‘After my recent trip to Rhodes,’ said Flaccus in his deep voice, ‘I’ve decided to compose a Latin version of the Argonautica. I’d like to recite the first few lines for you now.’
Flavia was about to move closer when a silent figure appeared a few paces away. It was only a barefoot slave-girl moving along the path, but Flavia didn’t want to be seen crouching behind a bush in an unbelted tunic with her hair loose around her shoulders.
Reluctantly, she backed out of the garden and left by the nearest exit: stairs leading down to a long grape arbour.
This leafy moon-dappled tunnel led her down onto the villa’s western terrace, which smelt of lavender and jasmine. The Bay of Surrentum lay before her, framed by tall, moonlit palm trees. From here she could see a smudge of light on the black water down below. Was someone down there? No. It was probably just the god’s lamp burning inside the little Temple of Neptune.
The sound of splashing water led Flavia to the left. She found the fountain at the centre of a herb garden. This garden faced south-west, for maximum exposure to the sun during the day. It smelt wonderful here, for the sun-warmed plants were still releasing their fragrance into the night air.
Suddenly she saw a grey-haired man in a toga standing by the brick wall. Her heart thudded: it was Felix! But how could he be here? He was upstairs dining with the others.
Drawing closer, she saw that it was not the Patron, but a sculpture of him, done in metal and stone. The long toga was white marble but the hands and head were Corinthian bronze. In the light of the half moon she could see that the hair was made of silver, the lips of reddish bronze and the eyes of white onyx, inlaid with black. The sculptor had made Felix handsome as a god, gazing nobly towards the horizon. Tentatively, Flavia reached out to touch the statue’s bronze cheek. The polished metal was deliciously smooth, and still warm from the heat of the day.
Flavia took a deep breath and glanced around. When she was sure that she was alone and unobserved, she stepped up onto the marble base, slipped her arms around the statue’s neck and kissed his warm bronze lips.
The morning of Flavia’s eleventh birthday dawned warm and misty.
She stretched and yawned and pressed her bare feet against Scuto’s bulk. He lifted his big head and thumped his tail. From somewhere near the villa, a cock crowed exultantly.
‘Good morning, Flavia!’ Nubia came to sit on the end of Flavia’s bed. ‘Happy Birthday.’ Nipur put his paws on the mattress and gave Flavia a wet birthday kiss.
Flavia sat up and stretched again. ‘Thank you, Nubia.’ She took the papyrus twist which Nubia was holding out to her. ‘May I open it? Oh! It’s a little ebony hairpin with a face that looks like yours on the end! It’s beautiful.’
She leaned forward to kiss Nubia’s dark cheek.
‘You know,’ she said softly, staring at the hairpin, ‘I was thinking that today is special for you, too. Do you remember it was exactly a year ago that I bought you in order to save you from a fate worse than death?’
‘How could I forget?’ said Nubia. ‘I remember how kind you were to me that day. You put your cloak around me to cover my nakedness and you put balm on the sore places on my neck and you fed me and gave me cool water to drink.’
Flavia nodded and tried to swallow a sudden tightness in her throat.
‘And it was here in the Villa Limona,’ continued Nubia, ‘that you set me free. I will never forget that, too.’
‘Happy Birthday, Flavia!’ Jonathan and Lupus stood in the doorway. Tigris squeezed between them to greet Nipur and Scuto. ‘We brought you our presents now’, said Jonathan, ‘because Pulchra will probably have bought you something that cost five million sesterces and we didn’t want to be humiliated.’
Flavia laughed and patted the bed beside her. The boys sat and Jonathan handed her a scroll.
‘No big surprise there,’ he said. ‘It’s a book.’
‘What is it?’ cried Flavia, slipping the scroll out of its red linen case.
He shrugged. ‘It’s just a volume of Seneca’s letters. You probably won’t like it.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will. Thank you, Jonathan!’ Flavia planted a kiss on his surprised cheek.
Lupus dropped his rectangular parcel on Flavia’s lap and ran to the other side of the room, a look of alarm on his face.
‘Don’t worry, Lupus!’ laughed Flavia as she pulled the papyrus wrapping off his gift. ‘I promise I won’t kiss you. Oh look! You painted portraits of the four of us on a limewood panel! Oh, Lupus, it’s wonderful!’ She jumped up. ‘I am going to give you a kiss!’
