‘Yes.’ His father picked up a green marble pestle and began to dig it fiercely into the small mortarium. ‘I’m sure that’s the reason your mother never spends time at home.’
Jonathan looked sharply at his father. Mordecai ben Ezra seemed to have aged in the past three months since Jonathan’s mother had returned from Rome to live with them. His face was thinner and there were shadows under his dark eyes.
‘Would you like me to make dinner tonight?’ said Jonathan.
‘Yes, please.’ His father sighed. ‘I need to finish preparing this medicine while the light is still good.’
‘I think there’s still some stew from last night. I can stretch it out with chickpeas and flatbread.’
Lupus cleared his throat and Jonathan saw he was looking at him with raised eyebrows.
‘Father, there’s something we wanted to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ Mordecai was still grinding and the scent of almonds filled the room.
‘Flavia got a letter today from Surrentum. It was from Pulchra.’
Mordecai stopped grinding and looked up. ‘Pollius Felix’s daughter?’
‘Yes. She’s invited the four of us – Flavia, Nubia, Lupus and me – to stay with them for two weeks. Captain Geminus is sailing to Sicily the day after tomorrow and he could drop us off. But if you want Lupus and me to stay here and help . . .’
‘No, my son.’ Mordecai gave him a tired smile. ‘You two go and have a holiday.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. A break will do you good. You’ve had a difficult year.’
So have you, Jonathan thought, but instead he said, ‘Thank you, father.’ He started to follow Lupus out of the tablinum, then stopped and turned back. ‘Oh, father?’ he said. ‘Do you have any books about poison?’
‘Poison?’ Mordecai’s dark eyebrows went up. ‘Why do you want a book about poison?’
‘There was a postscript at the bottom of Pulchra’s letter,’ said Jonathan. ‘For some reason she asked us to bring any books on poison we might have.’
‘Nubia,’ said Flavia later that night, ‘Do you think the gods have destined a man for each of us?’ Flavia lay on her back, staring up at her bedroom window. The lattice-work screen showed the night sky as diamonds of peacock blue, for it was almost midsummer.
‘You mean one man for one woman? In all the whole world?’ said Nubia from her bed.
‘Yes. Like Aeneas was destined to marry the beautiful young princess Lavinia because the gods ordained it and so he had to abandon Queen Dido even though he loved her.’
‘Are you reading the Aeneid again?’ said Nubia. ‘That is not our homework.’
‘I know. But it’s so romantic.’ Flavia sighed and turned her head. In the flickering golden light of a tiny bronze oil-lamp she could just make out Nubia. ‘Pulchra’s invitation said there’ll be some highborn young men at the Villa Limona,’ said Flavia. ‘Maybe one of them will be The One.’
‘What The One?’
‘The One the gods have destined for me.’
‘I thought you renounced love.’
‘I did. I renounced it until I was grown-up. In three more days I’ll be eleven. That’s grown-up.’
‘I do not think eleven is grown-up.’
‘But I feel completely grown-up,’ said Flavia. ‘And in only one year I can be married.’
‘But why do you search for The One?’ Nubia’s bed creaked as she turned to look at Flavia. ‘Your father has already chosen a person with whom you will be married. You told him you would obey.’
‘I know.’ Flavia sighed again and rolled onto her back. ‘But I haven’t even met him yet and pater won’t tell me his name because he’s afraid if he did then I’d investigate him, which of course I would. But if I meet my destined love before the betrothal ceremony then maybe I can become betrothed to him instead.’
‘I do not think the gods ordain one man for one woman,’ said Nubia. ‘I think you can make happiness. I love someone who will never love me, but I will still marry and have babies.’
‘You’d marry someone else?’ said Flavia, and lowered her voice. ‘Even though you love Aristo?’ Aristo was the young Greek who tutored the four friends in Greek, philosophy, maths and music.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’d be happy?’
‘I will try.’
‘But don’t you wish you could marry Aristo?’
In the pause which followed, Flavia could hear the cicadas creaking briskly in the pines outside the town walls; it was a warm night.
‘Yes,’ said Nubia at last. ‘I wish it more than I can say. But I do not think that he will ever love me. And by the time I am ready for love, I think he will already be married.’
