‘Helen’s slaves can guard your father,’ said Jonathan.
‘Besides, I wouldn’t worry about young Aristo trying to kill your father again,’ said Atticus. ‘He was seen early this morning running down the road to Athens.’
Flavia looked up. ‘Someone saw him? Did they catch him?’
‘Flavia.’ Jonathan took a step closer. ‘It’s just like in Rome. The vigiles won’t bother going after him. They just don’t have the time or the money. This is a private matter. If we want to bring Aristo to justice, we’ll either have to hire someone or do it ourselves. The three of us have discussed it—’ here Nubia and Lupus nodded ‘—and we think we should do it ourselves. Helen says she’ll give us a carriage and four mules. Atticus has agreed to come with us,’ added Jonathan, glancing at the grey-haired Greek. ‘He can be our translator and bodyguard.’
‘Your guide, too,’ said Atticus. ‘I grew up in Athens and I know the road from here to there. We’ll catch him.’
‘Will you come with us?’ Jonathan asked Flavia.
‘No,’ she said.
‘But don’t you want to catch Aristo?’ said Jonathan. ‘Don’t you want justice to be done?’
Flavia was silent.
‘Flavia,’ said Nubia, ‘we need you for the clues. You are good at this.’
Lupus nodded.
‘Did you ever think,’ said Jonathan, ‘that maybe all the mysteries you’ve solved so far have been training for just such a time as this?’
‘No!’ said Flavia again. ‘I can’t leave pater. You go if you like. But don’t ask me to abandon him!’ She hid her face in her hands. Everything seemed unreal: the room with its painted garden, the unfamiliar birdsong outside, the smell of pine cones burning on an altar somewhere.
Even the man in the bed seemed strange, unlike her father. Surely this was a nightmare and she would wake from it soon. As hot tears welled up and spilled over, she surrendered herself to weeping. When she finally looked up again, the room was silent and the bright green square of the doorway stood empty.
Flavia was dreaming. She stood in a dark, smoky atrium before an alabaster lararium. In the shrine were little statues, the lares and penates of the household, and a bronze snake for luck. Suddenly the little figures began to tremble and whimper with fear. Now Flavia could hear what was frightening them. Terrible iron footsteps coming up the stairs. The snake writhed in terror and the little gods scrambled over each other to hide at the back of the shrine. The slow footsteps were coming closer, shaking the whole house now, and Flavia turned with horror to see who – or what – they were.
Her head jerked up and she blinked at the bright afternoon light. Where was she? In Greece, in a painted triclinium with her father on the couch beside her, unconscious.
No, he wasn’t unconscious! His eyes were open and he was frowning up at the blue-painted ceiling with a look of heartbreaking confusion on his face.
‘Pater,’ she cried. ‘You’re awake!’ She almost threw her arms around his neck when she saw a look of alarm flit across his features.
‘Don’t worry, pater,’ she said. ‘I won’t touch your wounds.’
‘Who are you?’ he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
‘What?’
‘Where’s Myrtilla?’
‘Pater, it’s me. Flavia. Aristo stabbed you, but you’re going to be all right.’
‘Why . . . why are you calling me pater?’
‘Pater, it’s me. Flavia. Your daughter. Don’t you remember me?’
‘Please, little girl, try to find Myrtilla. Or my brother. His name is Gaius Flavius Geminus. You must find them. The ship sails for Alexandria tomorrow.’
‘Shhh,’ whispered Flavia, fighting tears. ‘Don’t try to get up. You’re badly wounded. Rest your head back on the pillow. That’s right. I’ll try to find Myrtilla or Gaius.’
‘Thank you,’ the words were barely audible and his eyes were closing again. ‘Thank you. You’re a good girl.’
‘Have you finished it yet?’ asked Jonathan.
Lupus stood hunched over a small table in the boys’ room. He shook his head impatiently, and without looking up from his work he made a dismissive flapping motion with his left hand. Jonathan sighed and wandered over to Nubia. She had laid out their things on one of the beds and was now packing the most essential items. Helen had given them three travellers’ knapsacks.
Finally Lupus grunted and stepped back from the table. Jonathan and Nubia both hurried over.
