The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Flaccus tossed his hair out of his eyes. ‘Even lying on the ground the Colossus is still considered one of the Seven Sights that must be seen. It’s on that slope up there.’

  ‘You’ve been to Rhodes before?’ asked Flavia. She was standing on a coil of rope so that her head was level with his.

  ‘No. But some of my friends have studied rhetoric here.’

  A grunt from above made them all turn and look up. Lupus sat at the top of the mainmast. He was pointing straight ahead, towards the east. Suddenly he was flooded with golden light and Nubia stared at his illuminated figure floating above them.

  Then the gold flowed slowly down the sail and lit the deck, for the sun had pushed its dazzling rim above the island, dissolving the mist with its light and warmth.

  Tigris put his forepaws on the rail and looked forward with the rest of them, his nose testing the air. Presently they saw three separate harbours, filled with forests of masts. The lighthouse stood between the entrance of two of them and the Delphina steered for the smaller. Now Nubia could see the walls of the town, and the emerald slopes behind, dotted with enormous statues.

  ‘Rhodes,’ said Flaccus softly. ‘The island of the sun.’

  And Flavia quoted a verse from his poem, ‘Arriving there is what you are destined for.’

  Nubia saw Flavia and Flaccus turn their heads to look at each other, and for a moment time seemed to stop. She had felt this once before, at the great amphitheatre in Rome. A sense of inevitability. That this moment was meant to happen. Then the feeling passed and like the others, she turned her gaze back towards Rhodes, the island of the sun.

  *

  ‘Maps, wind maps, guides to city and sanctuary! Buy them here!’

  ‘Souvenirs! Painted flasks! Models of the Colossus!’

  ‘Rhodian hardbake! Best in the Empire! Only ten sesterces a pack! Rhodian hardbake!’

  Although it was only two hours past dawn, all the shops were open and many owners stood outside on the sunny pavement, inviting the Roman and Alexandrian tourists to look at their tapestries, rugs, leather goods, pottery, glass, jewellery or clothing.

  Lupus stared around as they walked down the stone street towards the main square of Rhodes Town. They had berthed the Delphina at one of the town’s harbours and Captain Geminus and his three-man crew were putting the first part of the plan into effect. Zetes and Tigris had stayed behind to help. Lupus and his friends – plus Bato and Flaccus – were executing a different part of the plan, and now Bato was leading them into a bright square with a splashing fountain at its centre.

  ‘Yes, please!’ A waiter in a spotless tunic stepped forward to intercept them. ‘Just off the boat? Want breakfast?’ he asked them in Latin. He obviously didn’t mind their travel-stained tunics and dishevelled hair, for he gestured towards the tables of a tavern. ‘We have figs, dates, yogurt, honey, cheese. Cinnamon rolls specialty of the house. Yes, please!’

  Lupus’s stomach growled and he looked at Bato.

  ‘May as well,’ said Bato. ‘I’m ravenous. What do you think, Valerius?’ he said to Flaccus.

  ‘This one looks as good as any.’ Flaccus pulled back two chairs in the shade for Flavia and Nubia, then sat beside Lupus in the bright morning sunshine.

  Windchimes tinkled outside the shops as a gust of wind swirled through the square. The warm breeze rattled the fronds of the palm trees and whipped at the papyrus map Flaccus was unfolding.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Flavia was sitting on his left.

  ‘I bought it just now from that shop by the carpet-seller over there.’ Flaccus pointed with his chin.

  ‘Does it have the Street of the Coppersmiths marked?’ she asked.

  ‘Or show where the Colossus is?’ asked Jonathan.

  They all bent their heads to study Flaccus’s map, then sat back as the waiter appeared with their drinks on a tray.

  ‘Two hot spiced-wines, three mint teas and one buttermilk,’ he said, placing this last before Lupus.

  Their heads bent over the map again and Lupus pointed with a grunt.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bato. ‘That’s it. The Street of the Copper-smiths.’ He lifted his head and looked around, then nodded towards an arch between the stalls of a silversmith and a money changer. ‘That street should take us there.’

  ‘Useless!’ said Flaccus, crumpling up the papyrus map and throwing it down onto the paving-stones in disgust. ‘We’ll never find the Street of the Coppersmiths!’

