‘Good news,’ said Pulchra breathlessly. ‘Pater and mater say the two of us can join them for the secunda mensa, as your special birthday treat. And I’ve decided to give you a pair of sandals like mine. They’re the latest fashion in Rome. I bought an extra pair, so here! You have them. They’ll make you look very grown-up.’
‘Oh Pulchra, thank you!’ cried Flavia. She accepted the gilded sandals and happily kissed Pulchra’s extended cheek.
‘I hope you boys don’t mind!’ said Pulchra over her shoulder as she slipped off her shoes and climbed up onto the couch beside Flavia.
Lupus shrugged.
‘Well, I mind!’ said Tranquillus.
‘I don’t,’ said Jonathan. ‘That means there’ll be more of those honey lemon-cakes for the rest of us.’
‘Happy Birthday, Flavia Gemina!’ said Publius Pollius Felix from his couch. He raised his eyebrows at her platform shoes. ‘How you’ve grown. And in one afternoon. Come! Recline here at the fulcrum of our couch.’
Flavia tried to control a grin that felt as wide as a comic mask’s.
‘You, too, my little nightingale,’ said Felix to Pulchra.
‘Happy Birthday!’ cried the others, as Flavia tottered after Pulchra into the red-walled triclinium.
Flavia slipped off her cork-soled shoes and climbed up onto the wave-like wooden end of the cushioned dining couch. She stretched out at an angle, so that her head was pointed towards the centre of the room and her feet almost touched the back wall. Pulchra reclined beside and in front of her. Then came the Patron and his wife. Flavia was so close to Felix that she could see his back muscles moving beneath his sky-blue synthesis as he shifted on the couch.
A long-haired slave-boy of about Jonathan’s age brought Flavia and Pulchra ceramic wine cups with images in red-figure on the wide flat bowls. The previous summer Felix had given Flavia just such a kylix, a fabulously expensive Greek antique which showed Dionysus and the pirates. This cup had a simpler design – a running hare – but Flavia could tell it was also old and valuable. The slave-boy poured in a splash of dark red wine and then added water until the cup was full of clear pink liquid.
As he stepped back, a pretty freckled slave-girl moved forward and extended a plate of honeyed lemon-cakes. It was the same slave-girl who had given Nubia her depilatory that morning. Flavia remembered her name was Leucosia.
‘Thank you, Leucosia,’ said Flavia, taking a cake and smiling politely at the girl. But Leucosia ignored Flavia; her eyes were fixed on her master.
Felix took a cake from the platter and started to bite into it. Then he paused and extended it so that it almost touched the pretty slave-girl’s mouth. Her eyes still boldly fixed on his, Leucosia took a bite, then slowly licked her lips. Felix smiled at her. He took a bite from the same cake, then passed it on to Polla.
‘Giton,’ he snapped his fingers at the long-haired wine-steward. ‘Bring me that oenochoe.’
The slave-boy picked up a wine jug and handed it to Felix, who passed it to Flavia. ‘What do you make of that, Flavia Gemina?’ said Felix, looking over his left shoulder at her.
Flavia took the jug carefully, for it was full of wine, and heavy. She knew this was a kind of test.
‘It’s a red-figure wine-jug, an oenochoe,’ she said carefully, using the Greek term as he had done, ‘so it must be about five hundred years old.’
‘Excellent,’ said Felix and she noticed him raise his eyebrows at Flaccus, as if they had been discussing this earlier. ‘And the subject matter?’
‘It’s the Greek hero Odysseus, tied to the mast of his ship,’ said Flavia, ‘with his head thrown back as he listens to the sirens’ song. The sirens were mythical creatures who were half women and half bird,’ she explained. ‘They lived on a rocky island, and they sang so beautifully that no man could resist their song. But whenever sailors tried to get to the sirens they crashed and drowned. On his way home from Troy, Odysseus had a clever idea of how he could hear the sirens’ song and live.’ Flavia looked up to see Flaccus give her an encouraging smile.
Flavia took a breath and continued. ‘Odysseus got his sailors to tie him to the mast of his ship and he commanded them not to untie him, no matter how hard he struggled. Then he told his men to plug their ears with wax and row past the Sirens’ Rock. When Odysseus heard the haunting song of the sirens he struggled and cried out to his men. He begged them to let him go to the sirens. But they couldn’t hear him – or the sirens – and so they just kept on rowing. And that’s how Odysseus became the only mortal to hear the sirens’ song and live.’
