Nubia could not sleep. It had stopped raining. Scraps of cloud hurried across the star-filled sky above the canopy of the cedar which sheltered their campsite. Her heart was filled with joy. Aristo had trusted her enough to come to her. To her and no one else. Thank you for believing in me, he had said.
She wished she had asked him to tell her what had happened the night of the attack, so that she could tell Flavia, but sitting with him in the green rain had been so magical. She hadn’t wanted to break the spell.
If only she were as clever as Flavia, she could work out what had really happened that night. Then she could tell Flavia and the others, and they would believe in his innocence, too.
As she gazed up at the lofty dark branches of the cedar, she reviewed all the events of the past few days, trying to make sense of them: Aristo standing over Flavia’s father with a bloody knife, his stunned look and his silence as the slaves dragged him away.
What else could she remember about that night?
Had he been wearing his red cloak? Yes, draped over his shoulders like a blanket. She hadn’t looked at his feet but she knew now he must have been barefoot, because later she had found his red sandals in the other room. If he had been barefoot, wearing his cloak as a blanket, he must have been in bed when he heard a noise and – but, no! His was the Orpheus room. Then why was Captain Geminus in Aristo’s bed, with his own sandals underneath? And why were Aristo’s sandals found in Captain Geminus’s room, the room with black walls and little grey sea-nymphs swimming around a lower border?
Suddenly she knew the answer. She turned her head, but Flavia was fast asleep: her friend’s face was pale in the ruby firelight and a small frown creased her forehead.
‘I will not wake her,’ thought Nubia. ‘But I will remember this thing and store it in my heart. It is a clue that will help to prove Aristo is innocent.’
Nubia smiled and presently she slept.
The usual nightmares woke Jonathan before dawn. His lungs were tight and his tunic damp with sweat.
He sat up and groaned because of the stiffness in his limbs. Tigris whined softly and by the red light of the dying embers, Jonathan saw that his dog was standing and looking towards the stream.
Over by the poplars, the mules were also awake and restless. He could hear them stamping and snorting.
Jonathan slipped on his sandals. The rain had stopped and in the faint light of the stars he could see tattered clouds drifting across the night sky. He stood and groaned again and limped across the dark slippery grasses towards the black shapes of the poplars. Tigris followed silently. When they reached the mules, Jonathan stroked their necks and backs with long sweeps of his palm, as he had seen Nubia do. Presently they seemed to grow calmer.
He needed to relieve himself and so he limped into the inky shadows of the copse. He had just finished and was about to start back for the campfire, when he heard something like an evil taunting moan coming from the darkness beyond the stream. The sound lifted the little hairs on the back of his neck and arms.
‘Lupus?’ whispered Jonathan. But he knew it wasn’t Lupus. The sound was too distant and now, as it came again, he could tell there were more than one of them.
Beside him a low growl rose in Tigris’s throat and the big puppy moved forward through the black shadows.
‘No, Tigris, come back!’ whispered Jonathan, his chest tightening. Everything that looked so safe by daylight looked terrifying at night. Was that a person crouching behind that tree? Or just a shrub?
Then a new sound came. Not a moan but eerie whoops that faded to evil inhuman laughter. By the sound of it, there were a group of three or four of them, drawing nearer and nearer. He knew what they must be.
The Furies.
His knees grew weak and he had to clutch a tree trunk to stop himself collapsing. For a moment he clung to the rough bark and closed his eyes. All those people who had died in the fire in Rome, because of him. And the burning man. His fault, too. Their blood had never been avenged. Now the Furies were after him. They were laughing because he was finally within their grasp.
Tigris whined and moved forwards.
‘Tigris! Come back!’ He heard the wheezing panic in his own voice.
The evil echoing laughter came again, just the other side of the stream. He must get away. But as he turned to run, he saw something so terrifying that it stopped his breath.
The creature that stood near the poplar on his side of the stream resembled a muscular woman in a short tunic. It was hard to make out details, but Jonathan knew by her snaky hair gleaming silver in the starlight that she was one of the Furies.
