And so she did.
‘What’s that noise?’ said Jonathan, pulling away from Pulchra’s embrace. He could hear shouts of alarm rather than cheers. ‘Something’s happening.’
They both stood up and moved out from behind the pine-tree.
‘Pater!’ cried Pulchra, clutching Jonathan’s arm. ‘I think that’s pater in the water with Pegasus.’
‘Who’s Pegasus?’
‘His best stallion.’
They paused for a second. They could hear Felix’s men shouting and see them crowding around a horse thrashing in the water. Jonathan had never seen such a striking horse: dark with a pale mane and tail.
‘Oh, no!’ cried Pulchra. ‘Pegasus just kicked pater. I think he’s hurt!’
They ran down the beach together, but smoke and excitement tightened Jonathan’s chest so that he had to stop and breathe from his herb pouch. When he reached Pulchra at the water’s edge she was helping some men lead her father out of the sea. Felix’s garland was askew. He tore it off and threw it angrily onto the dark water.
‘What happened?’ wheezed Jonathan.
Pulchra glanced at him. ‘Pegasus threw pater and kicked him in the ribs. That horse is dog meat!’ she said fiercely, glaring at the beautiful stallion being led out of the water. ‘Don’t worry, pater,’ she said, ‘I’ll take care of you.’
‘No,’ cried Felix, his eyes dark with pain. ‘I’ve got to do this. I can’t let my soldiers down. Safinius! Chrysanthus!’ he called to the two grooms. ‘Get that cowardly beast out of here and bring Puerina!’
‘Yes, master,’ they replied.
‘No, pater!’ cried Pulchra. ‘You can’t ride! Your ribs might be broken!’
‘Leave me alone, Pulchra!’ said Felix, shaking off her hand almost roughly. ‘You can’t be here right now. Jonathan, take her away.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jonathan, and took Pulchra’s hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘He needs to do this for his men.’
‘His stupid men!’ muttered Pulchra, but she allowed Jonathan to lead her back up the beach towards the fire. ‘What does he care what they think?’
‘He cares the world what they think,’ said Jonathan, ‘because they worship him.’
Flavia helped Nubia sit up on the soft warm sand.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Tranquillus, coming up out of the darkness. His face was still glowing from his recent triumph.
‘I think she fainted,’ said Flavia. ‘Please can you bring her a beaker of posca or well-watered wine?’
‘Right away!’ He grinned and ran off towards the row of low tables on the beach. They had been carried down to the shore and laden with fresh wine and refreshments.
‘Nubia,’ whispered Flavia. ‘What happened?’
‘I do not know.’ Nubia had a dazed look in her eyes. ‘It was as if someone wants to make me go through flames.’
‘Don’t worry!’ said Flavia, and gave her friend a reassuring squeeze round the shoulders. ‘Only the men do that. Nobody will make you run through the fire.’
‘He will,’ said Nubia fiercely.
Flavia followed the direction of her friend’s gaze and her eyes widened as she saw Felix riding a pretty little grey mare out of the dark sea towards the bonfire. The beach was suddenly quiet as the cheers and laughter died and all eyes turned towards the Patron as he urged his mount in a curve back around towards the flames. He wore nothing but a wet tunic and he rode bareback. His knees and heels gripped the mare’s heaving flank and his fingers twisted in the flowing locks of her mane.
In the firelight she saw his handsome face suffused with wild joy, his dark eyes unfocused, his chest heaving. Then rider and horse were leaping through the bonfire and it seemed to Flavia that time stopped. For a moment Felix and his mount were suspended in the flames. Then they were out and into the sea and the surface of the warm black seawater was churned into a milky froth by her thrashing legs.
Felix’s men were running towards him now, cheering him, helping him off the mare, clapping him on the back, touching him and kissing the ring on his hand. He was laughing with pure pleasure at their adoration.
‘Oh, dear Venus!’ prayed Flavia. ‘Don’t let me love that dangerous man.’
‘What?’ said Nubia. Her eyes were fixed on the little grey mare being led out of the water.
Flavia smiled at her friend. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered, as Tranquillus came hurrying up with a skeleton-cup. ‘Nothing.’