On the table before Lupus lay a wax tablet, like a small wooden booklet. The two inner leaves were coated with a thin layer of yellow beeswax which could be marked with a stylus. But Jonathan and Nubia were not looking at the inside. They were looking at the back of the tablet, where Lupus had painted a portrait of Aristo in coloured wax on the smooth wood.
‘Oh Lupus,’ breathed Nubia, ‘it is a wonderful likeness.’
Jonathan gave a low whistle of approval. ‘That’s brilliant, Lupus. That should certainly help us find him.’
‘How soon can we leave?’ came a voice from the doorway.
Jonathan and the others looked up to see Flavia standing there.
‘You’ve decided to come with us?’ He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. ‘Can we leave right now?’
Jonathan glanced at the others. ‘We were going to leave tomorrow at first light.’
‘I want to go now. Right now,’ said Flavia. ‘We don’t have a moment to lose.’
‘But Flavia,’ said Nubia. ‘In five or six hours sun will set, and then it will be most difficult to travel.’
Lupus nodded his agreement.
‘Besides,’ said Jonathan, ‘Atticus has gone to Corinth to try to get some more information about Aristo, in case there have been any more sightings of him. We can’t go without him. He’s going to be our bodyguard and translator.’
Nubia stood up and took a hesitant step towards Flavia.
‘How is your pater?’ she asked.
‘Pater just woke up,’ said Flavia, ‘and he didn’t recognise me. He doesn’t even know who I am.’
Nubia was about to run to her friend to comfort her, but the look on Flavia’s face stopped her.
‘We’re going to find Aristo,’ said Flavia grimly, ‘and when we do, I’m going to make him pay for what he did to pater!’
As Nubia pressed her heels into Caltha’s flank, the mare broke into a canter. That was better. It felt good to be in control of something. She felt Flavia’s arms tight around her waist. That felt good, too. For once she was the leader, not Flavia.
Despite her anguish for Aristo and for Flavia’s father, Nubia could not suppress the joy flooding her heart as the horse clopped along the winding dirt road towards Corinth.
It was a glorious day, warm and fragrant with the clean, pungent scent of pine trees and the sea. Above the steady clip-clop of Caltha’s hooves she could hear birds whistling their appreciation of the spring sunshine. On her left, the Acrocorinth rose dramatically, a small mountain against the deep blue sky.
As they passed pedestrians, mule-carts, and other riders, Nubia smiled inwardly at their whistles of admiration or cries of greeting.
Beyond the tombs that lined the road on both left and right, she caught glimpses of green cypress trees and red-roofed temples and gilded statues in the sanctuaries. The craggy Acrocorinth was still looming, but it changed shape slightly as the road circled its base.
Finally they reached the cypress grove called Craneum and the triumphal arch topped by a gilded chariot that marked the entrance to Corinth. Nubia did not pass through the arch, but guided Caltha to the right, along the road which led down through the vineyards to Corinth’s western port, Lechaeum. It still felt awkward using reins, but the mare seemed to understand the pressure of Nubia’s heels on her flanks.
They passed beneath the shadow of a twenty-foot statue of the sea-god Poseidon standing above a fountain. As they descended the last mile to sea level, the road became a
covered colonnade cut into the hillside. It was cool and shaded here, but noisy because the sound of Caltha’s hooves echoed off the stone wall.
‘It’s just like the road down to the Villa Limona,’ said Flavia in Nubia’s ear.
Nubia nodded and pulled Caltha up beside a white stuccoed column to let an ox-cart pass. Presently they emerged from the echoing colonnade into sunshine and relative silence. A few minutes later they rode beneath the arch marking the port of Lechaeum.
A cluster of warehouses and cauponas surrounded the docks but gave way on either side to a grey shingle beach dotted with gorse and scrubby grasses. Beyond lay the Gulf of Corinth, gleaming like a vast shield of beaten silver, with the hazy blue mountains of the mainland rising beyond it.
Nubia urged Caltha down towards the docks. At once her sharp eyes spotted the Delphina’s mast rising among others. Caltha’s hoofbeats took on a hollow ring as they rode along a wooden pier. Their arrival at the Delphina’s berth was greeted by a chorus of good-humoured catcalls from sailors in the surrounding boats.