Jonathan tried to move. The Fury was coming nearer, moving straight towards him. The creature’s snaky hair stood out from its head and now he saw the Fury carried not a torch, but a bow and quiver. Before him, Tigris was wagging his tail.
‘Is that you, Jonathan?’ said the Fury in a deep familiar voice. ‘Get back to the campfire. There’s something very bad out there.’
The wave of nausea receded and left Jonathan cold and shivering. ‘Atticus?’ he gasped.
From behind Jonathan came a flickering yellow light. As it grew brighter, it illuminated Atticus’s round face and his long bushy grey hair. Released from its usual ponytail it stood straight out from his head.
‘Aaah!’ cried Lupus, who had come up beside Jonathan with a flaming branch. Flavia, Nubia, and Megara were close behind him.
‘Atticus?’ yelped Flavia. ‘What have you done to your hair?’
‘My hair?’ Atticus patted his head. ‘I haven’t done anything; just undone the leather strip I tie it back with.’
‘It’s terrifying,’ said Megara.
‘Nothing wrong with my hair,’ said Atticus. ‘It’s just a little fluffy.’
‘It is very big,’ said Nubia. ‘It resembles evil Medusa hair.’
Flavia looked at Nubia and suddenly the girls began to giggle.
‘All right, all right!’ Atticus scowled. He handed the bow and quiver to Jonathan, then smoothed his hair back and took a leather thong from his belt. ‘But listen,’ he said, as he tied his hair back in its usual ponytail, ‘we have something more frightening than my hair to worry about.’
‘What?’ said Megara. ‘What could be more frightening than your hair?’
The inhuman laughter came again, closer than ever.
‘What was that?’ they cried.
On the other side of the stream, six pairs of eyes glowed yellow in the torchlight.
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ gasped Flavia. ‘What are they?’
‘I know what they are being,’ said Nubia. ‘They are hyenas. They come from my country, from the desert.’
‘Then what are they doing here?’ muttered Jonathan, slipping his quiver over one shoulder and taking out an arrow.
‘Probably escaped from the beast-fights,’ said Atticus. ‘It happens.’
Jonathan notched an arrow. ‘Are they dangerous, Nubia?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Do not look at the eyes. Do not let Tigris look at the eyes.’ She knelt before Jonathan’s puppy and covered his eyes.
‘Got to look if I’m going to shoot one,’ muttered Jonathan, pulling back the bowstring until it was tight against his cheek.
The evil cackling came again, and the leader of the pack slowly began to move forward across the stream.
As the lead hyena crossed the stream, Jonathan loosed his arrow.
He already had a second notched and ready as Flavia cried, ‘I think you got him!’
The other hyenas moaned and cackled with fear, but they did not retreat. They were moving back and forth on the opposite bank of the stream. They looked like a cross between a hunched dog and a tiger, and in the light of Lupus’s torch their eyes gleamed gold.
‘Flavia! Atticus!’ said Jonathan without taking his eyes from the creatures. ‘Reach into my quiver and take out some arrows. Tear some strips from your handkerchiefs and wrap them around the tips. Quickly!’
; Flavia’s arrow was ready first. Jonathan let the arrow in his bow fall to the ground and he notched Flavia’s instead and pulled the bowstring back and then said, ‘Touch your torch to the tip of the arrow, Lupus!’
Lupus extended his torch and when the flames ignited the scrap of cloth tied around its tip, Jonathan let go.
They saw the flaming arrow fly into the darkness.
‘Yaaah!’ crowed Lupus in triumph and Flavia shrieked, ‘Yes! You got one! He’s on fire!’
The flaming hyena ran off and now the rest of the pack scattered with whoops of terror.
‘We should go back by fire,’ said Nubia, gripping Jonathan’s arm. ‘They must be very hungry to approach so close to people. They are wanting to eat the mules.’
‘Nubia’s right,’ said Atticus. ‘We’ll build up the fire into a proper blaze and bring the mules over.’
‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘Good idea.’ His own voice sounded calm, but it was several moments before he could convince his trembling legs to turn and follow the others.
