‘Love,’ said Locusta without hesitation. ‘Love is the worst poison. Love has driven more men to murder than hate or greed ever did. And for love there is no known antidote.’
Lupus lay in a private room on a marble slab. A bath-slave had covered his body with grey mud and then wrapped him in a linen towel. Apparently this was one of the specialties at the Baths of Nero, and Felix had paid for all of them to have a session. At first it had felt strange, but soon he began to enjoy squirming like a caterpillar in a squishy cocoon. The mud was slippery and warm and delightfully sensuous as it squelched between his fingers and toes.
After about half an hour, the bath-slave unwrapped Lupus and helped him climb down off the marble slab. Lupus stood over a marble drain while the slave sluiced him down with bucket after bucket of hot water until all the mud had melted away.
‘Massage?’ asked the bath-slave, gesturing back towards the marble slab, now clean and dry.
Lupus nodded eagerly. In baths as opulent as these, the massages should be wonderful.
‘Which oil, sir?’ asked the slave. ‘Saffron, lemon, cinnamon or myrtle?’
Lupus thought about it. Saffron was the best, but it was also the most expensive. Still, the Patron was paying . . .
Lupus held up one finger.
‘Saffron?’ said the slave. ‘The number one oil?’
Lupus nodded.
The slave smiled. ‘An excellent choice, sir.’
Lupus was halfway through a full-body massage when the door to his cubicle opened and Vopiscus’s red and sweating face peeped round it. For once he didn’t look sleepy.
‘Where’s Flaccus?’ he cried. And when Lupus jerked his head to say ‘next cubicle’ Vopiscus disappeared. A moment later he was back, a towel wrapped round his waist. ‘They won’t come so you may as well,’ said Vopiscus with a vulpine grin. ‘You can count this as part of your education.’
‘Oh, pater, it was horrible!’ cried Pulchra, throwing herself into Felix’s arms.
‘Hello, my little nightingale!’ Felix laughed and kissed the top of Pulchra’s head.
He and his party had arrived at the Lucrine Lake slightly late, looking relaxed and cool after their afternoon at the baths. The others had been waiting in the shade of several tall umbrella pines by the entrance to the oyster-beds. Every half hour Pulchra had to go behind the bushes. Each time she had demanded that Nubia keep watch.
‘Oh, pater!’ Pulchra burst into fresh tears and sobbed in her father’s arms.
‘What?’ Felix’s smile faded as he held his daughter at arm’s length. ‘My dear, you look terrible. Your face is blotched and your hair is coming unpinned. What’s the matter?’
‘Locusta tried to poison us!’ wailed Pulchra.
‘Is this true?’ Felix looked sharply at Brassus, who hung his big head and nodded. Nubia could tell he was deeply ashamed that he had not protected them.
Tranquillus stepped forward. ‘Locusta had all the antidotes, Patron, so we were never in any real danger. And we did learn a lot about poisons.’
‘By Jupiter!’ muttered Felix. ‘That venefica! Don’t worry, my dear,’ he patted Pulchra’s back. ‘We’ll take the yacht to Limon and stay there until you’ve recovered. Brassus, hire a horse and ride over to Limon. Tell Phileros to prepare the villa for a dozen guests.’
Brassus lifted his head. ‘Yes, Patron!’ he said, eyes shining. ‘I’ll go right away.’
‘And get him to send a pigeon to my wife informing her that we’re fine but won’t be returning tonight.’
‘We’re not going back to the Villa Limona today?’ said Jonathan.
‘Not until my little nightingale is feeling better,’ said Felix, giving Pulchra a paternal squeeze round the shoulders.
‘Flavia will be most unhappy if we do not return tonight,’ said Nubia softly to Jonathan.
‘You can say that again,’ he muttered.
Flavia Gemina to her beloved pater M. Flavius Geminus.