Although the beach banquet was finished and it was long after midnight, Flavia could not sleep. She was thinking about Felix. She remembered something a wise young woman had said to her the previous winter: half the women in Campania are in love with him. How true that statement had proved. Flavia felt sick.
She rolled over onto her side and Polla’s words came back to her: Don’t love the dangerous man, love the safe man.
Why couldn’t she love someone like Tranquillus? He was safe. He was also clever and funny and he thought she was pretty. But she didn’t love him. There was no passion. Kissing Felix’s statue had been more exciting than kissing Tranquillus. Was there something in between? A safe man she could feel passionate about?
Immediately she thought of Gaius Valerius Flaccus. At the beginning of their trip to Rhodes he had been arrogant and rude. And she had passionately hated him. But by the end of the voyage she had come to admire him. She closed her eyes and imagined kissing him and was surprised to find her heart thumping.
Could she ever love Flaccus? Rich, handsome, noble Flaccus?
No. Not as long as she felt this way about another. For, despite the awful revelations of the day, she knew she still loved Felix.
‘Felix!’ cried Flavia, starting suddenly out of sleep. ‘Don’t!’ She sat up on her bed, her heart pounding and her body damp with sweat.
She had been dreaming of him again.
In her dream, Felix was Aeneas and she was the beautiful young princess Lavinia. It was their wedding night. He wore a garland and his toga and he laughed as he caught her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold. She was dressed in flame-coloured silk and wore jasmine and lemon blossom in her hair. In their bridal chamber, flickering torches lit a low wide bed sprinkled with yellow saffron and pink rose-petals. He laid her gently on the perfumed covers and he was just bending his head to kiss her when there was a soft scratching at the door.
He turned his head.
‘Don’t answer it,’ whispered Flavia, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him back down.
‘I must,’ he said. ‘It’s her.’
‘No!’ cried Flavia in her dream. ‘Don’t!’
But he was already off the bed and moving toward the door.
It was at that point that Flavia had woken.
‘No!’ she whispered, ‘No!’ Even though her dream was over, she knew what lurked at the door of her mind. And she could not let it in.
She threw off the damp sheet and rose and stumbled out of the bedroom. She ran along the deep-blue colonnade past the boys’ bedroom. She took the stairs two at a time and ran through the torchlit atrium, then along the moon-striped peristyle of the lemon-tree courtyard. When she reached the southern entrance of the villa, a sleepy door-slave let her out and she ran up the path towards the olive groves.
She ran blindly, as if pursued by the Furies. Finally she stumbled and fell and she could no longer keep out the image.
The door from her dream opened and Flavia saw the ghost of Dido standing there, an accusing look on her face. Her tunic was stained with blood and there was a terrible gash where she had fallen on the sword. And Dido’s ghost looked exactly like Polla Argentaria.
Nubia found Flavia on the moonlit path. She was lying face down, sobbing into the dirt.
Scuto and Nipur ran to her and sniffed the back of her neck and wagged their tails and whined.
Flavia raised her tear-streaked face from the dusty olive-littered path.
‘Nubia? What are you doing here?’
&nb
sp; ‘I hear you cry out. So I am taking the dogs to find you. What is wrong?’
‘Oh Nubia! I’m a terrible person.’
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘You are a good person. You are good to help people and to solve mysteries.’
‘No,’ Flavia laid her head in the dust again. ‘I’m bad.’
Nubia sat on the ground beside her friend. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Why are you bad?’
‘I had a dream and it made me realise . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I love Felix.’
‘Yes.’
‘And . . . and . . . part of me wishes Polla was dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘No! Don’t you understand?’ Flavia raised her head again. ‘Part of me wishes she was dead so I could marry him. I’m no better than the person trying to poison her. I have the heart of a murderer. I’m a horrible person.’
‘Every person has bad secret thoughts,’ said Nubia, putting her arm around Flavia. ‘You cannot help your heart. But not every person is brave to say behold, I think such things.’
‘Oh, Nubia!’ Flavia sobbed in Nubia’s lap for a long time.