‘But you’ll be twelve in two months,’ said Flavia. ‘Under Roman law you’re allowed to get married then.’
‘In my country,’ said Nubia, ‘girls do not marry so early. We betroth very early but we marry late, at sixteen or seventeen. My cousin Qantala did not marry until twenty years of age.’
‘That’s ancient!’ said Flavia.
‘I know. But I think it is better.’
‘What about Jonathan’s sister Miriam? She’s happy being married and she’s only fourteen. Isn’t it exciting that she’s going to have a baby in December?’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘Miriam will be a good mother. She is ready. But I am not. And you are not. Our bodies are not ready for babies.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Flavia. ‘That’s what betrothal is for. If you’re betrothed then you’re allowed to hold hands and kiss until you can have babies. My body might not be ready for love,’ she sighed, ‘but my heart is.’
Two days later, the merchant ship Delphina approached a maritime villa on the tip of a promontory south of Surrentum. The sea was smooth and blue, glittering with a million spangles of sunlight. A steady breeze had brought Flavia and her friends from Ostia to Surrentum in a day and a half. It was mid-morning, two days after the Ides of June.
‘There it is!’ said Flavia to her dog Scuto. ‘The Villa Limona. Do you remember it from last summer?’
Scuto stood with his forepaws on the curved side of the ship, so that he could see over the polished oak rail. The wind ruffled his golden fur and his tongue flapped like a small pink flag. Despite the sea breeze it was already hot. Flavia could hear the cicadas throbbing in the olive groves behind the yellow and white villa.
‘Of course it doesn’t look exactly the same,’ said Flavia to Scuto. ‘The red roof tiles are brighter without all that ash on them, and the gardens look greener, too.’
‘He will remember it when he smells it,’ said Nubia, stroking the silky black fur of her own dog, Nipur. ‘Dogs cannot see so well, but they can smell.’
‘You smell, don’t you, boy?’ said Jonathan to his own dog Tigris. ‘You smell terrible!’ Lupus guffawed and Jonathan looked pleased. Tigris had short black fur like Nipur. They were brothers and almost identical, except that Tigris’s eyes were brown, and Nipur’s were golden, like the eyes of his mistress.
‘Hey!’ cried Flavia, pointing. ‘What’s that? It looks like a little temple.’
‘Where?’ said Jonathan.
‘There! On one of those tiny islands close to the villa.’
‘Oh, I see it. You know, I thought they were building something when we sailed by here in April.’
‘It wasn’t here last summer,’ said Flavia, ‘so it must be new. Oh, look! There’s a little bridge leading from the villa to the temple.’
Lupus nodded his agreement and suddenly Scuto barked.
‘Behold!’ said Nubia. ‘I see another dog by the villa.’
‘Where?’ cried Flavia. ‘Oh, there! Coming down the steps from the terrace. Oh, isn’t he sweet?’
‘Looks more like a rat than a dog,’ muttered Jonathan.
‘And that must be Pulchra waving to us! With the pink tunic and matching parasol. Is that Pulchra, Jonathan?’
‘Don’t ask
me.’ Jonathan shrugged.
‘Atticus! Punicus!’ cried Captain Geminus behind them. ‘Furl the mainsail!’
The four friends turned to watch two big sailors pull ropes which gathered up the linen sail, making the painted dolphin disappear.
‘Alexandros! Drop the anchor!’
‘But pater!’ protested Flavia. ‘We’re not there yet.’
‘We don’t want to run aground!’ he called from his place at the tiller. ‘As close to the land as this, there could be rocks under the water.’
‘We’ll probably have to swim ashore,’ grumbled Jonathan.
Lupus grunted ‘no’ and jerked his head in the direction of the little skiff that trailed behind the Delphina.
‘We won’t need the skiff,’ said Captain Geminus. ‘Look! They’re sending a boat to meet us. It must have a shallow draft to navigate these waters.’
Emerging from behind the jewel-like villa was a sleek low ship with a yellow-and-white striped sail in the middle and a small temple-like deck-house at the rear. Twenty oars rose and fell – ten on each side – flashing like the wings of a bird.
Flavia suddenly felt sick. Was it the swinging deck of the Delphina at anchor? Or was it something else? She filled her lungs with sea air and slowly exhaled.