Greetings, pater! I hope you are well. It is late afternoon and at last the air is growing cooler. I am sitting on a cushioned marble bench in the library of the Villa Limona. It is very beautiful up here, with coloured marble everywhere and bronze busts of Epicurus and Athena and a view of the whole Bay of Neapolis. I can feel a cooling sea breeze and I can smell jasmine and I can hear pigeons cooing. You would be very proud of me. Why? This morning everyone went on an excursion to Baiae! Their reason for going wasn’t just pleasure. We are investigating a Mystery and an important clue was to be found in that glirarium of licentiousness. But I was faithful to my vow and remained here. I hope you are proud of me. Pulchra’s mother stayed behind, too, and she told me a tragic tale. She used to be married to a poet called Lucan. I think you have one of his epic poems in your collection. After Nero had his mother murdered, Lucan and some other good men plotted to kill that evil despot. But Nero discovered their plot and forced them to open their veins. I’m sure you must know all this, pater, so why have you never told me this fascinating story? Anyway, I am glad I stayed here at the Villa Limona, because I have a feeling that what Polla told me is somehow linked to the Mystery. I must go now, because everyone will be back soon. I hope you are feeling better. Remember to take your tonic, dear pater! Farewell. Cura ut valeas.
Lupus was bursting to tell the others his news, but he did not have a chance until they arrived at Limon later that afternoon.
The Patron’s second Neapolitan property was an estate on the lower slopes of the hills between the Lucrine Lake and Puteoli, with views right across the Bay of Neapolis to Surrentum and the Cape of Hercules. It was a working farm – with ancient vineyards and infant lemon groves – and although it was not as luxurious as the Villa Limona, there were enough beds for everyone. There was even a small baths complex attached to the farmhouse.
The bailiff’s wife had taken Pulchra off to these baths as soon as they arrived. Nubia had gone too, because Pulchra would not let go of her hand.
After a short tour of the villa, a grizzled old farm-slave showed Lupus, Jonathan and Tranquillus the room they were to share. It had a low double bed and someone had recently brought in a narrow pallet.
‘You two share the big bed,’ said Tranquillus. ‘I’ll take this one.’ He dropped his writing case onto the pallet.
Lupus shrugged. He had more important concerns than who would sleep where.
WHAT NEWS? he wrote on his wax tablet.
He had heard about their adventures at Locusta’s while they were on Felix’s yacht. But he knew they had things to tell him that couldn’t be related in front of the others.
‘We think the poisoner has been using hemlock on Polla.’ Jonathan sat on the edge of the big bed, took off his sandals and massaged his feet. ‘But they used it in such small doses that instead of killing Polla they helped her built up a resistance to it. It seems the would-be murderer realised this and is now using a new poison, but we don’t know which one, only that it wasn’t strong enough to kill her in one dose. The only symptoms Pulchra noticed were stomach-ache and fainting. Locusta said that could mean almost anything.’
‘Felix has carrier-pigeons that go back and forth between here and the Villa Limona,’ said Tranquillus, lying back on his pallet. ‘When we get back we’ll send a more detailed list of the latest symptoms. A messenger can take it to Locusta, and once she has that information she can quickly send a reply to tell us what poison is being used. What about you, Lupus?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Anything to report?’
Lupus nodded vigorously and wrote on his tablet.
‘Men and women share the same changing-room?’ yelped Jonathan, reading over Lupus’s shoulder.
Tranquillus was off his bed like a stone from the sling.
‘You saw naked women?’ he cried, staring at Lupus’s wax tablet. ‘At the Baths of Nero?’
Lupus grinned and nodded proudly. LOTS OF THEM he wrote.
Tranquillus stared at Lupus in awe. ‘Even Voluptua?’ he whispered.
Lupus
nodded.
‘Is she very beautiful?’
Lupus nodded enthusiastically and then wrote:
SHE AND FELIX WENT INTO A ROOM FOR A MUD BATH AND LEFT THE PANTHER OUTSIDE AS A WATCHDOG.
Jonathan stared at Lupus. ‘Felix and Voluptua?’ he said. ‘Alone together in a private room of the baths?’
Lupus nodded and chuckled.
THEY THOUGHT NOBODY NOTICED BUT VOPISCUS SPOTTED THEM. WE TRIED TO LOOK THROUGH A CRACK IN THE DOOR BUT THE PANTHER WOULDN’T LET US.
‘Edepol!’ breathed Tranquillus.
Jonathan shook his head in disbelief. ‘This puts a whole new light on things. Oh, hello, Nubia!’ he said. ‘How’s Pulchra?’
‘She is resting in our bedroom with an infusion of chicory,’ said Nubia. ‘Now I know what a clyster is,’ she added, coming to sit on the bed beside them.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jonathan. ‘Did you have to administer it?’
‘No. But I had to hold her hand while she sat on latrines. Bailiff’s wife said it was like Jove’s thunder.’
‘Oh!’ Jonathan winced.
