The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Opening the tin, Flavia saw something like lard. ‘Mmmm,’ she said. ‘It smells nice, like lemons.’ She held it out for Nubia to sniff. ‘What if it isn’t one of the house-guests?’ mused Flavia. ‘What if it’s your cook? She’s the most obvious suspect because she’s always around the food.’

  ‘Coqua? Impossible,’ said Pulchra, handing a bronze jar of scented oil to Nubia and taking one for herself. ‘Coqua has been with mater’s family since she was a little girl. She’s a verna, a home-grown slave. She’s completely trustworthy.’

  ‘I like Coqua,’ said Nubia, anointing herself with lemon-scented oil. ‘She is kind.’

  ‘Could it be one of the slaves?’ asked Flavia in a low voice. She glanced at Pulchra’s drab slave-girl Leda, who was folding bath-towels on the other side of the room.

  ‘We make the serving-girls taste all the food,’ said Pulchra. ‘We do the same with the wine-stewards and the wine. If there was poison in either the food or wine, the tasters would take ill first.’

  ‘Hmmn,’ said Flavia thoughtfully, as she smoothed the lemon-scented cream on her arms. ‘I suppose we should research different poisons and their symptoms. We’ll have a look at the scrolls we brought. And maybe there will be something useful in your father’s library.’ The thought of Felix made her flush. ‘Oh, Pulchra, why did you invite him?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That horrible boy. The one I’m supposed to marry. It was so humiliating!’

  ‘Tranquillus? I thought you’d be pleased. Pater’s friends in Rome went to a lot of trouble to find out who your betrothed was and track him down. How was I to know his first glimpse of his future wife would be of her rolling about on the ground with a pack of dogs? Oh, don’t put that cream on your legs; I’m going to give you a depilatory.’

  Flavia scowled. ‘He’s an arrogant patrician snob.’

  ‘You shouldn’t scorn patricians, Flavia. You and I are of the equestrian class. We should set our sights on the next rung of the ladder. Come on.’ Pulchra rose and led the two girls out of the apodyterium.

  ‘I thought your father was a patrician,’ said Flavia as she followed Nubia and Pulchra into a warm rectangular room. The three widows were stretched out on marble slabs; slave-girls were massaging them.

  ‘Hello, ladies!’ said Pulchra brightly. ‘Are you happy?’

  The three widows made noises of contentment and Pulchra turned back to Flavia. ‘Our family may be powerful and rich,’ she said, ‘but we’re only equestrians like you. However, I plan to marry into the highest class and raise patrician children.’

  ‘Bravo,’ purred Voluptua from her massage-slab. ‘That’s what I intend to do. Marry a rich patrician.’

  ‘You should make that your goal, too,’ said Pulchra to Flavia. They sat down on a polished wooden bench beneath a frescoed wall with blue and yellow panels. ‘Tranquillus comes from an illustrious family with cartloads of money. He has excellent prospects of becoming a senator. And they say he’s very clever.’

  ‘I don’t like him,’ said Flavia. ‘And he’s shorter than I am.’

  ‘Oh Flavia, Flavia, Flavia!’ said Pulchra. ‘Can’t you look ahead more than a month or two?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Leda! Bring the depilatory.’ Pulchra turned back to Flavia. ‘I know Tranquillus is just a boy now, but he’ll grow. That’s what boys do. And you know, I think he’ll turn out quite nicely. His father’s very presentable.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Annia Serena, the woolly blonde. She turned over on her marble bench and wrapped a towel around herself. ‘I’ve seen that boy’s father in Rome and he’s quite handsome.’

  ‘But what if Tranquillus isn’t my destined love?’

  ‘What in Juno’s name are you babbling about?’ said Pulchra. ‘One doesn’t marry for love. One marries for position, stability and children. Right ladies?’

  Voluptua grunted her assent, Annia Serena giggled and Claudia Casta said nothing.

  ‘Oh there you are, Leda,’ said Pulchra. ‘The depilatory’s for Flavia.’

  ‘What’s a depilatory?’

  ‘It’s for your hairy legs. They are so unattractive.’

  ‘But it’s hardly noticeable on me,’ protested Flavia, stretching out one leg. ‘All my leg-hairs are very pale and little. You can barely see them.’

  ‘Flavia, in a certain light they’re completely visible. Roman men don’t like hairy women. You and Nubia don’t want furry monkey-legs, do you?’

