Tranquillus seemed undeterred by the general impression of decay. He resolutely stepped forward and gave the rusty door-knocker three cheerful bangs. Felix’s huge bodyguard Lucius Brassus loomed behind him, breathing heavily through his mouth.
Presently a peephole grated open at waist level. Tranquillus bent and spoke into it, then passed through the papyrus letter which Felix had dictated onboard his yacht.
‘This is going to be good,’ said Tranquillus, grinning over his shoulder and rubbing his hands together. ‘She’s got a dwarf for a doorkeeper.’
Jonathan and Nubia exchanged a glance. He noticed she looked subdued and gave her a reassuring smile.
‘Remind me what we’re doing here,’ said Claudia with a sigh.
‘Finding out about poison,’ said Tranquillus. Pulchra shot him an angry look but Claudia merely shrugged and said, ‘That’s all right, then.’
A moment later the door opened and they found themselves face to face with a short, sturdy woman in an unbelted green tunic. She was barefoot and her greying hair was short and spiky.
‘Hello, friends of Publius Pollius Felix,’ she said. ‘Do please come in. Excuse my hair. It’s far too hot for my wig today.’ She gave them a gap-toothed grin and stood aside as they filed into a large, cool atrium. Jonathan noticed more dead leaves piled up against one wall and an oily film on the surface of the impluvium.
‘Forgive the state of the place,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors.’
‘Are you Locusta?’ asked Tranquillus.
‘I am,’ she replied, then turned and led them through the atrium, down a dim corridor and into a large garden courtyard. Unlike the rest of the house, the garden was immaculate and ordered, with a marble fountain bubbling at its centre. Shaded by a thickly-woven grapevine overhead, it was fragrant, lush and blessedly cool. On one side of this garden, in deep shade of the peristyle, sat a large maple table with half a dozen mismatched chairs around it. The dwarf was just setting down a seventh chair – a stool.
‘Please sit.’ Locusta gave them her gap-toothed grin again. ‘My girl is just coming with some refreshment. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, as Pulchra claimed the most comfortable-looking chair. ‘You’re lovely.’
‘Thank you,’ said Pulchra, touching her hair to make sure the pins were still in place.
‘You know,’ said Locusta, ‘you look exactly like your mother did when she was a girl.’
‘How do you know my mother?’ asked Pulchra sharply.
‘My little plum, everyone knows the beautiful Polla Argentaria, wife of Lucan and the Patron.’
‘Lucan?’ said Jonathan with a frown. ‘Who’s Lucan?’
‘Lucan the famous poet?’ asked Tranquillus.
‘Who else?’ said Locusta, pulling back a wooden chair and settling her sturdy frame on it. ‘Poor Marcus Annaeus Lucanus. They say that if he’d lived, he would now be as celebrated as Virgil. But if he’d lived,’ she winked at Pulchra, ‘you would never have been born.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Jonathan, his head swivelling from one to the other. ‘Who’s Lucan?’
‘He was mater’s first husband,’ snapped Pulchra. ‘He and his friends tried to kill Nero but they got caught and had to slash their wrists.’
‘Great Neptune’s beard!’ muttered Jonathan.
Tranquillus eagerly pulled out his wax tablet and began to make notes.
A moment later, another dwarf emerged from between the columns of the peristyle. This one was female and she carried a large brass tray with three silver jugs and seven copper beakers.
‘Posca or wine?’ asked Locusta brightly.
Brassus was the only one who wanted wine, so Locusta filled his beaker first. Suddenly she put down the jug and gazed up at the chinks of blue sky showing through the grape vine. ‘Beware,’ she whispered, ‘Jupiter is in his ascendancy.’ Then she looked cheerfully back at Jonathan. ‘Drinking from copper will help your asthma,’ she said, taking up another jug and adding a splash of vinegar to a copper beaker of water.
‘How do you know I have asthma?’ he said, taking the beaker.
‘I can smell the ephedron in your neck pouch.’ Locusta poured out another drink and handed it to Claudia. ‘Help yourself to sweetmeats, my sweet,’ she said as the male dwarf put a platter on the table.
Jonathan’s stomach growled as he saw golden-brown dates, red pomegranates, green almonds and moist honeycakes.