Flavia looked up. All eyes were on her, including Felix’s. She felt something more was required. Of course! A literary quote; something witty and relevant to the story. But none of the passages she had learnt from the Aeneid applied. Then she remembered that her tutor Aristo had made them memorise the first few lines of the Odyssey in the original Greek, so she quoted part of that:
‘Sing, Muse, the story of the wily hero who, having taken Troy, was driven to wander near and far . . . he suffered anguish on the high seas in his struggles . . .’
Flavia trailed off, unsure how to finish. But Flaccus led the others in applause and she breathed a sigh of relief and a silent thank-you to Aristo.
Felix took the jug from her and examined it for a moment. ‘The expression on his face looks more like ecstasy than anguish,’ he said, raising an eyebrow and handed it back to the slave-boy.
‘Are the two not very similar?’ said Flaccus in his deep soft voice, and quoted something in Greek that Flavia did not understand.
Everyone laughed and applauded again.
‘Now that our guest of honour has proved herself,’ said Felix, ‘I have a small request. I’m going to ask each of you to share a confidence. Something you’ve never told anyone before.’
Pulchra leant back to whisper in Flavia’s ear. ‘I love it when he does this!’
‘Of course,’ said Felix, ‘anything you share will remain a secret between those of us here in this room. And we must send the slaves away.’ Felix dismissed the slaves with a wave of his hand.
Pulchra was leaning back again. ‘Pater says people rarely refuse. They love to confess.’
‘No whispering!’ Felix gave Pulchra a mock frown. Then he looked at Flavia. ‘Would our birthday girl like to go first? I know you’re very brave, my dear, but are you brave enough to share something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone before?’
Flavia stared at him.
Felix was asking her to share a secret about herself and there was only one possible reply: Last night I kissed your statue.
Publius Pollius Felix had dared Flavia to confess a secret in front of all the adult guests. Her mind was frozen like a deer surrounded by hunting-dogs. She knew there were a dozen exploits she could share: breathtaking accounts of her recent adventures, private meetings with the Emperor, the solving of crimes. But only one secret. She saw herself standing on tiptoe, kissing his bronze lips and she felt her cheeks grow hotter and hotter.
‘I’ll share,’ said a deep voice.
‘Valerius Flaccus!’ said Felix, turning away from Flavia with a smile. ‘You’d tell us a secret about yourself?’
The young man nodded and smiled. As all eyes turned from Flavia to Flaccus, she almost sobbed with relief.
‘Two months ago,’ said Flaccus, ‘I discovered that my personal slave, a boy I’ve had since I was ten, was not the son of a captured barbarian as my father and I had been told, but rather a freeborn Roman boy who’d been illegally kidnapped by slave-traders.’
The three women on the left-hand couch gasped and Polla closed her eyes, as if in pain.
Sleepy-eyed Vopiscus put down his wine cup and raised an eyebrow at Flaccus. ‘You mean that pretty blond boy of yours is highborn?’
‘Yes. Of the patrician class. It turns out his father was prefect of the fleet at Ravenna.’
‘My dear Valerius!’ murmured Polla. ‘How terrible that must have been for
you!’
‘It was.’ Flaccus hung his head. ‘It makes the words of Seneca all the more relevant: They are slaves, yes, but they are friends and comrades, and our fellow-servants.’
‘Only in this case it turns out he wasn’t a slave,’ snorted Vopiscus.
‘But who would do such a terrible thing?’ said Annia Serena, her blue eyes wide with concern. ‘Who would kidnap and sell freeborn children? Have they caught and punished him?’
‘Many people do such things,’ said Flaccus, ‘but the mastermind behind these illegal operations – the man who buys and sells freeborn children – is still at large somewhere in Asia. However, I mean to track him down and bring him to justice. With the help of some friends,’ he added, flashing Flavia a quick smile.
‘Oh, how brave!’ Pulchra gazed adoringly at Flaccus.
‘Is that why you didn’t bring a slave with you?’ asked brown-eyed Philodemus.
‘Yes. I only have one slave in my service now. An old man who’s been in our household since birth. I left him back in Rome.’