  ‘How can you not believe in love?’ sighed Flavia, as Pulchra’s slave-girl knelt and began to apply the sticky brown paste to her legs. ‘What about Dido and Aeneas?’

  ‘That is the perfect example. Which one succumbed to passion?’

  ‘Dido.’

  ‘And what happened to her?’

  ‘She killed herself with a big sword.’

  ‘And which one overcame his passion to do what was right?’

  ‘Pious Aeneas.’

  ‘And what happened to him?’

  ‘He sailed to Italia and married the beautiful young Roman princess Lavinia and became the father of the Roman race.’

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘But what about Catullus and Propertius and Ovid and all the other poets who write so passionately about the women they love?’

  ‘Pater says all love-poets are strange little men,’ said Pulchra. ‘He says real men don’t give in to their passions. It makes them weak. Pater believes in ataraxia, freedom from passion.’

  Abruptly, Claudia rose naked from her bench and disappeared through a small arched doorway into the caldarium next door. The pretty freckled slave-girl who had been massaging her looked at Pulchra in alarm.

  ‘Don’t worry about her, Leucosia,’ said Pulchra to the slave-girl. ‘Come and do Nubia’s legs.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Flavia wrinkled her nose. ‘That depilatory doesn’t smell as nice as the bleaching cream. What’s it made of, anyway?’

  ‘That particular depilatory,’ said Pulchra, ‘is made of turpentine and boars’ blood.’

  Jonathan smelled the boar before he saw it: a pungent aroma of rank pig, mouldy leaves and fear that set his heart pounding. Then he saw a dark shape struggling in a net lashed between two oak trees. The creature had coarse black hair, curved yellow tusks and little red eyes. He stopped thrashing when the three baying dogs burst into the clearing, straining against their leads.

  ‘Back, Tigris! Stay back!’ grunted Jonathan, and to Flaccus, ‘I don’t think this is part of Felix’s plan to give us a jolly hunting party.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ growled Flaccus, who held Scuto’s lead. ‘That net isn’t even secured properly.’

  Vopiscus snorted. ‘As Ovid says: A loose-netted boar that breaks free is not good.’

  ‘It doesn’t look that big,’ said Tranquillus.

  It was much darker in this dense copse of holm-oaks than in the dappled olive groves, and at first Jonathan didn’t notice two of Felix’s slaves off to one side. One was crouching over the other, who lay moaning on the ground. The ugly gash in his thigh was still pouring blood onto the dark leafy earth.

  ‘I’m sorry, Patron!’ The wounded slave struggled to his feet. ‘I was trying to secure the net and the beast got me.’

  ‘Careful, everyone,’ said Felix, without taking his eyes from the net. ‘He’s going to make a bolt for freedom.’

  ‘He’s mine!’ cried a high excited voice, and Jonathan saw Tranquillus rush past Felix and aim his javelin at the boar.

  ‘No!’ cried Felix, ‘Don’t provoke it!’

  But his warning came too late, and instead of striking the boar, the javelin hit one of the loose net ties, releasing it from the tree trunk. The boar twisted free, and as Tranquillus staggered back, he tripped and fell.

  If the boar had chosen to, Jonathan knew it could have ended Tranquillus’s life by goring him in the neck or groin. But Lupus had loosed Nipur and the boar was running away from the clamouring dog, up the hill towards the deepest part of the copse. Unfortuna
tely, the boar’s escape route took it to a hunt-rope strung across that part of the path and the bright dangling feathers did their job.

  ‘Roll over!’ Felix shouted at Tranquillus, as the boar turned back. ‘Protect your stomach!’

  In the time it took Jonathan to release Tigris and notch an arrow, the creature was charging back down the slope towards Tranquillus.

  Flavia’s future husband lay face down on the ground, and the biggest boar Jonathan had ever seen was charging straight towards him.

  In one fluid movement Jonathan’s bow was up and he felt the tickle of feathers on his cheek and then the twanging release. The boar squealed and veered away from Tranquillus and towards Jonathan. The arrow was embedded in its bristling neck but still the creature advanced. Jonathan had never seen anything move so fast.

  Before he could notch another arrow, the dogs were on the boar. But they only slowed the boar’s charge for a moment. Then the ugly creature threw them away like a dog shaking off drops of water. The dogs yelped and a man cried out. Jonathan loosed his second arrow but it only struck the boar’s flank as the creature veered to charge someone on Jonathan’s right.

