The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘How do you keep the ice block from melting?’ asked Tranquillus.

  ‘It’s big enough to cool itself,’ said Felix, ‘as long as I keep it locked up in the coolest room of the storehouse.’

  ‘You keep it locked up?’ said Flavia. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s worth half a million sesterces,’ said Felix.

  Annia Serena gasped and glanced over the top of her fan at him. Flavia saw Felix wink back at her.

  Polla sighed. ‘It’s not really such an extravagance as it sounds,’ she said. ‘It will last us several years.’

  ‘Can we see it?’ asked Tranquillus. ‘I’d love to see a block of ice worth that much money.’

  ‘No,’ said Pulchra with a mock pout. ‘Pater’s very jealous of it. He’s the only one with the key and he never lets any of us down there.’

  ‘So you’re the only one who goes down there?’ said Flavia to Felix. She felt a sick twist in her stomach.

  ‘Yes,’ said Felix, standing up and smiling down at her. ‘Only me.’ He slipped on his sandals and looked around at the others. ‘I may be a little while. It takes some time to prepare. Please continue the feast without me.’ He started down the beach towards the waiting yacht and then turned casually to one of the slave-girls standing discreetly nearby. ‘Oh, Leucosia,’ he said, ‘will you come with me? I need you to pluck a dozen lemons from the tree and bring them to the storeroom.’

  The girl nodded and smiled at him, and just before she turned to follow him down to the boat, Flavia saw her toss her hair and flash Parthenope a look of triumph.

  ‘What’s the matter, Flavia?’ said Jonathan. ‘Are you all right?’

  Flavia had left her couch to run into the olive groves. Jonathan, Nubia and Lupus finally found her in the shrine of Hercules. She was sitting on the cushions staring at the carpet.

  ‘You look nauseous,’ said Nubia.

  ‘I feel nauseous,’ whispered Flavia.

  ‘Do you think you’ve been poisoned?’ cried Jonathan. ‘What have you eaten tonight? Was it the cherries?’ He slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. ‘Pollux! I knew it was in the cherries. They were probably injected with aconite.’

  ‘It’s not anything I ate,’ said Flavia. ‘It’s Felix. I think he’s in love with Annia Serena.’

  Jonathan exchanged a quick glance with Nubia and Lupus. They sat on the carpet beside her.

  ‘Why do you think that?’ Jonathan asked. The shrine was dim and hot and smelt of roses.

  ‘This afternoon,’ said Flavia, ‘there was a woman down in the storeroom where the block of ice is, the storeroom where Felix says only he ever goes. She was with someone. I didn’t see them, but I heard them. I’m sure it was Annia Serena. I could smell her. She was . . . he was . . . they were . . .’

  ‘Very kissing?’ said Jonathan.

  Flavia laughed, but it turned into a sob. ‘Yes!’ She hung her head.

  Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘Flavia, when we were in Baiae we found out some things about Felix. We were afraid to tell you, because we know you admire him . . .’ He glanced at Lupus and Nubia, and they both nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry, Flavia,’ he said, ‘you’re not going to like this.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ cried Pulchra as Jonathan, Nubia and Lupus emerged from the olive grove and resumed their places beneath the shaggy blue pine. ‘Pater’s just come back with the lemon snow and Leucosia has brought garlands.’

  ‘Where’s Flavia?’ asked Tranquillus.

  ‘Flavia felt sick,’ said Jonathan, accepting a garland of ivy, mint and jasmine from the slave-girl. ‘She’s having a rest in the . . . olive grove.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ Flaccus half rose from his couch. He was already wearing his garland.

  ‘Yes,’ Jonathan lied. ‘She just had too many pastry dormice.’

  ‘Sit down, Gaius,’ said Pulchra, tugging Flaccus’s tunic. ‘I’m sure she’s fine. Now try this lemon snow. Finish your wine and hold out your empty cups and Leucosia will give you all some.’

  Jonathan held out his silver skeleton-cup to the slave-girl as she extended a jug. Although the light was fading fast, he noticed her cheeks were flushed and her copper hair tousled. He glanced sharply at Felix, but the Patron looked as elegant and composed as ever. Wearing his ivy garland and stroking Voluptua’s panther, he looked like Dionysus reclining on a couch.