‘Wait until you hear our news,’ said Tranquillus. ‘Felix and Voluptua are lovers!’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia calmly. ‘I know.’
‘And they went into a private room of the – How do you know?’ Tranquillus interrupted himself.
‘I can tell by how they are together,’ said Nubia. ‘On the boat coming here from Baiae they pretend to be distant from each other, but they give each other honey-looks when they think no person is looking.’
‘Honey-looks?’ said Jonathan.
‘You know. When the man looks at woman as if to say “Only I can make you happy” and the woman looks back to say “Yes I know”. Felix and slave-girls are lovers also,’ added Nubia.
‘What?’ cried Jonathan and Tranquillus together.
SHE’S RIGHT, wrote Lupus. YESTERDAY I SAW FELIX AND POLLA’S SLAVE-GIRL ALONE TOGETHER IN HIS STUDY.
‘Parthenope,’ said Nubia.
‘The pretty one with dark curly hair?’ said Tranquillus.
Lupus and Nubia both nodded.
‘What were they doing?’ asked Tranquillus. ‘Honey-looks? Kissing?’
Lupus glanced at Nubia and grinned. VERY KISSING he wrote on his tablet.
Jonathan looked at Nubia. ‘You said slave-girls. As in more than one.’
‘Ligea, too,’ she said. ‘Nurse-maid of little girls. And maybe Leucosia.’
The boys stared at her.
‘Well,’ said Tranquillus after a moment, ‘lots of masters sleep with their slave-girls. It’s allowed.’
‘Also, a beautiful young girl we pass on the street today,’ added Nubia. ‘And I think that once before – but not now – Felix and Claudia are lovers, too.’
‘Edepol!’ breathed Tranquillus. ‘I want to be Felix when I grow up.’
Lupus guffawed.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Jonathan. ‘That’s nefas.’
‘I suppose,’ said Tranquillus. ‘But still . . .’
‘Poor Pulchra,’ said Nubia.
DOES SHE KNOW? wrote Lupus.
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘She thinks her father is like unto a god.’
‘If Felix is like one of the gods,’ said Jonathan drily, ‘then it must be Jupiter. Wait until Flavia hears this,’ he added. ‘She’ll be devastated.’
‘Why will Flavia be devastated?’ said Tranquillus. He looked at each of their faces in turn and then understanding dawned. ‘Great Juno’s beard! Don’t tell me she’s his lover, too!’ he yelped.
‘No!’ said Jonathan and Nubia together.
BUT SHE’S IN LOVE WITH HIM wrote Lupus.
‘My future wife loves that satyr?’
‘Her and half the women in Campania it seems,’ muttered Jonathan.
Suddenly a thought struck Lupus. He rubbed out what he had just written to make room for a fresh message:
THE PERSON TRYING TO KILL POLLA MUST BE A WOMAN WHO WANTS TO MARRY FELIX!
Flavia was lying beside Felix in the sunshine. They had just swum to the furthest Sirens’ rock. Their soaking tunics were plastered against their bodies and they were both breathing hard.
‘I can’t stay out here too long,’ said Flavia presently, her eyes still closed against the heat and brilliance of the sun. ‘I’ll turn brown as a field-slave if I do.’
She felt the sudden delicious coolness of shade on her face, like a caress, and opened her eyes to see him leaning over her. He was so close she could see the tiny droplets of water on his eyelashes.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Felix whispered. ‘You’re beautiful.’
‘I am?’ said Flavia.
He nodded. ‘I love you, Flavia. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. And when my wife is dead I will marry you, just as I promised.’
Then he lowered his head to kiss her.
‘Flavia?’ said a female voice. ‘Flavia?’
‘What?’ Flavia’s eyes jerked open and she sat up.
A curly-haired slave-girl stood framed in her bedroom doorway, the pale sky of evening behind her.
After a fruitless exploration of the villa, Flavia had returned to her room at the hottest time of the day to rest. Now, at the foot of the bed the four dogs raised their heads and thumped their tails, causing the scroll of Seneca’s letters to drop onto the floor and slowly unroll. Flavia wiped her mouth and squinted at the girl in the doorway.
‘Oh, hello, um . . . Parthenope,’ said Flavia. ‘I was just . . . reading Seneca’s letters . . . I must have . . .’
The girl smiled. ‘My mistress Polla Argentaria invites you to dine with her. May I take you there now?’