  Bato shook his head and sighed. ‘So much for the famous regular street-plan of Rhodes Town,’ he said.

  ‘Hark!’ said Nubia. ‘I think I am hearing the Street of the Coppersmiths.’

  ‘She’s right!’ said Flavia. ‘Listen.’

  Above the cries of the swifts they all heard a faint tapping and tinkling.

  Lupus had picked up the discarded map and was smoothing it out. Now he grunted and pointed towards the gloom of a covered alley.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘Down this way.’

  Gradually the metallic tapping grew louder and a moment later they emerged into a symphony of light and sound. The coppersmiths squatted beside their shop doorways, gripping the copper with hands and feet and tapping with little hammers. Braziers glowed red, sparks flew and the smell of charcoal drifted along the narrow street. The workmen – some no more than boys – were fashioning items like those which hung outside the shops.

  Nubia stared at jugs, lamps, pots, pans, funnels, bells, windchimes, mirrors and trays. She saw round trays, square trays, oval trays, trays big enough to be table tops, trays small enough to be carried in the palm of one hand. The bright April sun beamed down onto the street, and its light bounced off the bronze and copper, throwing dancing lozenges of light on the buttermilk-coloured sandstone walls.

  The shopfronts were just like those of Ostia, the same big rectangular doorways with their slatted wooden shutters rolled up for business. Each shop was a treasure cave inside, for the copper gleamed like gold. Nubia saw shelves of hairpins, thumb-rings, nose-rings, earrings, bangles, anklets, bells, beads, gaming counters, dice, manicure sets, bath sets, oil flasks, strigils, knives, votive animals and souvenirs. On a shelf just inside the big doorway of one shop she saw something which made her stop so abruptly that Flaccus trod on the back of her sandal.

  Nubia reached out in wonder and picked up the little statuette. It showed a naked man holding a torch up high. On his head was a crown of sharp rays. She knew who he was because she had seen a similar statue before.

  ‘Is this Colossus?’ she whispered. ‘It looks like statue in Rome.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flaccus. ‘Nero modelled his colossal statue on the one here in Rhodes.’ He reached out to take another statuette from the same shelf and Nubia saw that there were dozens of them, all the same.

  ‘Helios, the sun god,’ said Jonathan. ‘This must be what the Colossus looked like before it fell down.’

  ‘Here’s one of just its head,’ said Flavia, stretching to reach a higher shelf.

  ‘Yes, please!’ said the plump shopkeeper in Latin, hurrying out from the dazzling depths of his cave. ‘Don’t touch! Childrens don’t touch merchandise!’

  He took the statuette from Nubia and set it back on the shelf with an artificial smile.

  ‘I can pay,’ said Bato, opening his coin purse and taking out some silver coins. ‘How much would four of those cost?’

  The shopkeeper’s smile relaxed as he chose four small statuettes. ‘These are best. For these I ask only thirty sesterces.’

  ‘Fifteen sesterces,’ said Bato. ‘I can offer you fifteen.’

  The shopkeeper shook his head sadly, feigning great regret. ‘Most sorry but cannot ask less than twenty-five. Twenty-five sesterces.’

  ‘Twenty,’ said Bato, picking out five small silver coins. ‘Twenty sesterces and,’ he lowered his voice, ‘directions to the house of Magnus.’

  Nubia saw the shopkeeper’s smile fade instantly. He carefully replaced the four statuettes on th
e shelf and took a step back. ‘No,’ he said, holding up both hands apologetically. ‘This I cannot do.’

  Then he turned and scuttled back into the depths of his shop.

  ‘For only two sesterces, I can tell you how to find Magnus,’ piped a child’s voice.

  Lupus looked down to see a beggar-girl sitting on a greasy cushion with her back against the stone wall. The girl rattled a copper beaker containing two small bronze coins. She was grubby, with tangled hair, and she wore an oversized pink tunic that came down to her ankles. Lupus guessed she was a little younger than he was, perhaps eight years old. But there was something not quite right about her.

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ exclaimed Flavia. ‘Where did you learn to speak Latin? Your accent is perfect.’

  ‘In Rome,’ said the girl, not looking at them. ‘I come from Rome.’

