The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Of course!’ said Jonathan, lowering his herb pouch. ‘I just realised why they call them Stoics – because they walk around in the stoas. I think we lost him, Flavia.’

  ‘Philosophers discuss life and politics and ideas,’ said Megara to Nubia. ‘Their appearance often shows which philosophy they follow.’

  ‘Stop taking about philosophers!’ cried Flavia. ‘We’re here to catch Aristo.’

  Nubia ignored Flavia. ‘Which philosophers wear no clothings at all,’ she asked, pointing.

  They all turned to look, and Flavia squealed, ‘Great Juno’s peacock! Those men over there are completely naked! Don’t point, Nubia! Don’t even look!’

  But like the others, she couldn’t take her eyes from the group of muscular and naked young men walking and laughing in the slanting sunshine.

  ‘I don’t think they’re philosophers,’ said Megara. ‘They’re probably just on their way to the gymnasium or the baths. We Greeks . . .’ she trailed off.

  ‘We Greeks what?’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Um . . . we Greeks aren’t embarrassed by nudity,’ Megara was still staring wide-eyed at the young men. ‘It’s completely natural,’ she murmured.

  ‘Well, put your eyes back in your head,’ said Jonathan. ‘Here comes some more naturalness.’

  They all turned and followed his gaze to see a group of naked street urchins running towards them.

  ‘Oh!’ squealed Flavia and Nubia together. They both covered their eyes as three naked boys ran right up to them and held out their grubby hands. Tigris sniffed the boys’ feet with interest, his tail going back and forth.

  Megara spoke sharply to the beggars in Greek and the two youngest scampered off. But the third one wouldn’t be budged. He was about eight years old and stood with his arms folded across his bare chest, glaring defiantly at them. He said something to Megara, who looked surprised, then laughed.

  ‘He says he only costs one copper a day, and that he knows Athens better than anyone alive. He says he’ll be our guide.’

  Flavia shook her head. ‘Tell him we don’t need a guide. We have a native Athenian with us.’

  ‘Um, Flavia?’ said Jonathan. ‘I think we’ve lost our native Athenian.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Atticus,’ said Jonathan. ‘I just realised he’s not here. We must have lost him somewhere during the last part of that bracing run.’

  ‘Oh, Pollux!’ cried Flavia. ‘Double Pollux!’ She looked around the crowded agora. ‘Here we are stuck in the middle of a strange city without our bodyguard and guide . . .’ She took a deep breath and looked at the beggar-boy. ‘Lupus, show him the portrait of Aristo.’ In halting Greek she said, ‘Have you seen this man?’

  The boy peered at the painting on Lupus’s tablet, then said in Latin. ‘Yes! I know. I am knowing this man!’

  Flavia narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I see him few minutes ago. I take you to him.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, and then turned to look up at the sky. ‘Megara, tell him to put on a tunic.’

  Megara and the boy exchanged words.

  ‘He says he doesn’t own a tunic.’

  ‘Oh for—’ said Flavia, turning back. ‘Lupus, give him your old tunic, you know . . . the green one. I’ll buy you a new one later. That green one’s getting too small for you, anyway.’

  Lupus pursed his lips, then nodded as if to say: That sounds a fair deal. He took off his knapsack, rooted around in it and finally pulled out a crumpled olive-green tunic.

  The boy’s scowl dissolved into a look of bewildered joy as Lupus tossed him the garment. He slipped on the tunic and then reached for the woven belt Lupus was holding out. After tying the tunic at the waist, the boy shortened the hem by making it blouse up above the belt. Then he slowly looked up at them, apprehension on his face, as if he feared it was a cruel joke.

  Their faces must have told him they were sincere for he whooped with joy and punched both fists towards heaven. ‘Thank you!’ he said in Greek, grasping Flavia’s hand and fervently kissing it.

  ‘Are people really so poor here?’ she murmured.

  ‘It looks like it,’ said Megara. ‘I suppose Athens wouldn’t have been the best place for Nikos the beggar-boy after all.’

  Before them, the little Athenian was spinning around, admiring his tunic and fingering his belt.