  Jonathan took a sip of the ice-cold slush in his cup. ‘Edepol!’ he breathed. ‘That’s delicious!’

  ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ laughed Pulchra. ‘I call it nectar of the gods.’

  Polla rose shivering, even though the evening was still warm.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ asked Felix.

  ‘You don’t feel sick again, do you, mater?’ cried Pulchra, jumping off her couch in alarm.

  ‘No, dear,’ said Polla, putting up a hand to adjust her garland. ‘Just a little tired. I’m going back to the villa to rest before the ceremony if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course you must,’ said Felix. ‘Parthenope, will you accompany your mistress back to her rooms?’

  ‘Yes, master!’ Parthenope spoke with such bitterness that all the diners turned to stare at her in astonishment.

  It was quite dark now, but Jonathan was sure that Polla’s slave-girl had been crying.

  ‘Flavia? Are you in here?’

  Flavia looked up from her wax tablet.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she said, wiping her wet cheeks with her left hand. She could only see a garlanded silhouette framed between the twin columns of the shrine’s portico.

  ‘It’s me. Tranquillus. I came to tell you they’re lighting the bonfire.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She shook some teardrops off her wax tablet and continued to write.

  ‘You should light a lamp. It’s not good to write in the dark.’

  ‘Go away. I’m trying to solve a mystery.’

  Without replying, Tranquillus went past her to the altar. Flavia heard the distinctive scratch of a sulphur-stick and a moment later he sat down beside her with a freshly-lit bronze oil-lamp in his hand.

  ‘Have you been crying?’ he said, holding the lamp up to her face.

  ‘No,’ she lied, pushing away the lamp.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making a list of the suspects,’ said Flavia. ‘Somebody’s got to solve this mystery.’ She pressed so hard with her stylus that the wood beneath the layer of beeswax crunched.

  ‘Why don’t you do that later and come back down to the beach.’ Tranquillus set the oil-lamp on the carpet. ‘The men are going to soak themselves in seawater and then run through fire.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘They say Felix is going to ride through on horseback. Apparently it’s more dangerous the higher up you are.’

  ‘What makes you think I give the tiniest bit of wool fluff about Felix?’ said Flavia fiercely.

  Tranquillus opened his mouth, then closed it. ‘May I see your list of suspects?’ he asked politely.

  Flavia sighed and looked up at the dark ceiling of the shrine. Then she handed him the wax tablet and sniffed.

  ‘This is very good,’ he said after a long moment.

  ‘You think so?’ She sniffed again and wiped her nose on her arm. Without looking up from the tablet he pulled out his handkerchief and extended it to her.

  It was still damp from his last soaking but Flavia took it and blew her nose and looked over his shoulder at the tablet. She was quite pleased with it.

  FLAVIA’S WAX TABLET – PRIVATE

  Who is trying to poison Polla Argentaria? The five remaining suspects are:

  Publius Pollius Felix aged 35, poet and patron

  Motive? Wants Polla out of the way so he can marry one of the dozens of women he is involved with? Also to inherit her substantial wealth?

  Argument against: He could simply divorce her as he is very rich in his own right.

  Annia Serena aged 23, a widow (husband died of a fever
):

  Motive? Loves F, and wants Polla out of the way so she can marry him?

  Argument against: She had plenty of opportunities over the past three days to poison Polla.

  Voluptua aged 22, a widow (husband died of old age):

  Motive? She loves F, etc? Or is a legacy-hunter who wants his wealth?

  Argument against: she seems to prefer Vopiscus as a prospective husband.

  Parthenope aged 15, slave-girl:

  Motive? She loves F and wants him to set her free and then marry her?

  Argument against: She likes Polla, and punishment for murdering her mistress would be torture and death. Also, Felix would probably not marry a slave-girl; he can have them whenever he wants.

  Leucosia aged 15, slave-girl:

  Motive? She loves F and wants him to herself.

  Argument against: (see above)

  Ligea aged 17, slave-girl:

  Motive? She loves F and wants him to herself.