The previous summer she had fallen in love with the powerful and charismatic owner of the Villa Limona, Publius Pollius Felix. A few months later, during the Saturnalia, she had purged her passion for him with a dance called the Little Tarantula. So why was her stomach twisting and her heart thudding? She took another breath and was relieved to feel her heartbeat slowing. She couldn’t see Felix on the boat. He must be at the villa.
‘Twenty oarsmen,’ murmured her father, joining them at the rail. ‘Imagine having twenty strong male slaves to spare.’
‘He calls them his soldiers,’ said Flavia, and added, ‘They’re not all slaves. I think some of them are freedmen.’
‘Marcus Flavius Geminus?’ called a man with a short beard, as the oared ship drew up alongside the Delphina.
‘That’s me!’ cried her father, leaning over the rail.
‘My name is Publius Pollius Justus,’ said the bearded man in a Greek accent, ‘freedman and secretary to Publius Pollius Felix. My patron sends his greetings and his apologies. He’s been called away on business. But he offers his best regards and expresses pleasure in receiving the four children under your care’ – here he referred to a papyrus scroll – ‘as well as their three dogs, until the Kalends of July. He promises to attend to their needs and safety as if they were members of his own household.’
‘Thank you, Justus!’ replied Flavia’s father in his captain’s voice. ‘Please extend my heartfelt gratitude to your patron and tell him I am in his debt.’ And in a much lower voice he said. ‘What a shame. I was hoping to meet this famous Felix who made such an impression on my daughter.’
Flavia waited for her face to cool and then turned to look up at him. ‘Pater, you will look after yourself, won’t you? You’re still recovering from those stab wounds. Promise you’ll be careful?’
‘Don’t worry, my little owl.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘The Delphina is only going to Sicily. I’ll be staying with Cordius at his estate for most of the time so my feet will be on solid ground. I promise I’ll be careful, if you promise me something in return.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want you going to Baiae.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a town called Baiae to the west of Neapolis. It’s a glirarium of licentiousness. I was hoping to mention it to your host.’
‘It’s a what?’
‘Just promise me you won’t go.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Even if you’re invited.’
‘All right, pater.’ Flavia sighed. ‘I promise I won’t go to Baiae. Even if invited.’
‘Make a vow,’ he said.
‘I vow to Castor and Pollux and all the gods that I will not go to Baiae.’
‘Good girl,’ he kissed her again. ‘Promise to write to me, and remember what I said: if you want to go home early for any reason, just send a message to Aristo and he will come to fetch you all.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, pater. Besides, poor Aristo deserves a rest after all that happened last month.’
Captain Geminus smiled fondly at his daughter. ‘I agree,’ he said, ‘But even so, he’s there if you need him. Now off you go, carefully down the rope ladder. I’ll make an offering for your safety every morning. Oh, and Flavia!’ he called. ‘This time try not to get into trouble!’
As the yacht approached the rocky promontory, the Villa Limona seemed to rise above them. It was built on at least four levels with a red-roofed tower as its highest point. Flavia could not see the secret cove between the villa and the mainland, or its hidden entrance, but she could see the twin domes of the bath-house, along with palm trees, pergolas, colonnades and awnings, all designed to give cool shade on hot summer days.
At last the ship nudged steps going up to a docking platform and Flavia waved at Felix’s eldest daughter. Although her real name was Polla Felicia, everyone called her Polla Pulchra – or simply Pulchra – because of her beautiful face and hair. She was a few months older than Flavia and far richer. Today she was wearing a sleeveless pink tunic and her blonde hair was tied up with a pink silk scarf. A small, bug-eyed lap-dog ran back and forth at her feet, yapping with excitement. Scuto, Tigris and Nipur responded with deep enthusiasm.
‘Welcome!’ laughed Pulchra, coming down the marble steps and taking Flavia’s hand as Justus helped her off the side of the boat, ‘I’ve been up in pater’s library looking out for you. I saw your sail ages ago.’ As Pulchra kissed the air near Flavia’s cheek she hissed, ‘You’re terribly tanned. You look like a field-slave!’
‘We’ve been travelling round the Greek islands,’ said Flavia, ‘and mainland Greece, too. Do I really look like a field-slave?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Pulchra. ‘I’ve got special cream that will bleach your skin. Meanwhile, take my parasol.’