  ‘Well, if he’s going to be our guide,’ said Flavia with a sigh, ‘I suppose we’d better find out his name.’ She turned to the boy and said in Greek. ‘My name is Flavia Gemina, daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea-captain. My friends are Nubia, Jonathan, Lupus and Megara. And that’s Tigris. What’s your name?’

  ‘Socrates,’ said the boy with a large grin.

  They all laughed again and Jonathan said, ‘Well, at least we know this beggar’s not a girl in disguise.’

  Megara glared at him, then laughed. ‘I suppose I had that coming,’ she said.

  Socrates the beggar-boy led Flavia and her friends through the streets of Athens.

  They hurried along the street of metalworkers – suitably close to the Temple of Hephaestus – past a sanctuary of Aphrodite and several bronze statues towards another large stoa. Here Flavia could see dramatic paintings on the long wall behind the columns. She recognised Theseus fighting the Amazons and another exciting battle which did not look familiar.

  ‘Painted Stoa,’ said Megara over her shoulder. ‘Socrates says it’s the Painted Stoa.’

  Flavia forced herself to keep going. She longed to stop and look at these fascinating pictures. She longed to examine the statues of her favourite characters from Greek mythology. She longed to browse in bookshops like the one with the names of famous authors engraved in its marble doorposts. But she couldn’t. She had to catch Aristo, if she was to save her father. With every passing hour it might be too late.

  Now Socrates was leading them up past more market stalls. One stall sold spring flowers, another slabs of pungent sweating cheese, still another specialised in jars of Hymettan honey. She saw loops of sausages, second-hand water clocks, twittering birds in cages, parchment scrolls, votive objects, dried fruit and colourful cones of powdered spices, measured out on the gleaming bronze pans of scales. Some stall-keepers were beginning to pack away their goods, for it was approaching sunset.

  The were climbing towards the Acropolis now. As she scanned the crowds for the flash of Aristo’s red cloak, she suddenly noticed the other two beggar-boys following them. So did Socrates. He drove them off with a torrent of abuse, supported by vigorous hand gestures and Tigris’s barks.

  ‘You know,’ whispered Jonathan to Flavia, ‘Socrates reminds me of someone.’

  They both looked back at Lupus, who was lingering by a stall which sold knives and axes. Lupus wore a sea-green tunic and good sandals. He had lightly oiled his dark hair and combed it neatly back from his forehead. ‘Just think of how much he’s changed since we first saw him up that pine tree in Ostia,’ said Flavia. ‘Remember how savage and grubby he was?’

  Jonathan grinned. ‘Remember the nits in his hair?’

  ‘And how he thought our bottom-wiper was a drumstick?’

  ‘He’s changed a lot,’ said Jonathan, suddenly serious. ‘Grown up a lot.’

  ‘So have you,’ said Flavia.

  Jonathan shrugged. ‘You’re pretty much the same,’ he remarked. ‘Always wanting to solve the problem. Always believing there’s a solution . . .’

  ‘I’m not doing very well at catching Aristo or solving this mystery,’ she sighed.

  ‘I think I know why,’ said Jonathan, wheezing a little as the road grew steeper. ‘Why you haven’t solved it, I mean.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Flavia.

  ‘Because you’re too emotional about it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You love your father—’

  ‘Of course I love him!’ cried Flavia. ‘Every time I close my eyes or try to sleep all I can see is pater lying there on that
bed so pale and still . . .’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. I think if someone else had been lying on that bed, you would have figured out why it happened by now.’

  Silence.

  ‘Don’t jump on me,’ said Jonathan, ‘but Nubia’s had a good idea which she’s afraid to tell you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She thinks your father and Aristo switched rooms for some reason and that your father wasn’t the intended victim.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Of course pater was the intended victim!’

  ‘Why?’ Jonathan stopped walking and turned to face Flavia. ‘Just because he’s the centre of your world doesn’t mean he’s the centre of everybody else’s world. He’s not the omphalos.’

  The others had stopped, even Socrates the beggar-boy. Tigris whined, then wagged his tail.

  ‘How can you say such a thing?’ cried Flavia. ‘Pater is lying at the Gates of Hades, unable to remember anything because he’s been cursed as well as stabbed—’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re too emotionally involved. Flavia, listen to me! Why would someone curse a man they’re about to murder?’