‘Oh, I’ll have one of those,’ he said, reaching for a honeycake. ‘I didn’t have any breakfast today. We left so early.’
The others helped themselves, too, all except for Brassus, who extended his beaker for a refill of wine, and Nubia, who sat with her hands folded in her lap.
‘Nothing for you, my dark beauty?’ said Locusta to Nubia. ‘How about an almond-stuffed date?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nubia.
‘Are you sure you don’t want anything?’ Locusta stood and plucked a fig from a nearby branch. ‘Not even a fresh fig? They’re just coming into season.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nubia again.
‘I’ll have it!’ said Pulchra, snatching the fruit from Locusta’s surprised hand. ‘I adore figs.’ She bit into the soft purple skin.
‘These almonds are delicious,’ said Tranquillus with his mouth full. ‘I like them slightly bitter.’
‘Ugh!’ said Pulchra. ‘That fig isn’t delicious. It tastes foul.’
Tranquillus looked up from his wax-tablet, his stylus poised. ‘Now Locusta,’ he said, ‘can you tell us anything useful about poisons?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Locusta, sitting down again and beaming around at them. ‘I can tell you lots about poison. For example, I can tell you that each of you has just been poisoned by me.’ She giggled. ‘Well, all except for the African girl. She’s the only sensible one among you!’
‘What?’ Jonathan cried, his chest suddenly tight. ‘You’ve poisoned us?’
‘Edepol!’ Tranquillus spat a mouthful of half-chewed almonds onto his plate.
‘No!’ gasped Claudia, her lovely face suddenly chalk white. ‘You can’t have done! It’s a ghastly joke. Say it’s a joke!’
Brassus blundered to his feet and stared at Locusta, breathing hard. Then he staggered, grasped at empty air and fell back. His shoulder struck one of the columns of the peristyle and he bounced off it, falling into the garden with a resounding thud.
Pulchra screamed and clutched Jonathan’s arm.
‘I’m afraid it’s no joke.’ Locusta nodded at the still form of the huge bodyguard. ‘I’m doing what the Patron requested. He asked me to teach you about poison. And the first rule is this: if you go to the house of a master-poisoner, don’t eat or drink anything she serves you!’
There was a moment of horrified silence. Then Tranquillus began to laugh hysterically.
Locusta beamed at him. ‘That’s the spirit,’ she said. ‘I like someone with a sense of humour. Because you have such a charming attitude I’ll give you your antidote first.’ She made a gesture and the female dwarf stepped forward with a tiny phial of yellow glass. ‘Drink this,’ she said, handing the little jar to Tranquillus. ‘Quickly.’
‘Give it to me!’ cried Pulchra, snatching the phial from Tranquillus’s hand and trying to undo the cork stopper with her fingernails.
‘NO!!’ Locusta’s voice was so loud that Pulchra almost dropped the bottle.
‘Each of you has tasted a different poison,’ she said, her face hard for the first time. ‘If you take the wrong mixture it might kill you instantly. Give it to the boy.’
Pulchra handed the tiny yellow bottle to Tranquillus and began to cry. ‘Please give me my antidote,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t want to die.’
‘Very well,’ said Locusta coldly, ‘though I would have expected more courage from the daughter of a Stoic.’
She gestured to the female dwarf. The little woman stepped forward and handed Locusta a white feather.
‘What’s this?’ Pulch
ra stared at the feather in disbelief. ‘Where’s my antidote?’
‘Your fig contained oleander,’ said Locusta. ‘For that, there is no antidote.’
‘Then I’m going to die!’ wailed Pulchra.
‘No,’ said Locusta calmly. ‘Go to my latrines – they’re just over there – and stick this feather down your throat to make yourself sick. Vomit until you cannot vomit any more. Then come back here and I’ll give you another cup of posca to rinse the taste from your mouth.’
‘You evil witch!’ screamed Pulchra. ‘I’ll tell my father and he’ll have you crucified!’
‘You won’t be around to tell him anything,’ said Locusta, ‘unless you vomit immediately. Take it!’
Pulchra snatched the feather from Locusta’s fingers and ran sobbing for the latrines.