‘Come,’ said Nubia at last. ‘Let us go back.’ She helped Flavia to her feet and they began to follow the dogs back down the path.
It was nearly dawn and the world around them was a vibrant milky blue.
‘Land of Blue,’ murmured Nubia. ‘It almost sings with blue. Except for the shrine of Venus, which is like a pearl in the moonlight.’
‘I think I must have upset Venus,’ muttered Flavia, ‘for her to torture me like this. Maybe I should bring her a special offering.’
‘Hark!’ said Nubia. ‘Do you hear that? Someone is weeping in shrine.’
‘Don’t go there,’ said Flavia bitterly. ‘It’s probably Felix and Annia Serena again, and trust me: they’re not weeping.’
‘No. I am sure it is weeping. Come.’
The dogs must have heard it, too, for they hurried down towards the circular shrine.
‘Nipur! Come back!’ called Nubia. ‘Scuto!’ She ran after the dogs and as she caught Nipur’s collar she saw Scuto sniffing a girl kneeling at the foot of the altar before the cult statue. The girl’s curly head was down and her arms outstretched before her.
‘Parthenope!’ said Nubia. ‘What is matter?’ She shooed the dogs away and sat beside the slave-girl. The marble floor of the shrine was hard and cold.
‘It’s not Polla, is it?’ cried Flavia, stopping between two of the columns. ‘Has she been poisoned?’
‘No.’ Parthenope shook her head. ‘My mistress is well. She is sleeping.’
‘What is wrong?’ said Nubia softly.
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What do you care?’ Parthenope raised her head to look at Flavia. ‘Don’t pretend to care about me. You made me try food you thought was poisoned.’
‘But that’s what slaves are supposed to do . . .’ Flavia’s eyes filled with tears again.
‘Flavia,’ said Nubia firmly. ‘Take dogs back to our room. I will come soon.’
Flavia brushed away fresh tears, then nodded. ‘Come on, Scuto,’ she said miserably. ‘Come on, Nipur.’
When Flavia and the dogs were out of sight, Nubia turned back to Parthenope.
‘What is wrong?’ she said softly. ‘Can you tell me why do you grieve?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ said Parthenope after a long pause. ‘I’m going to have my master’s child.’
Nubia nodded. She was not surprised. Walking the dogs past the slave-quarters, she had seen several toddlers with Felix’s dark eyes. Home-grown slaves, they called them.
‘What will your mistress say when you become big with child?’ said Nubia.
‘She knows about it,’ said Parthenope, wiping her face on the hem of her tunic. ‘My mistress is very kind. I tell her everything.’
‘She is not vexed?’
‘No,’ said Parthenope. Her lovely face looked as pale as ivory in the growing light of dawn. ‘She has often told me she doesn’t love him any more and that I must tell her everything that happens between us. She told me I can keep the baby and nurse him myself, until he is weaned.’ Parthenope lifted her chin proudly. ‘My son will grow up as a slave in this household but one day I know he will be my master’s best soldier.’
‘Then why do you weep?’ asked Nubia. ‘And why do you pray to Venus?’
‘Because my master doesn’t love me any more.’ Parthenope began to cry again. ‘He used to say that of all the girls in the household I was the most beautiful, and he loved only me. But now he’s gone with her.’
‘With Leucosia?’ said Nubia.
‘Yes. With Leucosia!’ Sobs wracked the slave-girl’s body and all Nubia could do was to sit beside her and stroke her arm.
‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’ asked Flavia, when Nubia finished telling her what she had learned. ‘That Polla doesn’t love Felix anymore?’
Nubia nodded. ‘That is what she said.’
‘No,’ said Flavia. ‘That’s not right. Something here is wrong.’ She stood up and went to the door of their bedroom and gazed out through dark columns at the lemon-yellow sky of dawn. Then she turned and looked back at Nubia. ‘I’ve got to solve this mystery,’ she said fiercely. Her eyes were still swollen from crying, but in the pearly light Nubia could see determination in them. ‘But how, Nubia? How can I find out who is trying to poison Polla?’
‘I do not know,’ said Nubia. ‘I have never known a place so full of Venus as this one. And Venus is very dangerous.’
