Flavia shook her head and sat down again, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘If I’m wrong then I’d feel like a fool. We’ll find out soon enough, if my trap works.’
‘What is your trap?’ they asked.
‘Jonathan,’ said Flavia, ‘do you remember how we caught the dog-killer last June? We smeared a vegetable dye on the gold, and as soon as the thief stole it we were able to catch him red-handed?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘My father provided the dye.’
‘Do you remember what the dye was? And more importantly, do you remember if it was poisonous?’
‘No, I don’t know what it was. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh,’ said Flavia, and her face fell.
‘What?’ said Tranquillus. ‘Tell us what you were thinking.’
Flavia looked around at them. ‘Nubia gave me the idea for the perfect bait last night. Poison. Venenum. Venom. Named after Venus because most poisons were originally love potions. We need poison as our bait. One that’s harmless but will stain the fingers. Or mouth,’ she added.
‘I know what might work,’ said Jonathan after a moment. ‘Saffron stamens. They stain your hands bright yellow and of course saffron is edible.’
‘Perfect!’ cried Flavia. ‘The only problem is that saffron is very expensive. Where can we get some?’
‘You are having some in your birthday make-up box,’ offered Nubia.
‘Not enough. We need more.’
‘Coqua,’ said Nubia. ‘The cook. She has a pot of saffron in kitchen on highest shelf. She might let us have some.’
‘They’ll beat her if they find any missing,’ said Tranquillus. ‘But I can give her some gold coins to replace what we use. I’m rich as well as clever and good-looking.’ He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Flavia.
‘Brilliant,’ said Flavia, and gave Tranquillus a weak smile.
‘If we mix it with a little charcoal powder,’ said Jonathan, ‘then it won’t look and taste so much like saffron, but it will still leave a mark.’
‘Excellent,’ said Flavia. ‘I can mix it myself with the little mortar and pestle in my new make-up kit.’ She paused and looked round at them all. ‘We have to put this plan into effect tonight at dinner. We don’t have a moment to lose. Now listen very carefully, everybody, here’s what we’ll do . . .’
‘Where have you all been?’ said Pulchra as they emerged from the olive groves and descended towards the slave’s entrance of the Villa Limona. She stood with her arms folded and a scowl on her pretty face.
‘We’ve just been taking the dogs for a walk,’ said Flavia. ‘Look, we took Ajax with us. And we hardly had to carry him at all.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Pulchra snatched Ajax from Nubia’s arms.
‘You were fast asleep,’ said Flavia.
‘You should have woken me. Now you’ve missed Gaius. He’s gone.’
‘Who?’
‘Your precious Flaccus left a few moments ago. He barely said goodbye to me. He was too busy looking for you.’
‘Oh no!’ cried Flavia. ‘Did he have a message for me, I mean, for any of us?’
‘No,’ said Pulchra. She turned her back on them and started back down towards the villa.
‘Pulchra!’ said Flavia, running to catch up. ‘Wait!’
‘What?’
‘We have a plan to find out who’s trying to poison your mother. But if we tell you it might spoil it.’
‘Why?’ Pulchra stopped and turned on Flavia. ‘Why do you always leave me out?’ Her blue eyes were full of tears.
‘Pulchra.’ Jonathan came up, wheezing a little. ‘Trust us. We know what we’re doing. We don’t want to exclude you. We just want to help your mother. Please trust us?’
Pulchra glared at Jonathan with red-rimmed eyes. ‘All right!’ she said at last. ‘But I’m not happy about all this. I don’t see why I can’t be part of it.’ She put Ajax on the ground and wrapped his gilded lead around her wrist.
‘Pulchra,’ said Flavia. ‘Is there any way we can dine with the adults again, like we did last night?’
‘No. They’re having a symposium tonight.’
‘A what?’
‘A dinner-party where all the house-guests recite their latest compositions.’
‘There aren’t that many guests left,’ said Flavia. ‘There’s only Vopiscus, Voluptua and Annia Serena.’
‘Pater is going to sing his latest composition,’ said Pulchra, ‘and apparently Annia Serena has written a love poem. Even mater said she might recite something.’
‘Will they all be together?’ said Flavia suddenly.
‘Of course.’
‘With the three pretty slave-girls attending?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Parthenope, Leucosia and Ligea. Will they be serving?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Good,’ said Flavia, with a glance at Tranquillus. ‘Then I think we can still put our plan into effect.’
Later that evening in the red triclinium of the Villa Limona, before the lamps had been lit, five adult diners and two slave-girls looked up as a fair-haired girl caught the wrist of a brown-haired boy in the inner garden. The girl and boy were framed in the bright doorway of the triclinium and apparently unaware of the adults watching them from the shaded room.
