The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Oh, not Arria!’ Annia Serena rolled her eyes.

  Polla ignored her. ‘Arria was married to a good and wise man named Paetus who, like my first husband, was involved in a plot to get rid of a corrupt emperor, in this case Claudius. But – like Nero – Claudius discovered the plot against him. And like Nero, Claudius ordered the conspirators to take their own lives, or suffer a humiliating public execution. But Paetus hesitated to fall on his sword, fearing the pain of the wound almost more than death itself.’ For once, Polla’s voice was strong and clear.

  She continued: ‘Paetus’s wife Arria took a knife, plunged it into her own chest, pulled it out and handed it to her husband with these words: Paete, non dolet. “It does not hurt, Paetus.” Wasn’t that a glorious deed?’

  ‘Did she die?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Of course,’ said Polla. ‘She and her husband both died, but they gained a kind of immortality by their noble words and action!’

  ‘I think Arria was mad,’ said Annia Serena. She turned to Flavia. ‘Before the famous it-does-not-hurt incident, Arria’s grown-up children suspected she might commit suicide, so they removed all the knives and sharp objects from her household. At a dinner party with them one evening, she suddenly got off her couch, put her head down and rammed the wall as hard as she could.’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She knocked herself unconscious, of course. When she revived, her family asked her why she had dashed her head against a wall. She replied that if she wanted to find a way of ending her life, she could do it with whatever lay to hand.’

  ‘Wasn’t that sublime?’ said Polla, and Flavia noticed a pink flush on her pale cheeks.

  Annia Serena sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Wasn’t that stupid?’

  Luckily, Flavia was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the prima mensa: hare with quince and raisins in a cumin sauce.

  *

  ‘So, Jonathan,’ said Publius Pollius Felix, tipping his head back to let a raw oyster slip down his throat. ‘Pulchra tells me you’ve been reading Seneca’s letters.’

  Jonathan was reclining between Lupus and Tranquillus in the small garden triclinium of the farmhouse at Limon. Nubia was having supper in Pulchra’s room and Voluptua and Claudia were dining alone in their separate rooms, leaving the men and boys to dine together.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘I admire Seneca very much.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Tranquillus.

  Lupus was intent on freeing an oyster from its shell with the sharp end of his spoon, but he nodded absently.

  ‘Excellent,’ murmured Flaccus in his deep voice. ‘It’s good to know you boys are reading the right sort of thing.’

  Vopiscus snorted. ‘Seneca’s letters are just collections of quotable mottoes,’ he said. ‘Reading them is like eating a meal of nothing but garum.’

  ‘You say that because you’re an Epicurean, not a Stoic,’ said Flaccus, squeezing lemon onto his oysters. He grinned. ‘You Epicureans seek the highest good, with its four principles: women, food, games and the baths.’

  Lupus guffawed and Tranquillus giggled.

  ‘Be careful what you say, Flaccus,’ said Vopiscus lazily. ‘You’re enjoying the hospitality of an Epicurean tonight.’

  ‘You’re an Epicurean?’ said Jonathan to Felix, who was reclining alone on the central couch. ‘I thought you were a Stoic.’

  Felix smiled. ‘My dear boy, whatever gave you that impression?’

  ‘Locusta called Pulchra the daughter of a Stoic.’

  ‘And so she is,’ said Felix, with an amused smile.

  ‘Polla Argentaria is the Stoic in the family,’ explained Flaccus.

  ‘So you’re an Epicurean, but you married a Stoic?’

  Felix nodded. ‘Our two philosophies are not really so different. Seneca often quotes Epicurus.’ Felix tipped another oyster down his throat. Then he wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, ‘Is the food not to your liking, Philodemus? You haven’t touched a thing.’

  ‘I am appalled,’ said Philodemus, raising his liquid brown eyes to look at Felix. ‘Disgusted and appalled by what I have seen and heard today.’

  Everyone stared at Philodemus, who was trembling with emotion. Lupus froze with an oyster poised above his open mouth.

  ‘An hour ago,’ said Philodemus to Felix, ‘I asked Claudia Casta to marry me.

  ‘She wept and asked me to hear a confession first. She told me that you seduced her when she was only a girl, not much older than your own daughter is now.’

