The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Pulchra followed her youngest sister into the bedroom. ‘Pollinilla,’ she said, ‘be a good girl and don’t bother Flavia and Nubia. They’re trying to nap.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Flavia, stretching. ‘We were just getting up.’

  ‘What is beach banquet?’ asked Nubia, sitting up on her bed.

  ‘Remember the Green Grotto where the pirates held us prisoner last August?’

  Flavia and Nubia nodded.

  ‘Right next to it is a crescent beach. It’s the only beach for miles around. Everyone else calls it the Bay of Pollius but I call it the Pirate Beach. Each summer when the weather gets unbearably hot, the slaves take couches and tables and food down there and we all have a banquet together. The rule is you have to run into the water between each course.’

  ‘Oh, what fun!’ said Flavia with a yawn.

  ‘What fun!’ screamed Pollinilla, twirling around the room and causing the dogs to retreat beneath the beds. ‘What fun! What fun!’

  ‘We usually go in July or August, when the dog-star has risen, but this year it’s hot enough to do at our midsummer bonfire for the festival of Fors Fortuna.’

  ‘Bonfire? I thought that festival was celebrated with garlanded barges and a statue of Fortuna.’

  ‘In Rome it is,’ said Polla. ‘But our household celebrates it with a midsummer bonfire. It’s something pater’s family always did in Greece. The bravest men soak themselves in seawater and either run or ride horses through fire.’

  ‘What fun!’

  ‘Horses go through the fire?’ asked Nubia in alarm. ‘Does this not frighten them?’

  ‘No, Nubia, the horses don’t mind,’ said Pulchra.

  ‘By the way, Pulchra,’ said Flavia, glancing at the twirling Pollinilla, ‘did you get a message to you-know-who about you-know-what?’

  Pulchra nodded. ‘I sent the list of symptoms a few hours ago and we just had a pigeon back from Limon.’

  ‘What did Locusta say?’ asked Flavia in halting Greek, so Pollinilla wouldn’t understand. ‘What poison?’

  Pulchra replied in the same language. ‘Locusta said the symptoms didn’t match those for any poison she knew.’

  ‘Oh, no! How frustrating! We’ll have to ask her again,’ said Flavia in Latin.

  ‘We can’t,’ said Pulchra in Greek, and looked away. ‘Locusta’s dead.’

  ‘What fun! What fun!’ cried Pollinilla, falling dizzily onto Nubia’s bed.

  Flavia stared at Pulchra.

  ‘As soon as the pigeon arrived at Limon,’ said Pulchra, ‘one of pater’s men took my message to Locusta in Baiae. He showed her the list and she wrote her reply. But when she was going to the door to see him out she slipped on the front steps and broke her neck.’

  ‘What fun! What fun!’ cried Pollinilla, jumping up and down on Nubia’s bed.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Flavia,’ said Pulchra, reverting to Latin. ‘Pater says he’s certain it was just a tragic accident.’

  Flavia’s bedroom smelt of unguents, ochre and singed hair.

  Pulchra’s slave-girl had spent almost an hour giving her a coiffure of the latest fashion. Leda had pulled Flavia’s light-brown hair back into a painfully tight bun, then used a heated bronze rod to make lots of soft little curls in front, with a dangling ringlet on either side.

  Flavia had put on all the jewellery she possessed and her long dark blue summer tunic.

  Best of all was the make-up. Pulchra had applied a face-cream made of olive-oil blended with beeswax and lemon water. Then she had lightly dusted Flavia’s face with fine chalk powder, to make it look fashionably pale. A subtle smudging of red-ochre powder – ground on the slate palette – restored some colour to her cheeks. Then Pulchra applied a lip-salve of beeswax blended with ochre to make Flavia’s lips look pink and moist. But Flavia was most pleased with her eyes. Pulchra had used a crescent-shaped copper tool to outline them in black. Then she had ground some azurite powder and mixed it with castor oil to make Flavia’s upper lids shimmery blue.

  Flavia looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head to make her ringlets swing. Satisfied, she swivelled on her stool and leaned forward to strap on her platform shoes.

  A few moments later she was tottering along the colonnade in the direction of the landing platform and the garlanded yacht, which would take them to the banquet.