‘Edepol!’ said Tranquillus, looking distinctly green, ‘I think I’m going to vomit, too.’
‘Follow the girl, then,’ Locusta said briskly. ‘There are three seats in the latrines.’
After he had gone, she made a sign to her little slaves. The male dwarf handed Jonathan and Claudia a buttermilk-coloured pastille each. ‘You both had the honeycakes, didn’t you?’ said Locusta.
Jonathan nodded. He felt dizzy and slightly nauseous.
‘Don’t worry. You had the mildest poison. Eat that pastille. Wash it down with plenty of posca. I doubt if you’ll even have to vomit. Oh, and if your legs feel heavy later, just keep moving until it passes.’
‘I had two honeycakes,’ admitted Jonathan, when he had chewed and swallowed the tablet.
‘Better give him another one, Nanus,’ said Locusta to the dwarf.
The little man gave Jonathan a second pastille and a wink.
Jonathan returned a queasy smile.
‘Oh, that’s better!’ said Tranquillus, coming back to the table. ‘But poor Pulchra is still being sick as a dog in there. Thanks,’ he said, as Locusta handed him his posca. He had just raised the copper beaker to his lips, when he stopped and then extended it towards Locusta. ‘You drink first.’
‘Good!’ she clapped her hands. ‘You’re learning fast. I like that. But that test wouldn’t prove anything. I take a little poison each day and over the years I have built up my resistance to almost every poison known to man. Just like Mithridates. I could drink a goblet full of toad venom and not twitch an eyelid. Go ahead! Drink it.’ She flapped her hand. ‘It’s just vinegar in water.’
Tranquillus drained the beaker and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘How did you poison the fig?’ he asked, sitting down. ‘We all saw you pull it right off the tree.’
‘Very simple,’ she said. ‘Just before I let you in, I used a syringe to inject the poison into the fig, while it was still on the tree. They say that’s how Livia poisoned Augustus. You can also dip hard fruit like apples and pears in poisoned wax. People rarely notice because fruit is often dipped in wax to preserve it over the winter.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Tranquillus, scribbling on his wax tablet.
‘Oh, and another interesting fact,’ said Locusta, obviously pleased with Tranquillus’s interest. ‘The method Agrippina used to kill her husband Claudius was not mushrooms, as most people think.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No. He threw them up. The poison that killed him was applied to the tip of the feather he used to make himself vomit.’
‘Clever!’ exclaimed Tranquillus and then looked up in alarm, his stylus frozen in mid-word.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Locusta. ‘The girl’s feather wasn’t poisoned.’
‘What was in the honeycakes?’ asked Jonathan.
‘Hemlock,’ said Locusta. ‘Noblest and gentlest of all the poisons.’
‘That’s what they made Socrates drink, wasn’t it?’ said Jonathan. ‘It makes you go cold and heavy from the feet up. My father’s a doctor,’ he explained when she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.
‘Excuse me,’ said Claudia, rising from her chair. She was still deathly pale. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Amazing: the power of the mind over the body,’ said Locusta, watching the young woman move unsteadily through the garden.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Tranquillus.
‘Those honeycakes didn’t have much hemlock in them,’ said Locusta. ‘And it wouldn’t begin to take effect for at least an hour anyway. It’s her fear that has driven her to the latrines.’
‘What about him?’ said Jonathan, pointing at the massive form of Lucius Brassus, still lying on the ground.
Locusta chuckled. ‘I put a sleeping potion in his wine. Listen closely,’ she said. ‘You can hear him snoring.’
They were all quiet for a moment and above the splashing of the fountain Jonathan could hear Brassus breathing.
‘I think you are a bad woman to poison us,’ said Nubia quietly. ‘We are your guests.’
‘What is your name?’ Locusta turned to Nubia with a smile.
‘Nubia. My name is Nubia.’
‘That’s not your real name, is it?’
Nubia looked surprised, then flustered. ‘No.’
‘What is your real name?’
Nubia did not reply.
‘Why are you angry with me, Nubia?’ Locusta leaned back in her chair. ‘You’re safe. You did well to refuse my food. You passed the test.’
‘You did a bad thing to my friends.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Tranquillus.