  ‘What?’ cried Flaccus.

  ‘I shared some of my philosophy with her,’ continued Philodemus, ‘and I believe it brought her a small amount of comfort. She has asked me to take her back to her villa in Pausilypon immediately.’

  Flaccus twisted on his elbow to look at Felix. ‘Is that true? Did you seduce Claudia?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Felix coldly.

  ‘I do not believe in any of your philosophies,’ said Philodemus, sliding awkwardly off his couch. ‘But at least Seneca said some wise things.’ He turned his dark eyes on the boys. ‘Seneca told his young friend Lucilius to stop up your ears with something stronger than wax. And another philosopher says this: My son, if sinners entice you, do not give in to them. I suggest you follow my example and leave this company, before you are corrupted.’ He turned stiffly back to Felix. ‘I thank you, sir,’ he said, ‘for your hospitality. Please give my apologies, and Claudia’s, to your wife. Goodbye.’

  He strode out of the room, jostling one of the tables and causing the ceramic bowls to clink.

  Jonathan looked around at the stunned faces and saw Lupus slowly lower his oyster to the table.

  Vopiscus was the first to recover. ‘Don’t mind Philodemus,’ he said contemptuously. ‘He used to be a rich Epicurean. But since his inheritance was buried under the mud from that volcano he’s become a Jew. Or a Christian. One of those strange eastern philosophies. And if anyone is more tedious than the Stoics, they are.’

  Flavia Gemina to her adored pater M. Flavius Geminus.

  Greetings, pater! I hope you are well and surviving the heat. Is it as hot there as it is here? At the moment Nubia and I are sitting in Pulchra’s bedroom and her slave-girl Leda is fanning us with a large ostrich-feather fan. Pulchra got a stomach upset in Baiae, along with Lupus and all the men. Pulchra accidentally ate some poison but the others blame their misfortune on bad oysters. Pulchra says that Philodemus (the one who reminded me of an eager hunting-dog) and Claudia (the tawny beauty) were so badly affected that they went straight back to Neapolis and won’t be returning. Only Jonathan escaped, because he doesn’t like oysters, and also Nubia and Voluptua, who dined in their rooms on leek soup and cold chicken. (Voluptua’s panther is fine, too; he always eats raw ground-up meat with an egg beaten into it.)

  It was almost comical. Felix’s yacht came in this afternoon, two days later than expected. Justus and Annia Serena and I were standing there on the docking platform waiting to greet them, but all the men just ran right past us, their faces very pale and intent as they headed for the latrines. Jonathan says it’s bad, but nothing compared to yesterday and the day before when it sounded like Tartarus in the latrines, with rumblings and groans and coughs and curses. Poor Lupus. Poor Felix. Poor Flaccus. Poor Tranquillus.

  Oh pater! I forgot to tell you in my last letter that I met the boy you want me to marry! At first I didn’t like him, but now I think I might. He has been helping us with our Mystery and I must say he is quite clever and funny. But I haven’t seen him for two days because he went to that glirarium of licentiousness and he’s still suffering the penalty.

  For the past two days – while the others were in Baiae – I have been reading, walking in the gardens and taking the dogs exploring. You will never guess what the dogs found this morning! An ancient wooden shrine of Hercules just over the hill by a sandy crescent beach. It is half hidden by olive trees and I don’t think it’s been us
ed as a shrine in ages. But someone has been staying there. I could tell because there was a carpet and blanket and cushions and even an amphora of wine in the corner with two beakers. I can’t wait to show the others tomorrow morning. We could take some more beakers and also olives and salted chickpeas and maybe some scrolls, and make it our secret den. I just hope it’s not the Lair of Pirates!

  Well, I must finish now. Pulchra is demanding that I read something to her. It is a choice between Seneca’s letters, Pliny’s Natural History or scroll four of the Aeneid, all in my room nearby. I think you know which one I will choose. Don’t forget to take your tonic and apply the balm, dearest pater! Farewell.

  P.S. Pulchra wants me to tell you that if her father and the other men are recovered they are going to do something amazing tomorrow night, to celebrate the festival of Fors Fortuna.

  P.P.S. She won’t tell me what.