They left their camp before dawn, walking the mules by torchlight beneath a vibrant blue-black sky. By the time it was light enough to douse their torches they had walked out the stiffness in their limbs and could mount the mules.
It was a mild grey morning and the fields on either side of the road smelled of damp wicker and chamomile. They reached Eleusis mid-morning and found the Sacred Way so crowded with pedestrians, carts and wagons that they had to dismount again and walk. Atticus said it must be a market day in Athens.
They stopped twice, once to lay offerings at a shrine of Hermes, and once during a rain shower to finish the last of their olives and bread in the shelter of a mulberry tree.
The rain did not last and by early afternoon the sun reappeared, making their cloaks and tunics steam. In the dripping trees on either side of the road sodden birds were beginning to twitter and purr.
Suddenly Flavia gasped and pointed straight ahead and turned to Atticus. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘I think I can see the Acropolis in the distance!’
He smiled and nodded at her and she saw that the old sailor had tears in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s my Athens.’
*
As they neared Athens, tombs began to appear by the side of the road, modest at first, then becoming grander as they neared the city. Many were marble and Nubia could tell by the faded paint on some that they were very old. She caught a whiff of smoke from a foundry and also the smell of wet clay. There must be potteries nearby. One tomb caught her eye and she turned her head to look at the carved relief of a little girl saying goodbye to her pet dog. The dog was painted black and he reminded Nubia of her own puppy, Nipur, who was in Ostia. Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision, so that she almost didn’t see the man waving at her from behind the marble relief of a horse and rider.
Aristo. The man behind the grave marker was Aristo.
Nubia’s heart stuttered at the sight of Aristo beckoning her from behind a funeral stele.
She looked around to see if any of the others had noticed. They hadn’t.
Nubia touched Flavia’s shoulder. ‘I am just going in bushes behind tombs for a moment,’ she said. ‘Take Piper’s bridle. Don’t wait for me. I will run fast to catch you.’
‘All right,’ said Flavia. ‘Don’t be long.’
Nubia let the mules pass by, then turned and wove her way back between other travellers to reach the side of the road. Aristo was there behind the marble slab. Without any greeting or explanation, he gripped her shoulders.
‘Where is he?’ he said. Up close in the bright morning light she saw that he was thinner and that he had not shaved recently. ‘I’ve spent all morning trying to find him.’
‘Who?’ asked Nubia.
‘Dion, of course! My brother.’ He frowned at her and she frowned back. She didn’t understand what he was asking.
‘All I know,’ said Nubia, ‘is that Flavia thinks you are going to Temple of the Maiden and Cave of the Kindly Ones.’
‘Temple of the Maiden and Cave – why does she think that?’
‘That is what the Pythia said.’
‘Of course! The Temple of the Maiden! Thank you!’ He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Now hurry back,’ he said, ‘before they suspect something. And Nubia!’ She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Try to slow them down for an hour or two. Just long enough for me to catch him.’
Nubia nodded, then ran quickly through the pedestrians and around a flock of sheep. Where were her friends? Finally, she saw Atticus’s grey hair up ahead and the mules’ pointed ears.
‘Nubia! Are you all right?’ said Flavia. ‘You look strange.’
‘I am fine,’ Nubia stammered. ‘My stomach is a little unhappy.’
‘Do you want us to stop and wait while you go in the bushes again?’
‘No, I am better now.’
She walked in a daze, still feeling the heat where his lips had touched her forehead, and her shoulders, where he had gripped them. Why had he asked her about Dion?
By now the city walls had risen up and the Acropolis had dropped out of sight. They approached a massive fortified gate – still bearing the scars of some ancient battle – and their pace slowed even more as the crowds funnelled through. Nubia glanced at Flavia. She wanted to tell her what Aristo had said, but that would be a betrayal. She felt dizzy.
‘Let’s go this way,’ said Atticus. ‘A friend of mine used to own stables just outside the city walls. We can give the mules a rest. They’ll just hold us up in this crowd. Agreed, Miss Flavia?’