  When she reached the boys’ room she stopped and gripped the folding lattice-work screen, which had been pulled across. ‘I’m sorry, boys,’ she said to the dogs, ‘but Voluptua’s panther has been invited and I don’t think you’d get on with him. I’ll take you for a walk later.’

  She ignored their reproachful looks and hurried down the stairs leading to the fish-pond. As she passed the bath-house she twirled the blue parasol Pulchra had loaned her, and tried swinging her hips a little, the way Leucosia the slave-girl did. But it made her stagger and she almost fell off her cork-heeled shoes. Suddenly a muscular arm blocked her way and she looked up to see Flaccus glaring down at her.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said, his hand pressing the curved plaster wall of the bath-house beside her. He looked very handsome in a sky-blue tunic bordered with gold thread.

  ‘To the beach banquet,’ she said.

  ‘Looking like that?’

  ‘Looking like what?’

  ‘Looking so grown up. As if you’re sixteen years old, with all that dark stuff around your eyes—’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, twirling her parasol. ‘It’s kohl—’

  ‘—and the colour on your mouth and cheeks . . . Take it off.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Go back to your room and take it off.’

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ she cried. ‘You’re not my pater!’

  He leaned closer, his face still grim. ‘And if your father were here? What would he say?’

  She had no answer.

  ‘Flavia,’ he said, in a gentler tone of voice, ‘please take it off. At least some of it. For me?’

  ‘I don’t know why I should.’ She glared defiantly at him, but something about his expression made her gaze waver. ‘All right. Some of it.’ She lowered her parasol and scowled down at her feet. ‘But I don’t see why I should.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and lowered his arm.

  ‘I’ll miss the boat.’

  ‘I’ll tell them to come back for us. Annia Serena’s not ready either. I was just coming to fetch her. We’ll both wait for you down at the landing platform.’

  Flavia sighed and as she turned to go back to her room he said, ‘Flavia?’

  ‘Yes?’ She kept her back to him and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Tomorrow I’m leaving, and in case I don’t get a chance to say a proper goodbye, well: Goodbye.’

  ‘You’re going?’ she turned to stare at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘When I was in Halicarnassus last month I hired some agents to make discreet inquiries about the illegal slave-trade. One of my agents has just sent me a letter. He’s tracked down Magnus. I’m going back there to see if he can lead us to the mastermind behind the operation.’

  ‘Oh, Flaccus, that’s wonderful! Will you tell me what you find? Will you write to me?’

  He smiled and nodded. ‘I promise if I find anything I’ll let you know.’ He looked at her for a moment and his smile faded. ‘By Hercules, you look so grown up.’

  ‘Thank you!’ she said, giving him a radiant smile and flipping up her parasol again.

  ‘Flavia. Magnus isn’t the only reason I’m leaving the Villa Limona. Philodemus was right.’

  ‘Why? What did Philodemus say?’

  Flaccus leaned so close that she could smell the faint scent of mastic on his breath. ‘This place isn’t good for us. It’s corrupt. It’s like a piece of fruit that looks beautiful on the outside. But when you bite into it you find worms and rotten pulp. Why don’t you take Nubia and the boys and go back home to Ostia?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t possibly do
that! I have a mystery to solve. But I’ll be careful. I’m a big girl.’

  ‘No,’ he said softly, ‘you’re not a big girl. But one day you will be, and I’d like to know you then. Now take that stuff off your face and I’ll see you down at the boat.’

  ‘There’s a sight you don’t see every day,’ murmured Jonathan. ‘Three sea-nymphs emerging from the sea.’ Dark-skinned Nubia, wearing a mustard-yellow tunic, was flanked by raven-haired Voluptua in ruby red and Polla Argentaria in ice blue. Their hair and faces were dry but from the neck down they were soaking wet.

  Without taking his eyes from them he said, ‘Do I have to get my clothes wet, too?’ It was evening on the hottest and longest day of the year. He and Pulchra were standing on the sand of a crescent beach near the Villa Limona. Sheer limestone cliffs loomed dramatically behind them to the south and to the north terraced steps mounted the hillside. The terraces were covered with dark green vine-rows on the higher levels and silvery olive-groves on the lower.

  At the foot of one of these terraces, just where the beach began, stood a shaggy blue-grey pine tree with five low dining couches arranged in a semi-circle beneath it. Turning, Jonathan saw that the three sea-nymphs were making for that. Then he noticed his boar, turning slowly on a portable spit and attended by two long-haired boys in yellow tunics.