  She stood up and spat on the ground. ‘I would show you where that scum Magnus lives for nothing,’ she said, ‘but I have not eaten for two days. So please give me something in return.’

  Bato held out a silver denarius, worth four sesterces, but the girl did not take it. Then Lupus realised what was wrong.

  The beggar-girl was blind.

  *

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Flavia, as the little girl led them down the Street of the Coppersmiths.

  ‘Mendusa,’ said the girl, without turning her head. She held her cushion under one arm and wore her copper beaker on a string around her neck.

  As they followed her, open shopfronts gave way to blank stone walls occasionally pierced by double doors and small high windows. What the doors led to, Flavia could not tell. Behind her, the metallic tapping and hammering of the coppersmiths grew fainter. Occasionally they passed a few people coming the other way, and Flavia noticed that most of the Rhodian men wore boots instead of sandals, and all the women covered their heads with their pallas.

  ‘Mendusa,’ said Bato presently. ‘Can you tell us anything about Magnus?’

  The blind girl stopped and put her finger to her lips. ‘Is there an arch there?’ She pointed to the right, just past a shop which sold copper lamps and lanterns.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Flavia.

  ‘Take my hand. Lead me there.’

  Flavia led Mendusa through the arch, helping her to avoid a pile of donkey dung. The others followed them into a narrow side street that smelled of horse urine and leather.

  ‘Don’t try to fight Magnus,’ Mendusa whispered. ‘He is very clever. He speaks five languages and he always outwits his enemies.’

  Bato and Flaccus exchanged a glance.

  ‘Is he really a giant?’ asked Flavia.

  Mendusa nodded solemnly. ‘He’s eight, ten, maybe twelve feet tall.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Jonathan.

  Mendusa turned her blank eyes towards him. ‘I wasn’t always blind.’

  ‘What about the buyer in Asia?’ asked Bato. ‘In Halicarnassus. Do you know his name?’

  Mendusa shook her head. ‘Is that where they send them? At the carpet factory they said that if we were bad or tried to run away they would send us far away.’ She groped for Flavia’s hand and clutched it hard. ‘I will tell you where to find him but promise you won’t try to stop him. Nobody has ever succeeded. He is very dangerous and his spies are everywhere.’

  ‘Just tell us where he lives,’ said Bato gently. ‘We have a plan.’

  Mendusa reached out and patted the buttermilk-coloured stone. ‘He is near. This wall is part of his very big house.’

  ‘Good,’ whispered Bato. ‘Is there another way out of it? A back door?’

  ‘Yes. Fifty paces down here and the first turning on this side.’ She gestured with her cushion. ‘There is a door. I do not know what colour it is but it is smooth all over, with no handle or knocker. You cannot get in, but people can get out.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bato and then, ‘Flaccus, will you wait there, and follow anyone who comes out? Especially,’ he added drily, ‘any giants?’

  Flaccus grinned. ‘Of course.

  ‘Wait!’ said Flavia. ‘We’ll never find our way back here. We need a thread like Ariadne gave Theseus to help him find his way out of the maze.’

  Lupus reached for his belt pouch but encountered only the leather sling that also served as a belt. They had left their belt pouches behind as part of their plan.

  ‘What is it, Lupus?’ said Jonathan. ‘What were you thinking of?’

  Lupus mimed drawing a gaming board on an imaginary table.

  ‘Chalk!’ said Jonathan. ‘If we only had some chalk.’

  Bato smiled and took a small wedge of chalk out of his own belt pouch. ‘I like to play, too.’ He broke it in half. ‘Here, Flaccus. Take this. And remember: don’t confront him, just follow him.’ Bato turned to Flavia and her friends. ‘Now, are you sure you’re willing to do this?’

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘I also,’ said Nubia.

  ‘It was my plan,’ said Flavia, though her mouth was dry and her heart thumping.

  Bato looked at them for a moment with his pale eyes. ‘Very well,’ he said, taking a coil of rope from his canvas shoulder bag. ‘Hold out your hands and let me tie you up.’

  Although they were only pretending to be captives, the feel of the rough hemp cord around Nubia’s neck caused a choking wave of panic to fill her throat. She wanted to scream and run away, but she knew that she could not. It was Flavia’s plan, and she had a part to play, so she breathed deeply and told her heart to be calm. She was doing this for the children.