Flavia accepted the pink parasol and moved up the steps so the others could disembark.
‘Salve, Jonathan!’ said Pulchra. ‘You’re so much taller and more muscular than the last time I saw you.’ She stroked his shoulder. ‘Have you been weight-lifting in the palaestra?’
‘Jonathan was a gladiator,’ said Flavia. ‘We’ll tell you all about it later.’
‘A gladiator?’ Pulchra’s blue eyes grew wide. ‘Oh, Jonathan! Yes, you must tell me everything.’ She turned to greet Lupus and Nubia. ‘Welcome back to the Villa Limona!’ Pulchra looked down. ‘Is this Nipur? He’s so big! Look, Nipur! That’s my new dog. Isn’t he precious?’
Scuto, Tigris and Nipur gave the little dog sniffs of greeting and then began to follow other interesting smells up the steps towards the villa. Pulchra scooped up her lap-dog.
‘I call him Ajax,’ she said, bringing his bug-eyed face close to hers. ‘Who’s my little hero? Who’s my little Ajax?’ Pulchra giggled as the little dog licked her face with a wet pink tongue. As she went up the stairs she said to Nubia. ‘After you left, I missed Nipur so much that I begged pater to buy me a dog.’ She dimpled. ‘And he did!’
‘Where is your father?’ asked Flavia, smoothing her hair and glancing around. ‘And your mother?’ she added quickly.
‘Mater’s in her chair and pater’s at Limon.’ Pulchra put Ajax down and he waddled off after the other three dogs. ‘He should be back soon.’
‘Limon?’
‘His estate between Puteoli and Baiae.’
‘Baiae?’ gasped Flavia.
‘That’s right,’ said Pulchra. ‘Baiae. Now, come on. The slaves will see to the dogs and your luggage. Mater wants to see you. And then,’ she whispered, ‘I want to tell you about a mystery I’m desperate to solve.’
They found Pulchra’s mother resting in the shady colonnade outside her suite of rooms on an upper level of the Villa Limona. She was lying o
n a wicker lounge-chair and gazing out over the sea through red-based fluted white columns. With her pale blue stola and pink papyrus fan, Flavia thought Polla Argentaria looked lovely against the yellow linen cushions of the couch. Pulchra’s mother had pale skin, high cheekbones and elegantly arched eyebrows. Her honey-coloured hair was pinned up in a simple but elegant twist.
‘Flavia Gemina.’ Polla made an attempt to rise, then sank back onto the yellow cushions. ‘Greetings.’
Flavia took Polla’s extended hand. It was cool and smelt faintly of balsam and cardamom. ‘Salve, Polla Argentaria,’ said Flavia politely. ‘Thank you for inviting us to your home.’
‘Not at all,’ murmured Polla. ‘Nubia, hello. Jonathan, welcome. And dear Lupus.’ She greeted each of them in turn and then said over her shoulder, ‘Parthenope? Are you there?’
A pretty curly-haired slave-girl of fifteen or sixteen stepped out of the shadows. ‘Yes, domina?’
‘Bring us another pitcher of Surrentinum, would you? Chilled and very well-watered. Oh, and some honeyed lemon-cakes.’
The slave-girl nodded and swayed gracefully off down the colonnade.
‘Please sit,’ said Polla, taking a sip from a gold and sapphire wine cup. Flavia and her friends sat gratefully in wicker chairs and Pulchra perched at the foot of her mother’s couch.
‘Look at it.’ Polla lifted her arm vaguely in the direction of the sea. ‘Still smoking after nearly a year.’
They turned to look through the shaded columns at the brilliant vista. Across the blue bay loomed the truncated shape of an enormous grey mountain. It was Vesuvius, the volcano which had erupted the previous summer. A third of it had been blown away and even now an ominous cloud hung over it, a dirty brown smudge in the pure summer sky.
‘It’s been nearly a year since its eruption,’ murmured Polla, ‘but its effects are still being felt. Every night the sunsets are a lurid blood-red. And just last week the bones of some wretched man washed up on the beach near Puteoli. That mountain is a constant reminder that our days here on earth are numbered. One moment we are fruitful and calm, the next disaster strikes. Events have tears,’ she quoted, ‘and thoughts of death touch the soul.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 146