Lupus gave a mock yelp of terror and ran out of the bedroom. Flavia ran after him, laughing. Jonathan, Nubia and the barking dogs followed close behind. They chased Lupus along the lower colonnade and up the stairs through the atrium and into the garden with the lemon tree.
‘I’m Atalanta,’ Flavia cried, ‘and I can run faster than any man! I’m going to catch you, Lupus, and I’m going to kiss you!’
Flavia pursued Lupus around the garden and finally they ended up on either side of Felix’s prized lemon tree. As Flavia ran left, Lupus dodged right, and tumbled backwards over Tigris, who was barking with excitement. Flavia seized her chance and leapt on top of the younger boy and lowered her head to kiss his cheek. Lupus yelled and thrashed his head from side to side. By this time Flavia was laughing so hard that he easily pushed her off.
She lay on her back, laughing and staring up at the leaves of the lemon tree and the pure blue sky beyond as the three dogs licked her face.
‘Edepol!’ said a voice. ‘That’s not very ladylike behaviour. I certainly hope you won’t act like that when we’re betrothed.’
Flavia pushed the dogs away and raised herself up on her elbows. Pulchra was standing beside a boy about their own age, a horrified look on her face.
‘What did you say?’ said Flavia, scrambling to her feet and brushing the dust off her tunic. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Tranquillus,’ said the boy with a smirk. He had straight brown hair and pale arched eyebrows and although he was a good two inches shorter than Flavia he managed to look at her with a superior air. ‘I believe you and I are to be married.’
‘What?!’ gasped Flavia Gemina. ‘You’re the boy my father wants me to marry?’ She glanced at Pulchra, who nodded and then closed her eyes and shook her head in despair.
‘I am.’ The boy folded his arms and looked her up and down with obvious disapproval. ‘And I hope you’ll behave with more decorum when you’re my wife.’
‘Why you . . . you . . .’
‘Flavia!’ cried Pulchra, a note of pleading in her voice.
Flavia ignored Pulchra. ‘Why, you smug little runt! I’d rather jump off the top of that tower than marry you!’
Flavia heard laughter and she turned to see four men watching from the peristyle: Publius Pollius Felix and the three bachelors.
‘Oh Nubia!’ groaned Flavia Gemina. ‘This is the worst day of my life!’
They were back in the girls’ bedroom and Flavia sat before the mirror, her head in her hands.
‘Was not the worst day of your life the day when you were almost devoured by hippos and crocs in the amphitheatre?’ asked Nubia, patting Flavia’s shoulder.
‘No! This is far worse than that.’ She lifted her head. ‘Pater wants me to marry that arrogant boy! And Felix saw me in my sleeping tunic with my hair down all covered in dust. How could you let me go out looking like this?’
‘Don’t blame Nubia,’ said Pulchra crisply from the bedroom door. ‘It was entirely your own fault!’
‘I know!’ wailed Flavia, resting her head on her arms. ‘I’m so stupid!’
‘How is your mother today?’ Nubia asked Pulchra. ‘Is her stomach happy?’
‘Mater’s stomach is perfectly happy today, Nubia,’ said Pulchra. ‘Thank you for asking.’ She looked pointedly at Flavia, then sighed. ‘You really are your own worst enemy,’ she said to Flavia. ‘What on earth have you done to you
r hair? It’s all sticky and clumped together.’
‘Before we left Ostia I tried out a new rinse to make it shiny.’
‘What new rinse?’
‘Honey and hot water. It’s what Jonathan’s sister Miriam uses after she washes her hair. It makes her curls bouncy and glossy.’
‘Well it doesn’t work for you. Your hair looks terrible. And that colour! Neither blonde nor brown. You should probably bleach it with lye.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Flavia doubtfully.
‘And you should eat lots of hare.’
‘Hare?’ said Nubia. ‘Like rabbit?’
‘Yes. Everybody knows that eating hare makes you more attractive. Don’t worry; I’ve asked Coqua to get lots in.’
Flavia frowned. ‘You think I need to eat more hare?’
Pulchra nodded and then sighed. ‘Flavia, listen to me. I’m about to tell you something nobody else will. You are not beautiful and you never will be.’
Flavia stared at Pulchra.