‘Eureka!’ said Flavia, clutching Nubia’s arm. ‘That’s it! Venus is the answer. We’ll make the poisoner come to us. We’ll set a trap, like we did for the dog-killer last year. But this time we can’t use gold as bait. We’ll use something else!’
‘Venus?’ said Nubia. She didn’t understand.
‘Not Venus,’ said Flavia, ‘but something that comes from her name! Thank you, Nubia. Not only did you give me the idea for the perfect bait, but you just told me the best place to leave it.’
‘You may wonder why I’ve called you all here,’ said Flavia Gemina later that day. It was mid-morning in the shrine of Hercules. Flavia, Jonathan, Nubia, Lupus and Tranquillus were sitting on the faded carpet, eating a breakfast of brown rolls, white cheese and apricots. The cult statue of Hercules had a roll and an apricot, too, but they lay untouched on his altar.
Scuto, Tigris, Nipur and little Ajax lay panting happily in the shady portico of the shrine. Over the ridge, the adults of the Villa Limona slept late after the previous night’s festivities.
‘Is it because you have a plan?’ said Tranquillus, taking a bite of his brown roll. ‘Is that why you’ve called us here?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘I have a plan to catch the poisoner.’
‘Why isn’t Pulchra here?’ said Jonathan suddenly. ‘You said you’d tell us why we haven’t included Pulchra.’
‘Because Felix is not only a possible motive, but he is also our main suspect.’ Flavia took a deep breath, then told them about Locusta’s fatal accident on the broken stairs.
‘Edepol!’ breathed Tranquillus after a pause, ‘that’s extremely suspicious.’
‘Even if her death was ordered by Felix,’ said Jonathan, ‘that still doesn’t prove he’s the one trying to kill Polla. He might have just wanted revenge on Locusta because she almost poisoned his daughter. And I can’t say I blame him. That woman was insane.’
Lupus raised his hand and wrote on his wax tablet: SHE SAID SYMPTOMS DIDN’T MATCH ANY KNOWN POISON?
‘Yes,’ said Flavia, ‘but only according to Felix’s soldier. We’ll never know if that’s what she really said. And there’s more.’ Flavia told them about Parthenope’s pregnancy.
Jonathan gave a low whistle. ‘Pulchra would be devastated if she knew what her father’s been doing,’ he said.
‘She’d be devastated if she knew what he used this shrine for,’ remarked Tranquill
us, biting into an apricot.
Flavia looked up sharply. ‘Felix knows about this place?’
Tranquillus nodded. ‘I was talking to the two grooms last night. They’d had too much to drink and . . . well, you know the saying: in vino veritas. Apparently every time Felix and Polla have house-guests, and it looks like rain, Felix suggests a hunting expedition where the women are included. He always makes sure he stays near the most beautiful house-guest and if it starts to rain he brings her in here to seek shelter.’
‘And then?’ said Flavia.
‘Then they play Dido and Aeneas!’
‘Dido and Aeneas,’ said Flavia. ‘Again.’ She stared up at the ceiling. ‘From the highest peaks the nymphs cried out in ecstasy. That was the first day of death and the cause of future evils.’
‘What?’ said Jonathan, and Lupus gave Flavia his bug-eyed look.
‘She’s quoting from the Aeneid,’ said Tranquillus, spitting an apricot stone out through the columns of the portico. ‘Dido and Aeneas went hunting and when a sudden rainstorm came, they sheltered in a cave. That was when they first um . . . consummated their relationship.’
‘So that’s what the cushions and wine and food and blankets are doing here,’ said Jonathan.
Tranquillus nodded. ‘It’s the grooms’ job to make sure everything is ready.’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia, her grey eyes wide. She rose to her feet and stared out through the bright doorway of the shrine. ‘Great Juno’s peacock,’ she repeated. ‘There’s one person I’ve never even suspected!’
‘Who?’ they asked.
Flavia looked round at them for a moment and then shook her head. ‘No. It’s a crazy idea. And yet . . . The more I think about it: Aeneas and Dido . . . Yes! That’s got to be the answer!’
‘Tell us!’ they cried.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 160