  Argument against: (see above)

  ‘You’re missing another likely suspect,’ remarked Tranquillus.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘You haven’t put yourself on the list of suspects,’ he said, handing back the tablet.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You love Felix, too, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Who told you that?’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a pause and then he said. ‘Don’t worry. I can wait.’

  ‘Wait for what?’

  ‘For you to get over him.’

  ‘I am over him!’ said Flavia fiercely. ‘I mean I was never under him. I mean . . . you know what I mean!’

  ‘Then kiss me.’

  ‘WHAT?!’

  ‘Just give me a quick kiss. I’m a very good kisser.’

  Flavia couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Seriously,’ he said, in an injured tone. ‘I’m a good kisser.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘If you’re really over Felix then you’ll give me a kiss. After all, we’re going to be married one day. Also . . .’ He cleared his throat: ‘You look very pretty this evening.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If I give you a kiss will you promise to go away and leave me alone?’

  ‘I promise.’ Tranquillus took off his garland and spun it up towards the cult statue standing behind the altar. By some fluke it fell neatly over Hercules’s head and came to rest around his wooden neck. In the flickering lamplight the hero-god’s archaic smile seemed to broaden.

  Flavia laughed. ‘All right, then. I’ll give you a kiss.’

  Flavia put down the wax tablet and twisted to face Tranquillus. ‘You may kiss me,’ she said, and closed her eyes.

  Tranquillus put a hand on each of her shoulders and she allowed him to pull her gently towards him. Then she felt his mouth on hers.

  For a few moments it was not unpleasant. Suddenly she recoiled.

  ‘Ewww! You put your tongue in my mouth!’

  ‘That’s how they do it.’

  ‘But it’s disgusting. It’s like being choked with a hot mackerel!’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but all the other girls like it.’

  ‘All what other girls? What other girls have you ever kissed?’

  ‘Well . . . my cousin for one . . . Was it really disgusting?’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad.’ She giggled. ‘Until the hot mackerel.’

  ‘So now will you come and watch the bonfire? If you come I’ll run through the fire for you.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I really like you, Flavia.’

  ‘I like you, too, Gaius,’ she said, blushing as she used his praenomen for the first time.

  ‘Come on, then.’ He took her hand and pulled her off the cushions. And in the portico of the shrine he stopped and stood on tiptoe and kissed her again.

  Flavia and Tranquillus were still holding hands when they emerged from the olive grove and walked down onto the beach. It was almost dark now and the flames of a crackling bonfire threw a golden light on the people standing around.

  Flavia saw everyone turn and stare as she and Tranquillus came into the circle of firelight hand in hand. Felix raised an eyebrow and while he was still watching she deliberately turned and gave Tranquillus a kiss on the cheek. Then she saw Flaccus watching, too. Wearing his ivy garland he looked like a handsome young bridegroom and she felt a sudden twinge of something unpleasant. She quickly let go of Tranquillus’s hand and smoothed her hair. To her horror she realised it was falling loose around her shoulders. She had unpinned her painfully tight bun when she had run to the shrine. What must people think? What must Flaccus think?

  She looked up at him, but he was walking down to the water with the other men, his garland discarded on the sand.

  ‘Do you really want me to run through that bonfire?’ said Tranquillus beside her.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said absently, her eyes still on Flaccus. ‘Anyone who runs through fire must be crazy.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it. For you.’ He kissed her quickly on the cheek, then turned and ran down to the water.

  *

  ‘Lupus,’ said Jonathan, ‘I beg of you. Don’t run through the fire. It’s insane.’

  With his too-large ivy garland and eyes flickering green in the yellow firelight, Lupus looked like a young Pan. For a moment he hesitated, then he shrugged off Jonathan’s restraining hand and ran towards the sea with a whoop.

  ‘No,’ said Jonathan, slowly shaking his head. ‘No. I can’t watch this.’ He turned and stumbled across the beach to the ancient blue pine tree and slumped down on the far side of its trunk. His heart was pounding and he could hear himself wheezing. As he rested his head in his hands, he felt the ivy from his garland tickling his forearms. With a grunt he took it from his head and threw it down.

  A cool hand on his arm made him jump.