‘I do,’ said Jonathan. ‘Especially for Pulchra’s sake.’
‘Tell me, Nubia,’ said Locusta. ‘How I can make it up to you?’
Nubia glanced at Jonathan; Claudia was still in the latrines with Pulchra. He gave her a shrug, and then a nod.
‘Help us please,’ said Nubia, ‘to find out who is trying to poison mother of Pulchra.’
As Lupus followed Felix and the others into the apodyterium of the Baths of Nero, his jaw dropped.
It was not the opulence of the large changing-room, with its golden tiles, erotic frescoes and marble niches that made him stare.
It was the fact that for the first time in his life he saw men and women undressing together at the baths. And most of them were as naked as the day they had been born.
‘Ah!’ Locusta smiled and closed her eyes. ‘So that’s why you’re asking me about poison. Someone wants to kill the girl’s mother.’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia.
‘And you suspect poison?’
Jonathan nodded.
‘It makes perfect sense,’ murmured Locusta. ‘Poison is easy to administer and often confused for real diseases. You can kill someone without anyone realising it was murder. What are her symptoms?’
Tranquillus consulted his wax tablet. ‘In the past she complained of heaviness and coldness in her legs, of dizziness, drowsiness and blurred vision. Sometimes she was blue around the mouth.’
Locusta nodded. ‘Any ideas, doctor’s boy?’ she said, turning her bright eyes on Jonathan.
He hung his head and nodded. ‘I should have guessed before,’ he said. ‘Hemlock. The poisoner is using hemlock.’
‘Almost certainly,’ said Locusta, ‘And that tells me that the poisoner is not very knowledgeable. Hemlock must be administered in the proper dose to be fatal. If you take it in small regular doses you just build up a resistance to it.’
‘Like you’ve built up a resistance to the poisons you take every day?’ Tranquillus looked up eagerly. ‘Pulchra’s mother has become immune to hemlock!’
‘Probably. You know, hemlock is a very unreliable poison. It loses its effectiveness if it’s left to sit too long. When Nero ordered Seneca to take his own life, Seneca drank a phial of hemlock which he had been saving for just such an occasion.’
‘Seneca the Stoic philosopher?’ asked Jonathan. ‘I thought he cut his wrists.’
‘He did,’ said Locusta, ‘but only because the hemlock he drank had absolutely no effect on him. Some say it was because he was in such good physical shape from all t
hose cold baths and his strict vegetarian diet. But I suspect the hemlock was past its best.’
‘But if Pulchra’s mother has built up a resistance to hemlock,’ said Jonathan, ‘then why did she become so ill two nights ago?’
‘That I don’t know,’ said Locusta. ‘Maybe the would-be murderer has increased the dose. Or even changed poisons. Were there any new symptoms?’
‘Her stomach hurt,’ said Pulchra, coming up to the table. Some of her honey-coloured hair had come unpinned and hung in damp tendrils around her face. ‘Mater clutched her stomach and said, “Oh it hurts,” and then she fainted.’ Pulchra looked down at the prostrate form of Lucius Brassus. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘No, my little plum, just sleeping. Sit down and drink a beaker of posca. Vinegar is always good for cleansing poison from your body.’
‘So what do you think the new poison is?’ asked Tranquillus. ‘Which poison can give you stomachache?’
‘Almost all of them,’ said Locusta with a sigh. ‘Did your mother have any other symptoms?’
They all looked at Pulchra. She shook her head. ‘Just that she fainted.’
‘Did she notice a taste of sharpness? Bitterness? Practically every poison tastes foul. That’s always your first warning.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Pulchra, carefully setting down her empty beaker.
‘When you go back home,’ said Locusta, ‘ask your mother how she felt two days ago, the day she complained of stomach cramps. Then send me a detailed list of all her new symptoms. Oh, and tell me the colour of her stool.’
‘Her stool?’ said Pulchra.
Jonathan whispered in her ear.
‘That’s disgusting!’ Pulchra glared at Locusta.
‘My little plum, you don’t have to do it yourself. Ask her slave-girl to look.’
‘Just for my records,’ said Tranquillus, his stylus poised, ‘what is the worst poison of all? I mean the most deadly?’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 155