  Flavia stared at Jonathan. ‘I told you. Aristo decided to curse pater and then changed his mind.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t make sense. The other facts don’t make sense either. You need to step back from this problem.’ He took a deep breath and spoke in a normal tone of voice. ‘Flavia, you need to “know yourself” like it says on the temple in Delphi.’

  ‘And be a cold block of marble like you?’ said Flavia. ‘Someone who refuses to feel anything? No thank you.’

  ‘I’m not a block of marble!’ shouted Jonathan. ‘And I’m not your slave for you to order around. I’m your friend. I’ve been trying to help you. But if you won’t even listen to me . . . Come on, Tigris!’ he said. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Flavia stared after him.

  ‘Go, then! We don’t need you, anyway!’ She turned to the others. ‘Come on! Let’s get on with it.’

  ‘Where’s that boy taking us?’ grumbled Flavia. ‘I saw the Acropolis above the roofs a moment ago. It’s back that way.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Megara. ‘I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Flavia still felt sick about Jonathan’s decision to desert her.

  A moment later Socrates led them around the corner and up a narrow street of shops. He stopped in front of one which specialised in baskets, mats and bead curtains.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Socrates. ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Aristo’s in here?’ said Flavia. She was breathing hard because the street was on a slope.

  ‘No,’ said Socrates. ‘My father is in there. This is shop of my father. He sell very cheap baskets. You buy some please?’

  Flavia took a deep breath and stepped towards Socrates. ‘If you don’t show us the quickest way to the Acropolis,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll rip that tunic into a thousand pieces!’

  ‘I am taking! I am taking!’ He grasped her hand and pulled her further up the hill past other shops, then out into a wider street with a vista over all of Athens. Socrates tapped her shoulder and pointed and she turned to see the Acropolis looming above them, blotting out half the sky.

  Flavia could see people up there looking down over a retaining wall. Behind the tiny faces were the roofs and coloured columns of the temples, and behind the white roof of one temple rose the massive bronze head and shoulders of Athena, looking out over her city.

  Lupus gave a low whistle.

  ‘That Athena’s even bigger than the Apollo at Delphi,’ breathed Megara, then turned to Socrates, who was talking to her. ‘He says this is the processional way. You can follow this road straight back down through the agora to the Dipylon Gate and on to Eleusis.’

  ‘I wish I’d known that earlier,’ muttered Flavia, and glared at Socrates.

  As they walked up the steep road, the boy pointed to a green hill on their right. Its summit was a jumble of smooth, bone-coloured boulders. Small shrines and pine trees dotted its grassy slopes.

  ‘He says that’s the Areopagus,’ translated Megara. ‘Beyond it is a hill called the Pnyx, where the assembly meets.’

  ‘The Areopagus!’ cried Flavia. ‘Ask him if the Cave of the Kindly Ones is on the Areopagus?’

  ‘Yes, he says there is a small sanctuary dedicated to the Kindly Ones and you can see the cave mouth there, between those pine trees.’

  Flavia stopped walking. ‘If Aristo follows the Pythia’s advice, then he’ll go to the Parthenon first,’ she said. ‘But there’s a chance he might already be at the Cave of the Kindly Ones. Lupus, will you and Socrates investigate while Nubia and Megara and I go up to the Acropolis?’

  Lupus nodded, and Socrates bowed.

  ‘Good. If you find him, then tell the priests or guards what he did and have them capture him. Then come find us. We’ll be up at the Parthenon. Otherwise, let’s meet at the base of the big Athena in half an hour. Oh please, Castor and Pollux, may we find him this time!’

  Nubia followed Flavia and Megara up the steep hill towards the entrance to the Acropolis. She heard a questioning ‘baaa?’ behind her and saw two priests leading a lamb with a black and white face, presumably for the evening sacrifice. Other pilgrims were making their way up, including a few veiled women and one family. Some of them were also leading lambs or goats. One old man had a live rooster under one arm.