‘How noble of you,’ said Voluptua, looking up from her wine cup like a cat from a bowl of cream.
‘Well, Valerius Flaccus,’ said Felix, ‘that was quite a confession. Thank you for sharing it. Who will go next?’
*
‘I’ll go next,’ said Annia Serena. Her woolly yellow hair had been done up in seven large ringlets, three over her forehead and two dangling at each side.
‘I have an unusually acute sense of smell,’ she began in a breathy voice. ‘For example, I can tell that Polla Argentaria is wearing metopium, a blend of cardamom, myrrh and balsam. Whereas you, Patron, are wearing citron-oil mixed with musk, a unique scent which suits you very well.’
‘Extraordinary!’ breathed Polla Argentaria, and Felix looked impressed.
‘Ever since I was a little girl,’ said Annia Serena, fanning herself, ‘I have loved perfumes and scented oils. My earliest memory is of eating rose petals. I remember being terribly disappointed that something which smelt so sweet should taste so bitter.’ She looked round at the diners. ‘My mother had a collection of perfumes in exquisite little bottles. One day when I was seven years old, she received a new perfume in the shape of a bird: a delicate blue glass bird that fit in the palm of her hand. You had to snap off the tip of the beak to release the perfume. Susinum – as I’m sure you all know – is one of the most expensive perfumes you can buy. It’s a blend of rose, myrrh and cinnamon, with saffron its main ingredient. Mater allowed me to smell it, but she wouldn’t let me hold the little glass bird or try even one drop. Later, when she was at the baths, I crept into her room and applied a little, dabbing it here,’ Annia Serena touched the base of her white throat. ‘It was glorious and I almost swooned with pleasure.’
‘I believe you’re wearing it now,’ said Vopiscus suavely.
Annia Serena’s seven woolly curls bobbed as she nodded. ‘But I dropped the little bird and it shattered,’ she continued. ‘My tunic was soaked with it and of course my mother smelled it on me. I was sent to my room with no dinner, which was a terrible punishment for me. You see, my father was giving a great banquet for friends and family. It was shortly after Piso’s attempt on Nero’s life and pater was trying to raise people’s spirits.’
‘Being sent to your room with no dinner is not a very terrible secret,’ said Voluptua, showing sharp little teeth in a cat-like yawn.
‘Oh, but it is,’ said Annia Serena dramatically. ‘You see, that night our cook prepared mushrooms. But what he didn’t know is that they were poisonous, and every person at the banquet who ate them, including my entire family, died in agony that night.’
‘Oh!’ cried Claudia and her kylix shattered on the mosaic floor. There were no slaves to clean it up and Flavia saw the pool of red wine slowly bleed into the narrow spaces between the tesserae. Voluptua’s panther padded over to the wine, sniffed it, then returned to lie beneath the couch again.
‘What makes my tale even more tragic,’ said Annia Serena, ‘is that once before, when our cook prepared bad pork, my acute sense of smell warned me and saved my family. If I had not been disobedient that day, and if I had gone to the banquet, I might have saved them all.’
*
‘My secret is even more shocking than Annia Serena’s,’ said Claudia, ‘but first, I wonder if our host would share his secret?’
Everyone gasped, but Claudia stared defiantly at Felix with her tawny eyes.
Felix raised a dark eyebrow and smiled. ‘Of course. It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask for your intimate confessions without giving one of my own.’
Flavia glanced at Pulchra, who was gazing at her father with shining eyes. She had obviously heard his secret before and was not worried.
‘You may have noticed,’ said Felix, ‘that although I’m still relatively young, my hair is completely grey.’
‘Very striking with your tanned skin, Patron,’ said Annia Serena, and then covered her flushing cheeks with her fan.
He smiled. ‘Thank you. They say it goes back to a distant ancestor of mine from Greece. He was a brave hero who fought in the Trojan War.’
Flavia gazed at Felix’s handsome profile. She could easily imagine him as a Greek hero.
‘One evening,’ continued Felix, ‘during the tenth year of the siege of Troy, my ancestor went to drink at the banks of Scamander and there he came across the goddess Athena bathing. Captivated by her beauty, he tried to steal a kiss from the immortal one.’
‘Oh, how very naughty of him,’ purred Voluptua.