Nubia lifted her chin a fraction and ignored them. She pulled up Caltha, swung her right leg over the horse’s neck and let herself slip down the mare’s damp flank onto the pier. It was further than it looked and although the landing jarred her from heel to chin, she acted as if everything was fine and reached her arms up to Flavia.
‘Oh, no,’ said Flavia. ‘I’m not doing what you just did. It’s too far. It feels as if I’m miles up!’
‘Don’t worry, Miss Flavia,’ said a man’s voice, curiously light. ‘I’ll help you!’
‘Punicus!’ cried Flavia, and Nubia turned to see the Delphina’s helmsman coming down the gangplank. He was a big, muscular man with a bald head and light brown skin. The other crew member – a young man from Cnidos named Alexandros – waved cheerfully from the stern platform.
When Punicus reached the dock he lifted Flavia down and then greeted both girls with a gap-toothed grin.
‘Punicus, we don’t have a moment to lose,’ said Flavia. ‘You heard what happened to pater?’
The Phoenician’s grin instantly faded and he nodded. ‘Atticus just left. He told us you’re going to try to catch the culprit.’
‘That’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘But we need money. Lots of it. Is pater’s strongbox on board?’
‘Of course. Down in the hold,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘In its usual secret hiding place.’
‘Good,’ said Flavia, starting up the gangplank. ‘Here’s what I want you to do – Oh, Nubia!’ she said, turning back. ‘Wait here with the horse. I’ll only be a few moments.’
Nubia nodded and sighed. With Flavia, she was never the leader for long.
Two hours later, back at Helen’s Hospitium, Flavia looked up from her wax tablet as she heard hooves on the fine gravel drive that led to the inn’s main entrance.
‘Atticus! At last! Where have you been?’
Brown hens had been pecking on the gravel approach to the inn. Now they scattered as Atticus swung himself off the mule and handed the reins to one of Helen’s slaves.
‘What’s happened?’ said the old sailor. ‘The captain! He’s not . . . is he –?’
‘He’s conscious,’ said Flavia, and took a deep breath to stop the tears coming again. ‘But he doesn’t remember me. He has something called amnesia.’
Atticus shook his grey head. ‘Thank the gods he’s still alive,’ he said. ‘But amnesia, that’s bad. I knew someone who had that once. He never recovered because they couldn’t find the curse tablet.’ Atticus spat and made the sign against evil.
‘I knew it!’ cried Flavia, clenching her fist. ‘That’s what Helen said. She said Aristo probably cursed my father and unless we undo the curse he’ll never remember who he is!’ She shook her head. ‘I knew that doctor was wrong. How can a bump on the head make you forget?’
‘Not likely,’ said Atticus. ‘Have you looked for a strip of lead nailed to a doorpost?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘Helen’s slaves have searched everywhere: all the doorposts both inside and out. All the columns and walls and trees in the garden. They even looked in the cistern.’
‘He could have hidden it anywhere,’ said Atticus grimly. ‘Even buried it! And if he used a curse-nail we’ll never find it.’
‘That’s why we have to go now! We’ll catch him and force him to tell us where the curse is. Did you find out anything in town?’
‘I did. The name of a woman who thinks she saw him.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Name’s Aphrodite. She’s a farmer’s widow. Lives beyond Isthmia, on the Athens Road. Early this morning she went out to feed her pigs and saw a man sleeping at the foot of a poplar tree near the road. She went towards him and when he stood up she saw that he was bound and that he wore a bloodstained tunic. According to her, he ran off towards Athens.’
‘If his hands are still tied,’ said Flavia, ‘it will make it harder for him to move fast. I think we should go now. Every minute we waste could make a difference.’
‘But Miss Flavia, it will be dark in a few hours.’ The late afternoon sun illuminated Atticus’s round face, shiny as a chestnut and almost as brown.
‘I’ve calculated he’s had a seventeen-hour start,’ said Flavia, holding up her wax tablet. ‘Let’s not give him any more advantage.’ The brown hens pecking at her feet clucked and flapped for the shrubs as Tigris bounded out of the inn and down the steps. Flavia’s three friends followed, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. ‘Is everything ready?’ she asked them.
They nodded.