  The approach funnelled them through the huge marble columns of a monumental entrance whose roof was not of red tile but of white marble. Nubia mounted the smooth marble steps carefully, to avoid stepping on animal droppings. She also had to sidestep dozens of beggars who had positioned themselves here on the stairs. All were emaciated and half naked and one man had no arms, just stumps that reached to where his elbows should have been. Nubia could not help staring and she felt her throat tighten. How did the poor man eat or dress himself? And how had such a terrible thing happened?

  A dozen more steps brought them to the highest level of the Acropolis.

  ‘There are even more statues than at Delphi,’ said Nubia, gazing around.

  ‘Probably about the same number,’ said Flavia, ‘they’re just packed into a smaller area. Keep an eye out for Aristo. That must be the Parthenon straight ahead.’

  ‘It is beautiful,’ said Nubia, staring at the huge temple that rose above a forest of statues and altars. Massive white columns of fluted marble supported a gable full of colourful statues and an unusual white roof, like that of the entrance gate.

  Her eye caught a flutter of red at the far end of this building and her heart stuttered. Aristo! She had tried to get Flavia away from him, to give him the time he had asked for, but now here he was, as if by some prearranged appointment. She must act quickly.

  ‘There he is!’ cried Nubia, pointing towards a temple on her left with painted marble women instead of columns. ‘I saw Aristo go in there!’

  ‘Where?’ cried Megara.

  ‘There!’

  Flavia turned to look at Nubia. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am sure.’ Nubia could not look Flavia in the eyes so she turned her head towards the painted temple on the left and pointed again. ‘I saw Aristo go there.’

  ‘No, Nubia,’ said Flavia quietly. ‘You didn’t see him go in there. I know because I just saw him going into the Parthenon. Come on. This time we’re not letting him escape!’

  ‘Come on, Nubia.’ Flavia gripped Nubia’s wrist and pulled her up the marble steps past the massive white columns. Megara followed.

  At the entrance, Flavia turned. ‘Megara, he might try to run away and we don’t have Atticus with us, so see if you can find a priest or a guard. Tell them what happened. And keep an eye open for Dion. If he shows up, he can help us catch Aristo.’

  She pulled Nubia through the huge doorway in the east side of the Parthenon, the end furthest from the entrance to the Acropolis. She could
n’t immediately see a red cloak, so she allowed herself to gaze at the cult statue towering at the far end of the vast space. The gold and ivory Athena was breathtaking, forty feet tall and gleaming in the pearly light which filtered through the translucent white roof-tiles overhead.

  It was nearly sunset, so there were only a few people in the temple, groups and individuals, moving along the high-ceilinged central corridor. Still no red cloak, but there was a kind of balcony on either side and people were walking up there, too. Flavia couldn’t see any red cloak on the upper gallery at Athena’s end because the ranks of white fluted columns on either side seemed to make a solid wall. The columns only separated from one another as she began to move forward. Down here on the ground floor, bronze grilles between the columns blocked off the side aisles, which were packed with hundreds of precious gifts to the goddess. Flavia saw painted statues, marble altars, wooden chests, ceramic vases, musical instruments, garlands made of gold leaf and silver. She had never seen a temple so packed with booty. It was like one of the treasure houses at Delphi, but on a massive scale.

  She felt Nubia twist in her grip so she stopped and turned towards her former slave-girl.

  ‘Why did you lie to me, Nubia?’ she said. ‘You’ve never lied to me before, have you?’

  ‘No,’ said Nubia, lifting her chin. ‘I have never lied before.’

  ‘Then why now?’ Out of the corner of her eye, Flavia could see Megara silhouetted in the bright doorway. ‘Why did you tell me Aristo was going to that other temple when you saw him come here.’

  ‘Because Aristo did not attack your father. He told me.’

  Flavia gasped. ‘He told you? When?’

  ‘Last night. In the green rain.’

  Flavia stared. She felt as if Nubia had slapped her in the face.

  ‘You saw him last night and you didn’t tell us?’

  Nubia hung her head. ‘He said he just needed to find him, to find out why.’

  ‘He needs to find whom?’

  ‘I am not sure but I think Dion.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Flavia’s mind was spinning like a piece of clay on a potter’s wheel. She shook her head, then pulled Nubia towards the image of Athena.