  ‘Of course you have to get your clothes wet!’ Pulchra laughed and showed her dimples. ‘It’s what we always do. Come on! Don’t be a coward!’ She caught his hand and pulled him into the water. Pollina and Pollinilla ran after them, even though their pink tunics were already wet from a previous soaking.

  ‘Master of the Universe!’ Jonathan exclaimed. ‘The water’s as warm as milk!’ His best cream linen tunic ballooned up beneath his chin as the water reached his waist and the little girls screamed with laughter.

  ‘Duck down to get it wet,’ Pulchra said with a giggle, ‘then it won’t puff up.’

  Jonathan sank down as far as his neck in the blood-warm water and then stood up.

  ‘I have to admit,’ he said, ‘it’s very refreshing.’

  ‘I told you!’ Pulchra laughed and as she pulled him back across the sand to the dining couches, he noticed that even the Patron wore wet clothing.

  Felix and his wife occupied the central couch at the base of the blue pine’s trunk. On their left Voluptua and Vopiscus shared a couch, then came the couch Pulchra had chosen. Lupus shared the end-couch opposite Jonathan and Pulchra with the two little blonde girls. He was in a cheerful mood and did not seem to mind their giggling attention.

  ‘Where’s Flavia?’ said Jonathan, looking around. ‘And Flaccus and Annia Serena?’

  Felix extended his tanned arm towards the low promontory to the north. ‘Here they come,’ he said, and resumed stroking Voluptua’s panther. The creature was chained to Voluptua’s couch but had come to lie on the sand in front of him.

  The garlanded yacht came gliding into sight and a few moments later Jonathan saw Flaccus help Flavia and Annia Serena down the gangplank.

  Pulchra leapt off their couch and ran down to the water’s edge. Jonathan could hear her giggling and he felt his chest tighten as she took Flaccus’s hand and pulled him into the water. The little girls and Lupus had run down to the water, too. Lupus plunged straight in, then turned to float on his back. Pollinilla took Flavia’s hand and Pollina took Serena’s, and the little girls tugged them towards the sea. Annia Serena resisted but Flavia kicked off her platform shoes and allowed herself to be pulled in. At that point Annia Serena gave in, too, squealing as Lupus splashed her.

  When the dripping guests finally emerged from the water to join the other diners, everyone applauded. Annia Serena joined sleepy-eyed Vopiscus and Voluptua at the end of the couch nearest Felix. Jonathan saw her give the Patron an undisguised honey-look.

  ‘Valerius Flaccus is going to recline on our couch,’ announced Pulchra to Jonathan. She was laughing and dripping wet. Her bright blue eyes were lined with kohl, like the older women.

  ‘Salve, Jonathan,’ grinned Flaccus, and stretched out his muscular wet body on the other side of Pulchra.

  Now there was more applause as three of the Villa Limona’s prettiest slave-girls and the two long-haired slave-boys came along the sand carrying light wicker tables. On each table was a silver platter containing what appeared to be a flat round turbot surrounded by a garnishing of radishes, onions, olives, and celery. These were set before the diners and duly tasted by the girls.

  Then one of the slave-boys handed out silver goblets and the other followed him round with two silver jugs, one filled with chilled water, one with wine. Before they reached Jonathan, he heard Nubia cry out in alarm and her cup fell on the sand. She was reclining on a bench with Tranquillus and Flavia.

  ‘My cup has skull person on it,’ she said, and made the sign against evil.

  ‘They all do,’ said Felix, snapping his fingers and directing one of the slave-boys to retrieve her cup. ‘The skeletons remind us to live while we are alive.’

  Jonathan examined his own cup and saw a relief figure of a skeleton on it.

  ‘Dum vivimus, vivamus,’ quoted Vopiscus, his eyes fixed on Voluptua.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Felix, and Jonathan saw him wink at Annia Serena.

  When the slave-boy had filled all their cups, Felix tipped some wine onto the sand. ‘To you, O Neptune, and to you, Bacchus, we offer libations of thanks,’ he prayed. ‘Now let us eat, drink, and rejoice for, as our great poet Virgil says, Death is near and he would say, “I’m coming soon, so live today.”’

  After everyone poured a libation onto the sand, they began to eat.