Red-haired Vopiscus snorted and quoted something in Greek.
‘Well-put,’ said Felix, when the laughter subsided. ‘Athena is indeed the maiden goddess, who wants nothing to do with men. As a punishment for his insolence, she turned his hair grey, the colour of her eyes. Since then, every male descendent of his has woken on their eighteenth birthday to find their hair prematurely grey.’
‘Is that what happened to you, Patron?’ asked Annia Serena, gazing at Felix over the rim of her fan.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘On the eve of my eighteenth birthday I went to bed with dark hair and the next morning I woke to find it as you see it today. Just like my ancestor.’
‘And do his descendants still assault maidens?’ asked Claudia, lifting her chin a fraction.
Someone gasped and everyone looked at Felix. His smile did not fade but Flavia saw his eyes narrow at Claudia.
‘You’ve told your secret, Patron,’ she said. ‘Now I will tell mine.’
‘Oh!’ cried Polla, from the end of Flavia’s couch. ‘Oh, it hurts!’
‘What is it, my dear?’ said Felix, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
Polla cried out again, her face very pale, and clutched her stomach as if she had been speared. Then she slumped onto the couch, unconscious.
‘Not again!’ whispered Pulchra fiercely, and gripped Flavia’s hand. ‘Oh please, Juno! Not again!’
‘Was it poison?’ said Flavia to Pulchra an hour later. ‘Does the doctor think it was poison?’
After Polla collapsed, Felix had gathered his wife’s unconscious body in his arms and carried her to her rooms. All the others had followed, but only Pulchra and Flavia had been allowed into Polla’s suite. They waited in the outer dressing-room while Felix took Polla into her bedroom, where the slave-girl Parthenope was waiting. Presently the doctor and his assistant arrived grim-faced from Surrentum. Not long after that, Flavia and Pulchra saw the assistant leave the room with a bowlful of blood. Finally the doctor appeared in the doorway and beckoned for Pulchra.
Flavia edged forward far enough to see Pulchra’s mother propped up on silk cushions, looking very pale but conscious. The curly-haired slave-girl Parthenope stood wringing her hands at one side of the low bed and Felix stood on the other side, still wearing his long blue synthesis. Pulchra threw herself sobbing on her mother’s lap. As Polla weakly stroked her daughter’s head, Flavia saw that the crook of her elbow had been bandag
ed, where the doctor had bled her.
Presently Felix helped Pulchra to her feet and said a few words to her in a low voice. Pulchra gazed solemnly up into her father’s face and nodded.
‘Come with me?’ she said to Flavia a few moments later.
‘Of course.’
Pulchra caught Flavia’s hand and pulled her out of Polla’s dressing room into the colonnade. All the guests were there, as well as Jonathan, Nubia, Lupus and Tranquillus. Voluptua and her cat stopped pacing and all eyes turned towards Pulchra.
‘Pater says to tell you all that mater will be fine,’ said Pulchra in a clear voice. ‘She’s just had a stomach upset and needs to rest. Please retire to your rooms. Pater says he will see you in the morning. Thank you for your prayers and your concern.’
She turned and embraced Flavia as if weeping. ‘Tell me when they’ve gone,’ she murmured into Flavia’s ear, ‘I can’t bear to speak to anyone now.’
‘They’ve gone,’ said Flavia a moment later. ‘Now tell me . . .’ She pulled Pulchra back into Polla’s dressing room and turned to her grimly, ‘Was it poison?’
‘Oh Flavia! The doctor doesn’t know. He couldn’t tell pater anything.’
‘Stupid doctor,’ muttered Flavia. She looked at Pulchra. ‘I think you were right. It must be poison. If it was bad food, then we’d all be suffering. And you know what else you were right about? The houseguests. The poisoner must be one of them!’
‘We were lucky,’ said Flavia Gemina the next morning, ‘that Polla didn’t die.’
The four friends were sitting on the beds in the girls’ room with the dogs milling about their feet. ‘The gods have given us another chance to save her.’
‘And the doctor didn’t know which poison was used?’ asked Jonathan.
‘No,’ said Flavia. ‘He just bled Polla and gave her a tonic.’
‘Pollux!’ swore Jonathan. ‘We need to find out what kind of poison it was, so that we can prepare an antidote.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 150