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.’ Pulchra pulled up a stool and sat down beside the girls. ‘Nubia is beautiful but you are not. Your nose is too big and your mouth is too wide. You have knobbly knees and big feet. Your brow is too high, and if you’re not careful’ – she pushed the hair away from Flavia’s forehead – ‘you’ll be getting spots, soon.’
Flavia opened her mouth and then closed it.
‘Don’t look at me like that. Beauty is not everything. And you don’t really need it. Mater says girls who are dull need to be beautiful. You are not dull. You are clever and witty. But if you had a mother,’ said Pulchra gently, ‘she would tell you to make the best of your looks so that your inner beauty could shine through. She would teach you to be well-groomed.’
‘Well-groomed?’ said Flavia. ‘That makes me sound like a horse.’
‘Not at all. Being well-groomed means having attractive, well-coiffed hair, smooth limbs and flawless pale skin.’ Pulchra glanced at her own reflection and touched her silky golden hair, done up in an elegant twist. Then she turned back to Flavia. ‘Cheer up! I’m going to start transforming you right now. The boys and men and dogs have gone off hunting so we women have all morning to beautify ourselves in the baths.’
‘All right,’ said Flavia with a resigned sigh. ‘I’m in your hands.’
*
‘It’s the wrong season for hunting,’ grumbled Jonathan to Flaccus as he snapped a thrush’s neck, ‘It’s far too hot for any sensible animal to be out. I’ll be surprised if we’ll find anything much apart from these.’
Jonathan and most of the hunting party were stood in a clearing, plucking birds from a rod held by one of Felix’s hunt-slaves. The tip of this long, flexible rod had been smeared with sticky yellow bird-lime. Once the birds alighted they could not escape. The hunt-slave lifted the rod back up to the tree and gave a convincing bird call.
‘I wouldn’t be too sure this is all we’ll find,’ said Flaccus with a chuckle. He nodded over at Felix, who was showing Lupus how to throw a javelin at the edge of the clearing. ‘This is only the gustatio. I’m sure our host will have sent his slaves ahead with orders to loose the main course just as we approach. A dozen hare or a small deer, I’d wager.’
‘I’m just not used to having everything done for me,’ muttered Jonathan.
‘That’s because you’re a real hunter.’
Jonathan gave Flaccus a grudging smile, then turned to the man on his left. He was supposed to be finding out whether Philodemus might be a suspect or not.
‘So, Philodemus?’ asked Jonathan in a low voice. ‘What do you think of our host and hostess?’
‘Felix and my father were good friends,’ replied Philodemus. ‘The Patron has been very kind to me.’
‘And Polla Argentaria?’
‘A beautiful and gracious hostess,’ said Philodemus carefully.
Jonathan tried a different approach. ‘Do you like hunting?’ he asked, watching Felix’s hunt-slave move the long rod to the top of another tree.
‘Yes,’ said Philodemus. ‘Though I prefer gardening.’
‘Gardening? You mean plants and flowers and um . . . medicinal herbs?’
‘Yes.’ Philodemus’s large brown eyes were suddenly moist. ‘Our villa had a magnificent garden. But it was destroyed by the volcano.’
‘Philodemus was up in Rome with me when Vesuvius erupted last summer,’ said Flaccus softly. ‘He and his family lost everything.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jonathan. ‘Very sorry.’
Philodemus nodded sadly. ‘The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,’ he quoted softly.
Jonathan looked up sharply. He had suspected that Philodemus was a fellow Jew, now he was sure of it.
‘You had that enormous library full of Epicureans, didn’t you?’ said a voice behind them. It was red-haired Vopiscus, emerging from the bushes where he had gone to relieve himself.
‘Yes,’ said Philodemus. ‘That I do not regret so much. It was my grandfather’s philosophy, and my father’s. It is not mine.’
‘Still, that library must have been worth a fortune.’ Vopiscus shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed up into the tops of the trees. ‘I’d give anything for just a dozen scrolls from that library.’
‘But it sounds as if you miss the garden more than the library,’ said Jonathan, hoping to steer the topic around to poison.
‘Yes,’ said Philodemus.
‘Do you know a lot about plants?’
‘I know a little.’
‘Do you happen to know what that one is?’ Jonathan casually pointed at a plant with dark blue berries which he knew to be poisonous.