  Bato finished binding them and murmured something to Mendusa. The blind beggar-girl nodded and began to move down the Street of the Coppersmiths, her hand occasionally reaching out to caress the wall on her right. A group of chattering women further up the street disappeared through an arched opening, and as they walked past the closing door, Nubia heard female laughter and the spatter of an indoor fountain.

  ‘That must be the women’s baths,’ Flavia whispered, and Mendusa nodded.

  A moment later, the little blind girl stopped at a doorway. The lavender paint on the door was faded and peeling and the brass lion’s head knocker green with age.

  Mendusa groped for the lion’s head knocker, then turned to them. ‘This is it,’ she whispered. ‘Now I must go, or Magnus’s men will find me and beat me. Be careful.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mendusa,’ whispered Nubia and Flavia. ‘Thank you.’

  But already the little blind girl was gone.

  Bato gave a few sharp raps with the lion’s head door knocker and presently they heard heavy footsteps.

  Flavia swallowed and turned her head in order to loosen the cord around her neck; it felt too tight.

  The door opened, but only a crack, and Bato spoke to someone Flavia could not see.

  ‘My name is Titus Flavius Pharnaces,’ said Bato, using the pseudonym they had agreed on earlier. ‘I understand your master appreciates beautiful things. Please tell him I have some merchandise he might be interested in.’

  The door opened a little wider and Flavia saw a big, sullen-looking man give them a rapid glance over Bato’s shoulder. He nodded and the door closed again.

  Silence.

  They stood for a long time on the cobbled street in the bright sunshine, and Flavia heard the swifts shrieking above them and the faint tinkling song of the coppersmiths. Two women came down the street on their way to the baths, their laughter echoing off the stone walls, but when they saw Bato and the four children, they grew silent and pulled their pallas across their faces.

  Flavia twisted her bound wrists – her hands were beginning to tingle – and it suddenly occurred to her that Bato could sell them for a fortune and flee to Asia before her father suspected anything was wrong.

  Her heart began to pound, and she was trying to think how to tell Bato she had changed her mind, when the door opened and a veiled woman gestured for them to enter.

  The woman wore a film
y tunic of scarlet silk over a rose pink shift. A magenta scarf covered all but her liquid black eyes. Her feet were bare but silver anklets jingled softly as she turned with a graceful gesture. They followed her through a dim vaulted vestibule and up half a dozen pink plaster-covered steps.

  Flavia emerged into the scent of roses and the sound of pigeons. Into another world.

  The sparkling white marble courtyard was planted with roses of every colour: scarlet, pink, white, yellow, cream. They were in full bloom and their petals carpeted the mosaic floor. As Flavia followed Bato and the slave-girl beneath a dovecote full of voluptuously cooing pigeons, the warm, sweet, heavy scent of roses almost made her swoon. It was a cube of paradise, and she wanted to linger there.

  ‘Look!’ whispered Nubia behind her. ‘I see Achilles and Odysseus.’

  A tug of the hemp cord around Flavia’s neck pulled her out of the warm rose-drenched courtyard and along a shaded corridor towards gleaming marble stairs.

  Just before they reached the stairs, a door on her right opened and another pink-veiled woman came out. The slave-girl quickly closed the door, but Flavia had caught a glimpse inside. The murmur of voices, the distinctive unpleasant smell of purple dye, and in the dim room a glimpse of looms with small shapes of children sitting before them.

  And Flavia realised that this was not a paradise at all.

  The cord around her neck drew her up the stairs, through a door, into a cool, echoing, high-ceilinged room. Flavia’s quick glance took in the pink marble walls, gauzy curtains, a woven carpet, a sandalwood screen, vases full of roses, silk floor cushions . . .

  Her head swung back to the object at the centre of the room and she felt her jaw drop.

  Through the diamond-shaped holes in the sandalwood screen loomed the shape of a man at least eight feet tall.

  Jonathan sat on the carpet beside his friends and reminded himself that they were supposed to be playing the role of frightened children taken from the wreck of a ship called the Delphina. This was the scenario that would best fit with the recent storm and the messages carried by the pigeons.