‘Agreed,’ said Flavia grimly. ‘We don’t want anything to stop us now.’
‘Athens,’ whispered Flavia. ‘I can’t believe I’m really here.’ She gazed around at tombs and workshops on either side of the road, and at houses and temples up ahead. Some buildings were of white marble, others red brick, like at Ostia. All of them had been scoured clean by the recent rain and gleamed in the late afternoon sun. ‘I thought it would be bigger,’ she murmured. ‘There are more trees and open spaces than I imagined.’
‘Most of the open spaces are markets,’ said Atticus. ‘See the coloured awnings of the stalls? Those are mostly potters’ stalls; we’re near the Inner Ceramicus.’
But Flavia was gazing up at the Acropolis. Like the Acrocorinth, it was a little mountain rising up in the middle of a plain. Unlike the Acrocorinth, its top was perfectly flat, as if a giant had sliced it off with an enormous knife. Temples gleamed like jewels on this level surface and rising taller than any of them was the bronze statue of Athena, wearing her helmet and holding her spear.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.
‘The Acropolis never disappoints,’ said Atticus.
‘That temple there,’ said Flavia, pointing, ‘the one with the strange white roof and the blue squares above white columns. That’s the Parthenon, isn’t it, the Temple of the Maiden?’
‘Yes,’ said Atticus. ‘That’s Athena’s temple.’
‘Then that’s where he’ll be,’ said Flavia. ‘Let’s finish this.’
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia suddenly, pointing towards a honey-coloured temple on a green hill to their right. ‘Behold, I see Aristo!’
‘Where?’ cried Flavia. ‘Where is he?’
‘There!’ cried Nubia. ‘Follow me!’ She began to run towards the temple. Tigris followed, barking, and Flavia ran after them.
‘Where is he?’ Flavia cried. She could hear the footsteps of the others behind her and the rhythmic rattling of Jonathan’s arrows in their quiver.
‘Up ahead!’ said Nubia over her shoulder. ‘Wearing red cloak.’
‘I think I see him!’ wheezed Jonathan. ‘Over there by that statue of Athena.’
‘Pollux!’ gasped Flavia, breathing hard. ‘We must have lost him . . . can’t see him anywhere . . . Where are we, anyway?’ She looked up at a long stoa with painted blue columns and a red-tiled roof.
�
�Agora,’ wheezed Jonathan. He was bent over, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. ‘I think this is . . . the main agora.’
Lupus nodded, despite his limp he had been able to keep up with them.
‘What is agora,’ asked Nubia
‘It just means a forum,’ said Megara. She was still dressed in her oversized boy’s tunic and there was a sheen of sweat on her pretty face. ‘I think one of the Academies is somewhere around here,’ she added.
‘Where did he get to?’ muttered Flavia. ‘I can’t see him with all these people walking around.’
‘Oh!’ cried Nubia. ‘Look at those strange men!’
Flavia impatiently turned to see a group of men strolling in the shade of the stoa. They all had long hair, short brown capes and sandals laced up to their knees.
‘They’re Pythagoreans,’ said Megara. ‘Philosophers. We have some in Corinth.’ She pointed towards a large fountain house. ‘Those men with the short hair and smooth cheeks are Epicureans.’
‘Of course!’ Jonathan had his herb-pouch to his nose. ‘The famous philosophers . . . of Athens . . . And the men . . . with short beards . . . must be Stoics. They look just like . . . fresco of Seneca . . . at gladiator school.’
‘Where is he?’ muttered Flavia, turning on the spot.
‘You attended gladiator school?’ said Megara to Jonathan.
Jonathan nodded.
‘Who are those?’ said Nubia. ‘The ones with the matty beards walking in the sun.’
‘I think those are Cynics,’ said Megara.
‘Oh, Pollux!’ cursed Flavia. ‘I can’t see him anywhere. Nubia, are you certain it was Aristo you saw?’
Nubia nodded at Flavia and turned back to Jonathan. ‘What is a philosopher?’
‘It means “lover of wisdom”,’ said Megara.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 140