  ‘Oh, Pulchra! You startled me.’

  ‘Jonathan, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He dropped his head again.

  ‘Jonathan. Why are you so sad? A year ago you were so funny and happy. Now you seem so . . . tortured.’

  For a long time he was quiet.

  ‘What is it, Jonathan? You can tell me.’

  Finally, without lifting his head he said, ‘I killed twenty thousand people.’

  ‘What?’ she breathed, in a tone more of awe than horror.

  He glanced up at her. ‘You heard about the fire in Rome? The one a few months ago?’

  Pulchra nodded, her blue eyes almost black in the moonlight. She was kneeling on the sand and still wearing her garland. He could smell the jasmine.

  ‘It was my fault. I started the fire.’

  ‘Oh, Jonathan. How terrible!’

  ‘And . . .’ He wanted to tell someone – anyone – but it was so difficult.

  ‘What?’ she said softly, stroking his back. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I saw a man on fire,’ he managed at last. ‘It was terrible. The most terrible thing I’ve ever seen. I dream about it. I dream about it almost every night.’ He hung his head again.

  ‘So that’s why you can’t stand to watch pater and Lupus and the others running through the flames. Oh, Jonathan!’ Pulchra leaned forward and took his face between her cool hands and kissed him on the mouth.

  Once Jonathan had accidentally touched a dead jellyfish and it had given him a mild tingling shock. Pulchra’s kiss was like that, only pleasant. And tasting faintly of lemon and honey. As he began to kiss her back, all the terrible images slipped out of his mind like water in desert sands, and for a time it was just him and her in the warm, jasmine-scented night, and nothing else existed.

  Flavia glanced up as Nubia came to stand beside her. Her friend’s eyes glowed golden in the firelight.

  ‘Are y
ou feel better?’ Nubia said.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Nubia. I feel a little better. I’m just confused.’

  ‘I too am confused,’ said Nubia. ‘You like Felix. Flaccus likes you. Then you come hands in hands with Tranquillus. Now everybody is confused.’

  ‘I’m allowed to hold hands with Tranquillus. We’re going to be betrothed soon and—What do you mean: “Flaccus likes me”?’

  ‘Flaccus likes you. Very much. I can tell.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Flavia. But her heart was suddenly pounding and she felt sick again. ‘Does he? Oh, great Juno’s peacock. This is bad,’ she said, as one of Felix’s soldiers ran out of the sea and curved back around towards the fire. ‘This is very, very bad.’

  As the dark-haired man leapt through the flames and ran back into the sea, everyone cheered. Three more of Felix’s soldiers ran through the bonfire and now Vopiscus emerged dripping from the sea and circled round to follow their example. He ran through the flames, but instead of running back into the water like the others, he went straight into the arms of Voluptua. For a moment they clung together in a passionate embrace, then they ran off into the darkness of the olive groves.

  Flavia barely had time to register this scandalous behaviour when she saw Flaccus run through the fire. As he emerged from the other side, the hem of his tunic suddenly flickered with flames and Flavia gasped. But a moment later he was safe in the sea and the flames were out and the other men were cheering and slapping his back. Flavia was almost certain he was looking in her direction so she waved at him and clapped her hands, but he had already turned away to talk to the other men and wait for the next runner. Flavia kept her eyes on him, willing him to look her way again. But he didn’t.

  ‘Flavia!’ hissed Nubia. ‘You miss Tranquillus! He just now runs through flames.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Flavia, and then shouted, ‘Euge! Tranquillus!’ in case he thought she hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Behold! Now it is the Lupus!’ said Nubia. And then she screamed.

  ‘Nubia, what is it?’ Flavia’s voice was faint, as if it came from a great distance. ‘What’s wrong? Lupus is fine. He made it through the fire. Nubia, speak to me!’

  But Nubia couldn’t speak. She felt a weight on her back and knees gripping her sides and someone whipping her and urging her to jump through the terrible flames. But she couldn’t. She knew if she went forward, her tail and mane would catch fire and she would die. She had never felt such great thudding waves of fear before. She had always obeyed her rider but now her whole being screamed with the desire to rear up and throw off the master.