  Flaccus.

  He had called out to divert the beast’s attention from Jonathan and now the boar was impaled on his spear. If it had not been for the cross-bar, the furious animal would have run up its full length. Flaccus’s muscles bulged and his handsome face was set in a grim mask. Jonathan marvelled that a creature no bigger than Tigris should have such power; Flaccus was one of the strongest men he knew.

  Suddenly Felix was beside Flaccus. He brought his own hunting-spear down in a powerful arc, impaling the squealing pig at the base of its neck and pinning it to the earth.

  For ten long heartbeats the boar continued to scrabble at the ground, squealing in impotent rage. Lupus, Vopiscus and Philodemus came up cautiously to watch. The dogs circled warily and Jonathan glanced at them, relieved that none had been gored. Finally the boar shuddered, slumped and lay still. A slow trickle of blood oozed from its mouth onto the dark earth.

  Laughing with relief, Felix and Flaccus clasped hands over the boar’s body. Then Felix turned to Jonathan. ‘Well done, Jonathan,’ he said, his chest still rising and falling and his dark eyes full of approval. ‘Your quick action saved Tranquillus’s life.’

  ‘Yes, well done!’ echoed Philodemus.

  Flaccus patted Jonathan on the back and Lupus gave him a beaming thumbs-up.

  ‘I owe you an apology,’ said Tranquillus, coming up to Jonathan. There were leaves in his hair and a smear of earth across his smooth cheek. ‘I have reconsidered my previous opinion. I now think your girly bow and arrows are a very good thing.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pax?’

  ‘Pax,’ said Jonathan with a grin, and they shook hands.

  Flavia put down her new scroll of Seneca’s letters and stared out through the bright square of her doorway. In the intense heat of mid-afternoon the cicadas’ grating chant was as slow as a heartbeat. Everyone in the villa was napping, but Flavia felt restless.

  She went out of her room into the shaded colonnade with its cool breeze to see if the boys and dogs were back from hunting. But their room was empty and quiet, the lattice-work screen pulled back, everything made neat and clean by the household slaves.

  Flavia entered a dim corridor and took the stairs that led down to the marble fish-pond and the baths. Shading her eyes against the dazzling surface of the sea before her, she turned left and went past the baths complex and along the terrace to the sunny herb garden. A slave must have just finished watering the plants because she could smell hot wet brick and the green scent of leaves being cooked by sunshine. Tall sunflowers gazed up at Helios as he slowly arced across the sky.

  Flavia’s feet took her to the statue of Felix.

  With the afternoon sun gleaming on his bronze features and silver hair, he looked like a god. Oh Felix, she said in her mind, You’re far too old for me and you’re married and it’s so wrong . . . She wanted to kiss his bronze lips again but she knew the metal would be burning hot. Instead, she contented herself with gazing at his dazzling image through half-closed eyes. Presently she heard footsteps on the marble terrace behind her. Oh please, Venus, she prayed, please let it be him.

  She turned and her heart sank. It was Claudia Casta, one of the young widows. Flavia felt a sudden pang of guilt. She was supposed to be watching the house-guests for unusual behaviour, not worshipping the statue of Felix. And Claudia was the one she herself had chosen to keep an eye on. She looked beautiful and cool in a mustard-coloured silk tunic with a matching parasol.

  ‘Hello, Claudia!’ said Flavia. ‘Isn’t it wonderful here?’

  Claudia looked sharply from Flavia to the statue of Felix and back at Flavia. ‘I suppose.’ She turned away to examine a potted pomegranate.

  ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’ said Flavia, coming up to join Claudia. ‘I love the little orange trumpet-shaped flowers.’

  Claudia shrugged and moved away towards a low pot of lavender. Some of the herbs were arranged in beds around the fountain, others were in pots, clipped into different geometrical shapes: cubes, cones and spheres.

  Flavia followed her. ‘I like gardens,’ she said. ‘And this one smells so wonderful. Do you have a garden at your house?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Claudia, taking a sprig of lavender. ‘I wish I was there now.’ Her beautiful mink-coloured hair was pinned up in a way that allowed glossy tendrils to fall loose and brush her shoulders.

  ‘If you’d rather be there, then why are you here?’