  Midsummer’s day dawned clear and bright, promising to be the hottest day of the year so far. While it was still relatively cool, Flavia led her friends through the dappled olive groves to the small wooden shrine which she and the dogs had discovered the previous day.

  Lupus and Tranquillus were with them, both looking paler and thinner than they had three days previously. Tranquillus held Ajax’s gilded lead because Pulchra was spending the morning with her mother.

  ‘See?’ said Flavia, leading them through two wooden columns into the dim shrine. ‘There’s a carpet and cushions and everything. Don’t let the dogs in,’ she added. ‘They can keep guard in the portico.’

  ‘Stay, Tigris! Good dog,’ said Jonathan and looked around. ‘It’s not far from the beach. Maybe fishermen sleep here.’

  ‘Look up,’ said Flavia. ‘See the garland of roses I hung from the rafters? That means that everything we say here is sub rosa, in confidence. Wave to Hercules,’ she added, indicating the painted wooden statue of the demigod. ‘I had to stand him upright and give him a good dusting,’ she added.

  They all turned and dutifully greeted the ancient cult statue.

  ‘Now.’ She sat on one of the cushions. ‘Tell me what you learned in Baiae. Pulchra says Locusta tried to poison you. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tranquillus, sitting beside her, ‘but she gave us the antidotes.’ He shook his head. ‘Those bad oysters were far worse than her poison. I felt like dying.’

  Lupus nodded his agreement, then pointed to his mouth, shook his head and waved his forefinger back and forth, as if to say: never again.

  ‘Oh, Lupus,’ said Nubia. ‘That is sad. Oysters were being your favourite food.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘We think the poisoner was using hemlock,’ said Jonathan. ‘But they used it in such small doses that Polla built up an immunity to it.’

  ‘Hemlock,’ breathed Flavia. ‘The poison they made Socrates drink.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Tranquillus. ‘Listen to this.’ He flipped open his wax tablet and read:

  ‘The jailer pinched his foot quite hard and asked if he felt anything. “No,” replied Socrates. Later the man pinched his thighs, showing how he was growing cold and numb. “When it reaches his heart,” said the jailer, “He will die.”’

  ‘That’s from Plato,’ explained Tranquillus. ‘I translated it myself this morning.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Even after Locusta’s antidote it felt as though I was wearing sandals made of lead. But Pulchra’s mother didn’t mention heaviness of limbs on the night of your birthday. So we think the poisoner is using something else now.’

  ‘What? What poison are they using?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Tranquillus. ‘That’s why Pulchra is with her mother this morning. She’s going to find out more about the symptoms.’

  ‘What else did you discover?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Lupus has a theory,’ said Jonathan. ‘Show her, Lupus.’

  Lupus opened his wax tablet with a flick of his wrist. It was dim in the shrine and Flavia had to lean forward to read the message etched in the beeswax.

  THE PERSON TRYING TO KILL POLLA MUST BE A WOMAN WHO WANTS TO MARRY FELIX!

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t think of that motive right away, Flavia,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Well,’ she replied, feeling her face grow warm. ‘I admit that could be a motive. But there must be others.’

  ‘Can you think of one?’ said Jonathan.

  Flavia considered for a moment. ‘While you were gone,’ she said, ‘I found out that Polla Argentaria used to be married to the poet Lucan, who tried to kill Nero. Maybe the person trying to kill her is a relative or friend of Nero who wants revenge. Maybe Annia Serena. Her father was a supporter of Nero.’

  ‘But that was fifteen years ago,’ said Tranquillus, ‘and Nero’s been dead for over ten years. Also, Polla wasn’t associated with the conspiracy, apart from being Lucan’s wife.’

  ‘Do you have a better theory?’ snapped Flavia.

  ‘As a matter of fact I do,’ said Tranquillus. ‘I think the would-be murderer is Felix himself.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Flavia. ‘Why would Felix want to murder his own wife?’

  ‘Because maybe he is wanting to marry someone else,’ said Nubia.

  Flavia stood up and turned to face the wooden statue of Hercules, so they wouldn’t see her pink cheeks. ‘If Felix wanted to marry someone else, he could just divorce Polla Argentaria,’ she said.