‘I have packed essential belongings,’ said Nubia.
‘I’ve got some maps and guides,’ said Jonathan, and tapped the quiver over his shoulder. ‘Plus my bow and arrows.’
Lupus held up five water gourds in one hand and the wax tablet with Aristo’s portrait in the other.
Flavia turned back to Atticus. ‘Did you know that Helen has given us her best carruca and four mules? She said we could have them. Sell them, eat them, anything . . .’
Atticus whistled under his breath. ‘That is very generous. She must really like your father,’ he said.
‘Flavia!’ said Jonathan, holding up a pair of red leather sandals. ‘Look what Nubia just found: Aristo’s sandals.’
‘Those belong to Aristo?’
Nubia nodded. ‘But it is strange,’ she said, ‘because I find them in your father’s bedroom, the room with grey sea-nymphs on a black wall, next to the Orpheus room.’
‘You’re absolutely sure they’re Aristo’s?’ asked Flavia.
Nubia nodded. ‘I am sure.’
‘Excellent,’ said Flavia.
Atticus scratched his woolly grey hair. ‘What good are Aristo’s sandals?’
‘First of all,’ said Flavia, ‘it tells us he’s not only bound but barefoot, which will slow him down. But more importantly,’ she said, bending to give Tigris a pat, ‘it means our best tracker can easily follow his scent!’
‘According to this book,’ said Jonathan, ‘we’re travelling the same route Theseus took when he went to Athens to claim his birthright.’
It was early evening. They had made an offering for a good hunt at an ancient shrine of Artemis, and almost immediately Tigris had found Aristo’s scent on the side of the Athens Road, which passed between vineyards and pine trees on the left and the blue sea on the right.
Helen’s four-wheeled carruca was made of oak and wicker, light and strong. It had spoked wheels and a bucket of grease hanging from the rear axle. There were padded benches along each side with storage space underneath. At each of the four corners were sockets for the posts of the awning by day, or torches for night travel. The unbleached linen awning was up now and the carruca rumbled after Tigris at a steady pace. The grinding of the wooden wheels and the clopping hooves of four mules gave their quest a sense of rhythmic urgency.
‘What book is that?’ said Flavia, who was sitting beside Atticus at the front.
Jonathan held it up. ‘It’s called A Guide to Corinth, Attica and Boeotia. Helen said I could borrow it.’
‘Let me see,’ said Flavia, reaching back.
‘It does not look like a book,’ said Nubia. ‘It resembles a wax tablet.’
‘It’s a cross between a wax tablet and a scroll,’ said Jonathan. ‘It has leaves, like a wax tablet, but they’re made of papyrus not wood.’
‘It’s called a codex,’ said Flavia, flipping through the papyrus pages. ‘Pater has some in his library. His are mainly poetry . . .’ She handed the book back to Jonathan.
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Flavia usually confiscated any new book he showed her and kept it until she’d read it.
‘It’s good, Flavia,’ he said. ‘It has all the landmarks and the legends behind them and it even recommends good hotels and taverns. The best places to stay – like Helen’s Hospitium – are marked with a little house with a courtyard. The decent ones get two little towers and the ones that just scrape by only get one tower.’
Flavia gave him a distracted nod over her shoulder.
‘Also,’ he continued, ‘this book tells you all the places where Theseus performed his exploits.’
‘I know who Theseus is,’ said Nubia. ‘He is the hero in myth who conquers the man-bull. He does this on an island far away from here.’
‘That’s right,’ said Atticus. ‘The monster was called the Minotaur, and it lived on Crete. I was in Crete once a few years ago. You can still see the actual labyrinth.’
‘Theseus had some adventures before he fought the Minotaur,’ said Jonathan. ‘According to this guidebook, he had to lift a big rock to discover his birthright. He tried to lift it every year and when he was fifteen he finally did it. Underneath he found a pair of gold leather sandals and a sword that had belonged to his father Aegeus, the King of Athens. So he set out to claim his birthright. But instead of going to Athens the easy way – by ship – he decided to take the land route, which was full of murderers and monsters. He wanted his father to be proud of him.’
‘Maybe we should go by ship,’ said Nubia, ‘to be arriving in Athens before Aristo.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 131