  ‘One doesn’t refuse an invitation from the Patron.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flavia, and after a pause, ‘Where do you live?

  ‘I have a villa near Neapolis,’ said Claudia, pinching off some of the herb. ‘In a place called Pausilypon.’

  ‘Was it damaged by the volcano?’

  ‘Not really.’ Claudia bent to pluck a feathery spray of fennel from one of the borders. ‘But my husband died in the eruption.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. He was with one of his mistresses in Herculaneum when the volcano erupted. He left me everything. I am a very rich woman.’ For the first time Claudia looked directly at Flavia. Her long-lashed brown eyes were full of something close to hatred.

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ repeated Flavia in a faltering voice. She wondered what she had done to make this beautiful woman dislike her so much.

  ‘And you?’ said Claudia, with forced brightness. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘In Ostia. But we were in Stabia when the volcano erupted and we only just survived. We came here afterwards. That’s how we know Felix and Polla,’ she added.

  ‘Yes,’ said Claudia flatly, plucking a sprig of rosemary. ‘He was a friend of my husband. I think he hopes I’ll find another and re-marry.’

  ‘Will you?’ said Flavia. ‘Will you marry again?’

  Claudia turned to face her. ‘Tell me, Flavia Gemina,’ she said. ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  Flavia stared at Claudia open-mouthed. She felt her cheeks burning.

  ‘I thought so,’ said Claudia.

  ‘Just because I’m only eleven doesn’t mean I can’t love someone!’ said Flavia angrily.

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t questioning that.’ Claudia glanced at the statue of Felix. ‘I fell in love for the first time when I was your age. I have never known such intensity of feeling before or since.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Claudia moved to the white marble parapet and looked out over the water. ‘He seduced me and discarded me.’ Claudia crushed the herbs in her hand and let them drift slowly down to the rocks below. ‘Then he married me off to one of his friends. No, Flavia Gemina,’ she said, without turning around. ‘I will never marry again.’

  Later that evening, at her birthday banquet in the girls’ triclinium, Flavia began to cry.

  ‘Flavia!’ cried Pulchra. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like the make-up kit I g
ot you? I know it only looks like a piece of slate with a mortar and pestle and some chunks of red and blue rock, but when I show you how to use it, I promise you’ll love it.’

  ‘Don’t you like our bangles?’ cried Pollina from the little girls’ couch.

  ‘They jingle when you wear them,’ said Pollinilla.

  ‘Don’t you like the signet ring with Minerva on it?’ said Tranquillus. ‘I know it’s only glass, but it belonged to my grandmother.’ He and Jonathan and Lupus had spent the afternoon in the baths, washing off the dust and sweat of the hunt.

  ‘I love all your presents,’ sniffed Flavia. ‘But Pulchra said she had a birthday surprise planned and I thought she meant we were going to eat with the adults.’

  Pulchra sighed patiently. ‘Pater and mater don’t usually eat with children. Except for the beach banquet, of course. Last year was an exception,’ she added.

  Tranquillus gave a sheepish grin: ‘I think I was supposed to be the birthday surprise,’ he said.

  Flavia ignored him. ‘But Pulchra, I’m almost grownup. I’ll be twelve next year.’

  ‘Flavia, until you marry and dedicate your bulla to the gods, you’re still a child.’

  Flavia bit her lip.

  ‘Oh, Flavia. Does it really mean that much to you?’

  Flavia nodded and tried to hold back the tears that were welling up again. She had spent most of the afternoon memorising passages from the Aeneid so that she could impress Felix with her knowledge.

  ‘Stop making that face,’ said Pulchra. ‘I have an idea, and another present for you.’ She went out of the dining room just as a serving girl brought in the gustatio, a dozen stuffed thrushes lying on a bed of peppery-green rocket.

  ‘Do you think we’ll have some of your boar tonight as well?’ said Tranquillus to Jonathan.

  Lupus took a thrush and echoed the question with a grunt.

  Jonathan shook his head. ‘It will take at least a day to roast that thing.’

  ‘Did I tell you how Jonathan saved my life today, Flavia?’ asked Tranquillus cheerfully.

  ‘Only three times.’ She sighed, then looked up eagerly as Pulchra clomped back into the dining room. Pulchra was wearing gilded sandals with thick cork soles that made her tower above Flavia on the couch.