‘That’s belladonna,’ said Philodemus. ‘A very deadly plant. And this one over here—’ Philodemus moved across the clearing, ‘is aconite. If you rub the juice of this on the tip of your arrows it will make them ten times more lethal. They call it wolfsbane, because if you shoot a wolf with an arrowhead tipped with this, then it will certainly die.’
Jonathan squatted to examine the plant. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said, plucking a leaf and smelling it.
‘Why do you use a bow and arrow anyway?’ asked Tranquillus, coming up to join them. ‘It’s a girly weapon.’
‘What?’ Jonathan turned to stare at the boy Flavia was supposed to marry.
Tranquillus shrugged. ‘I was just wondering why you didn’t take a javelin like Lupus and me. Or a hunting-spear, like the men.’
Jonathan shrugged. ‘I prefer the bow,’ he said as he unwrapped Tigris’s lead from an olive tree. ‘It’s what I’m used to.’
‘Archery is for girls,’ said Tranquillus contemptuously. ‘Or barbarians. Or girl barbarians, like the Amazons.’ He looked round at the others in the hunting party. ‘Did you know that the Amazons cut off their right breasts to pull the bowstring more easily? That’s why they call them Amazons.’ He giggled.
‘Just ignore him,’ said Philodemus to Jonathan under his breath. ‘Turn the other cheek.’
Jonathan stared at Philodemus. He was about to ask what philosophy he followed when there was a loud burst of laughter; Vopiscus had just made an amusing remark.
‘What did he say?’ asked Jonathan.
Flaccus turned and grinned down at him. ‘Amazons or sirens,’ he said. ‘Which would you rather do battle with?’
‘Sirens, I suppose,’ said Jonathan.
Flaccus slapped him on the back, ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘That would be my choice, too.’
‘Amazons,’ said Tranquillus, his face flushed with pleasure at the success of his topic. ‘I’d like to do battle with Amazons.’
Everyone laughed as Lupus mimed a girl firing an arrow and then made kissing noises. He had left Felix, who was giving instructions to one of his slaves.
‘I’ll tell you who I’d like to do battle with,’ said Vopiscus. ‘Voluptua. A little bed-wrestling, I think.’
‘Watch out for that one, my friend,’ said Flaccus. ‘They say she’s a legacy-hunter.�
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‘Then I’ll take the fluffy blonde one.’ Vopiscus grinned. ‘Or haughty Claudia.’
‘You have a very casual approach to marriage,’ said Philodemus quietly.
‘They’re all pretty, and they all look fertile,’ said Vopiscus, and added with a shrug, ‘If your expectations are low, you won’t be disappointed.’
For some reason Jonathan thought of his mother. When he had gone to Rome to find her and bring her home, his expectations had been so high. He had imagined that his reunited parents would live happily together in Ostia, his father curing people’s illnesses and his mother weaving at home. Instead, his mother spent most of the day out of the house and his father looked ten years older. And the price of bringing her back had been so great. He thought of the flames and shuddered.
At that moment one of the hunt-slaves came crashing through the shrubbery onto the path up ahead.
‘Master!’ he ran up to Felix. ‘The nets on the south ridge! We’ve caught something! The biggest boar I’ve ever seen!’
‘So Flavia,’ whispered Pulchra, as she stripped off her tunic and placed it in a shell-shaped marble niche, ‘do you have any theories?’
‘Theories?’ Flavia’s voice was muffled as she pulled her own tunic over her head. The three girls were in the domed apodyterium in the baths of the Villa Limona. ‘Theories about what?’
‘About who’s trying to poison mater!’
‘Oh, that,’ Flavia paused, her head still covered by her tunic. She doubted that Polla Argentaria was in danger, but just in case Pulchra was right . . . ‘Motive,’ she said, pulling off her tunic and folding it carefully. ‘I suggest we start with motive. Why would anyone want to poison your mother?’
‘I’ve thought and thought,’ said Pulchra, ‘but I don’t know.’ She sat on the curved marble bench to undo her sandals. ‘All she ever does is sleep and read and sit in her chair staring out at that mountain. Here.’ She reached up into one of the niches and brought down a tin box shaped like the top of a scroll case. ‘Use this instead of oil. It’s the bleaching cream I was telling you about.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 148