‘Polla’s eating again?’
‘Yes, she’s breaking her fast.’
‘Will Felix be there, too?’ said Flavia, automatically touching her hair to make sure it hadn’t come unpinned. ‘I mean, will your master be there? And the others?’
‘My mistress has just received a message by carrier-pigeon,’ said Parthenope. ‘They will not be home tonight. The only other guest will be Annia Serena.’
Now Flavia was wide awake. If Annia Serena was the poisoner, then this would be her chance to strike.
‘So, Flavia,’ said Polla Argentaria, daintily nibbling a radish to break her fast. ‘Parthenope tells me you’re reading Seneca.’
Flavia, Polla and Annia Serena were dining together in Polla’s lemon-yellow triclinium. Although each reclined on a separate couch, the couches had been moved forward so that they all shared salad from a single table in the centre of the room. Two slave-girls attended them: Parthenope and Leucosia.
‘I’ve been trying to read his letters,’ said Flavia, dipping a spring onion in a little bowl of honey-andgarum salad dressing, ‘but they always put me to sleep.’ She started to put the onion in her mouth, then froze. What if Annia Serena had put the poison in the garum?
On the couch opposite, Annia Serena gave a bleat of laughter. ‘Seneca puts me to sleep, too. I think he’s a terrible old bore.’
‘Parthenope,’ said Flavia. ‘Taste my onion?’
‘That’s because you’re an Epicurean, my dear Serena, and not a Stoic,’ said Polla mildly.
Parthenope came forward and neatly bit off the garum-coated tip of the onion. For a brief moment her hazel eyes locked with Flavia’s, then she went back to her place at the foot of the couch. Flavia put down her uneaten onion. ‘I don’t really understand what those two words mean,’ she said, waiting to see how Parthenope would react to the fish sauce. ‘Stoic and Epicurean, I mean.’
‘In the world today,’ said Polla, ‘there are two main philosophical schools: the Stoics and the Epicureans. To put it very simply, Epicureans believe that this life is all we have and that we should enjoy it to the maximum. Many are therefore devoted to sensual pleasure and often renounce a public career in favour of living a quiet life of leisure outside Rome. Otium versus negotium. Leisure rather than business.’
‘A broad but accurate defin
ition,’ said Annia Serena, taking a piece of fried lettuce. ‘Now let me see if I can describe the philosophy you favour.’ She turned to Flavia. ‘Stoics,’ she said, ‘believe that humans should be indifferent to pleasure and pain, should never give way to passion and should devote themselves to seeking the summum bonum – the highest good – which consists of these four principles: wisdom, self-control, justice and courage.’ Annia Serena dipped her lettuce in the fish-sauce and ate it.
Flavia breathed a sigh of relief: The garum was not poisoned.
‘Of course it’s not that simple,’ said Polla. ‘Some Epicureans, like my husband, also seek the highest good.’
‘Felix is an Epicurean?’ asked Flavia, sitting up straight on her couch.
‘What else could he be?’ said Annia Serena, licking honeyed fish-sauce from her fingers, ‘Devoted as he is to—’ She stopped abruptly, and glanced nervously at Polla.
‘So,’ said Flavia to Polla, ‘Felix is an Epicurean, but you’re a Stoic?’
‘Precisely. But in fact our two philosophies are not really so very different. Epicurus himself defined pleasure simply as ataraxia: “freedom from passion” or “peace of mind”. Many Epicureans are quite restrained.’
‘But Polla,’ said Annia Serena, ‘don’t you find Seneca terribly obsessed with death and suicide?’
‘Yes!’ cried Flavia. ‘Just this afternoon I was reading a letter in which he praises a barbarian from Germania who stuffed a sponge-stick down his own throat rather than fight wild beasts in the arena. I don’t understand why that was good. Isn’t it braver to face a tiger in the amphitheatre than to choke yourself in the latrines?’
Polla smiled patiently. ‘What Seneca was saying in that passage is that even a barbarian thought it better to choose his own death than to die entertaining his conquerors. Even though he was a slave, he was free to control his own destiny.’
‘But he might have killed the tiger and received a bag of gold!’ cried Flavia.
‘Aha!’ Annia Serena’s woolly yellow curls bobbed in triumph. ‘She’s an Epicurean at heart.’
‘Let me tell you another story,’ said Polla. ‘About a woman Stoic named Arria.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 156