  The fish smelt strange, so Jonathan tasted it cautiously. Then he smiled in surprise. It was not turbot at all, but a delicious paste of chicken liver and onions. He used sticks of celery to spoon it into his mouth. Parthenope, Leucosia and Ligea attended the diners, while the two long-haired slave-boys stood to one side and played soft music. One strummed a lyre and the other played the softly buzzing aulos.

  After the gustatio of chicken-liver turbot, the diners took a second dip in the sea. Most went up to the chest or neck, but Felix, Flaccus and Lupus went right under. They returned to find their skeleton wine cups refilled and succulent slices of wild boar on the tables. It was crispy and salty on the outside but tender and sweet inside and had been dressed with fig and myrtle sauce.

  ‘Delicious boar, Jonathan,’ said Felix, licking his fingers, and the others raised their cups to him.

  Jonathan flushed with pleasure.

  After the boar, everyone took their third bath in the sea.

  As the blood-red sun melted into the horizon, the slave-girls brought the secunda mensa, the dessert. Parthenope carried a tray laden with pastry dormice which had been glazed with honey and stuffed with nuts. Leucosia passed round a silver bowl full of plump red cherries, and Ligea set down two platters of shiny green apples.

  Remembering what Locusta had said about apples coated with poisoned wax, Jonathan took one and examined it. It was surprisingly cold and it had been dipped in wax. Jonathan scraped off some of the wax with his fingernail, then sniffed, then tasted. No sharpness or bitterness. Just wax. He breathed a sigh of relief and replaced the apple. There was little danger of anyone attempting to poison Polla this evening; so far all the food and wine had been shared.

  Jonathan bit the head off a pastry dormouse and relaxed. The two boys were playing soft music again and the temperature of the air was perfect.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it a lovely evening?’ said Pulchra with a sigh of happiness. ‘All pearly pink and blue!’ She dimpled prettily at Flaccus.

  ‘That’s a lovely sight, too,’ murmured Vopiscus, and Jonathan saw him leering at Voluptua, whose wet tunic clung to her body.

  Jonathan put down his half-eaten dormouse to study the other diners. He observed that Annia Serena was using the forefinger of her right hand to trace letters in wine on the back of her left. She held up her hand for Felix to see, then erased t
he message by sensuously licking it off. Felix raised one eyebrow and gave her a lazy smile. Voluptua didn’t seem to mind, or even to notice; she was too busy whispering in Vopiscus’s ear. But Polla was gazing at Felix with a pained expression on her face. Jonathan saw that Nubia and Flavia were watching him, too, and that Flavia’s pastry dormouse lay untouched on the table before her.

  Suddenly Voluptua squealed with laughter and playfully slapped Vopiscus, who had taken a bite of apple and let it drop onto her lap.

  Jonathan knew it was a coded proposition and he wondered what his father would make of a banquet where men and women shared couches wearing wet, clinging garments and flirted openly. He remembered Seneca’s warning: stop up your ears with something stronger than wax, and the thought occurred to him that he should probably close his eyes as well.

  Captain Geminus had warned Flavia about the licentiousness of Baiae, but as Jonathan looked around, he realised this place was just as bad.

  *

  ‘Lemon snow! Lemon snow!’ chanted Pollina and Pollinilla together. ‘We want lemon snow!’

  Flavia smiled sadly at their childish innocence.

  ‘Don’t be greedy, my dears,’ murmured Polla. ‘You haven’t finished your honeyed dormice.’

  ‘Oh pater, please?’ they cried, ignoring their mother.

  Felix smiled at his little girls. ‘Very well. You may have lemon snow,’ he said.

  ‘Euge!’ They cheered.

  ‘What is lemon snow?’ asked Nubia.

  Jonathan frowned. ‘It sounds a bit suspicious.’

  Pulchra smiled at Jonathan. ‘Underneath the villa,’ she said, ‘we have a huge block of ice. Sometimes pater chips a little off and puts it in a linen bag and pounds it with a wooden mallet. Then he mixes it with lemon juice and honey and it becomes lemon snow! It’s the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted, and it’s fabulously expensive to make.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Flavia. ‘Why is it fabulously expensive?’

  ‘Because of the cost of transporting the ice down from the mountains. You have to do it in winter and then keep it cool all year round.’