  ‘But then he’d have to give back her dowry,’ said Tranquillus. ‘While we were in Limon the bailiff kept referring to “Polla’s villa”. What if the Villa Limona – or the land it’s built on – really belongs to her? If Felix divorced her, he might have to give it up.’

  ‘And you know how much he loves that villa,’ said Jonathan quietly.

  ‘So you think Felix is trying to kill Polla?’ said Flavia. ‘Because he loves someone else and wants to re-marry and keep the Villa Limona?’

  She turned to see the four of them nodding.

  ‘No. I refuse to believe it. Last year some people accused him of a crime, but he was innocent. Remember how he came to our rescue? And remember how he rode all the way to Ostia last December to get Doctor Mordecai’s elixir for Polla? No. Felix is brave and good and noble. And he wants to find the poisoner just as much as we do.’

  She saw Nubia and Jonathan exchange a glance.

  ‘Flavia,’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re an excellent detective. Except when you’re emotionally involved. Are you sure you aren’t a little biased towards Felix?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Flavia, and hurried on: ‘Maybe Lupus’s theory is right after all. Maybe the poisoner is a woman who wants to get rid of Polla so she can marry Felix. That means the culprit must be either Annia Serena or Voluptua, because Claudia is out of the picture. Nubia and I will try to get some more information from those two. I’ll take Serena. Nubia, you take Voluptua. You boys see if you can identify the poison Polla took a few days ago. Pulchra should have a good list of her mother’s symptoms by now. Come on, let’s go!’

  Flavia did not find Annia Serena in the baths; only the little girls were there, splashing and squealing in the cold-plunge of the domed frigidarium with their Egyptian nurse-maid.

  She did not find Serena in the shady garden, but she nodded with approval to see Nubia quietly stroking the panther and listening to Voluptua and Vopiscus chat as they played a board game.

  She did not find Serena up in the library, where Pulchra and the three boys looked up from their scrolls and sighed and shook their heads.

  Finally she went to Felix’s tablinum. Although the household would be celebrating the festival of Fors Fortuna later that evening, it was not strictly a festival day so he might be receiving clients.

  ‘Annia Serena?’ said Felix’s scribe. ‘I haven’t seen her today.’

  ‘Is your master still here?’ said Flavia, looking beyond Justus at the closed double doors of Felix’s tablinum.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. He just saw the last of his clients. You might try the mistres
s’s suite.’

  But neither Annia Serena or Felix were with Polla Argentaria, who was dozing peacefully on her wicker couch. Flavia went to the herb garden to think.

  She was standing before his statue, trying to make sense of the thoughts and feelings which crowded her mind, when she heard a child crying. In the shimmering olive groves the cicadas were throbbing so loudly that she almost missed it. Then it came again, and she followed it around the corner to some tubs of pomegranate bushes beneath the shade of a yellow canvas awning. Moving closer, she found a small wooden door she had never noticed before. It was slightly ajar, and from here she could hear the sobbing more clearly. Hesitantly, she pushed open the door and started down the stone steps. A crowd of tiny silent flies circled here in the coolness.

  As she ducked through the flies and descended the steps, the air became cooler. These stairs must lead to the underground storage area of the villa. The light was dim down here and her fingertips on the rough stone wall helped her find her way down to the packed earth floor.

  She was about to call out to Pollina or Pollinilla, when she remembered they were up in the baths. Then she caught a whiff of the expensive cinnamon-saffron scent of susinum. She frowned. ‘Annia Serena?’

  Now the sound was coming again, a rhythmic whimpering interspersed with little sobs, now louder, now softer. And then silence.

  As Flavia turned a corner she saw something like a huge marble block looming in the murky half light. The air was strangely cool around it, so Flavia reached out to touch it. Ice! It was a massive block of ice, twice as tall and wide as she was.

  Then the sobbing started again, louder and more urgent, just the other side of the ice block. The smell of saffron and cinnamon was stronger now, mixed with the faint scent of musky citron. Suddenly she realised what she was hearing.

  It wasn’t a child crying with pain.

  It was a woman crying with pleasure.

  Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Flavia turned and stumbled back up the dim stairs and out into the blazing heat of midsummer.

  ‘Beach banquet! Beach banquet!’ screamed Pollinilla, rushing into Flavia’s bedroom. ‘We’re going to have the beach banquet tonight!’