from Germania.’