‘You shouldn’t have bought that poison, Gaius!’ cried the girl angrily, wresting a small dark sack from the boy’s hand. ‘Locusta said it was the most powerful poison she had! A tiny pinch of this can kill a bull.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the boy, hanging his head in shame. ‘I wanted it for research purposes. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘It’s ill-omened. You should get rid of it now!’ said the girl. ‘Take it somewhere nobody can accidentally find it or use it.’
‘I know!’ cried the boy. ‘Let’s take it to the shrine of Venus and dedicate it to her. She’ll protect us from bad luck and nobody would take an offering from the altar of such a powerful goddess.’
‘Good idea,’ said the girl, and the two of them hurried out of the bright garden.
*
‘OK,’ said Flavia a short time later. She was standing with Nubia, Lupus and Tranquillus beside the circular shrine to Venus, and she was still breathing hard. ‘They all heard us and they all know where the “poison” will be. Lupus, your job is to hide here and see who takes the bait. Only somebody very desperate would dream of taking an offering from an altar. You might have to wait all night to catch that person. Is that all right?’
Lupus shrugged and nodded, as if to say he didn’t mind.
‘Jonathan’s keeping Pulchra occupied until she goes to bed, then he’ll join us in our vigil. He’ll go up to the library where he can keep watch over the whole villa. Nubia, your post is in the kitchen, near the domestic slave-quarters. Tranquillus, you patrol the terrace. But keep hidden. I’m going to take the most dangerous hiding place: Polla’s dressing room. I’ll have to go soon, before their symposium is over. Any questions?’
They all shook their heads. The blood-red sky of sunset cast an eerie pink light on the white marble columns of the shrine and on their faces.
‘Can we all give the secret signal Jonathan taught us?’
They nodded.
‘Show me,’ said Flavia.
In turn, each of them cupped their hands together and pressed the thumbs bent side by side until there was only a tiny crack. Then they blew into this to make the deep fluting cry of an owl.
‘Yours is the best, Lupus,’ said Flavia, after she herself had tried it. ‘Just as well,’ she added, looking at the others. ‘Lupus’s signal is the one we all have to listen for.’
She looked up at the marble statue of Venus. Unusually, the goddess of love was shown fully clothed. The sculptor had shown her dressed in a long palla which covered her head and shoulders, and then fell in heavy folds right to the ground. Flavia knew that this version of the goddess was known as Aphrodite Sos
andra, Venus who saves men.
‘Forgive us, dear goddess,’ said Flavia, placing the black silk pouch on the altar. ‘Accept this offering and grant that it may help us to find the culprit.’ Flavia gazed up at the goddess’s stern and beautiful face and under her breath she added. ‘Forgive me, Aphrodite Sosandra, for all the wrong desires in my heart. Please help me find the truth. If you do,’ she added, ‘I promise to dedicate my bulla to you on the day I get married.’
In the pink light of the setting sun, the goddess’s expression seemed to soften.
Flavia turned to her friends and gestured towards the black silk pouch, lying on the altar beside a freshly-lit oil-lamp. ‘There’s our bait,’ she said to the others. ‘A pouch filled with the most deadly “poison” known to man: saffron!’
Polla’s dressing room had a mosaic floor with a honeycomb pattern and panels of deep Egyptian blue on the walls. It also had a clothes niche like Felix’s, with hanging tunics and cloaks.
‘Domina?’ said Flavia softly, as she stepped into the room. But the room was deserted and dim, with only one small bronze oil-lamp burning on the dressing table. Flavia breathed a sigh of relief, even though her heart was beating so hard she thought she might be sick. She moved quickly to the clothes niche and pushed some of Polla’s cloaks towards one corner. Then she used the same trick she had used in Felix’s room a few days before. She slipped her feet into a pair of Polla’s boots – they fit perfectly – and stood in the darkest corner behind the cloaks. Carefully she parted them to make a narrow vertical slit, then nodded with satisfaction. From here she could see most of the dressing room and even a corner of the low mattress in Polla’s inner bedroom.
When she was comfortable, she took a few deep breaths and leaned back against the wall. Then she tried to convince her heartbeat to return to normal.
The cry of an owl started Lupus awake. Pollux! He had fallen asleep.
He gripped the smooth sides of the marble column and pulled himself cautiously up. Then he peeped round it.
Praise the Lord, the little sack still lay on the altar, clearly lit by the oil-lamp.
The soft hoot came again: a real warning cry from a real owl.
The cicadas were creaking steadily, for it was a warm night, but above their steady pulse his sharp ears caught the crunch of sandalled feet on the dirt path. He quickly looked around for the moon and found it almost at its zenith. It was nearly midnight, the darkest part of this short summer night. Whoever was coming had taken pains not to be seen. It must be the poisoner! Flavia’s trap had worked.
Then he saw the flicker of an oil-lamp and a shape separated itself from the olive trees behind.
As the figure passed between the marble columns and went straight for the altar and grasped the small black pouch, it was all Lupus could do to stop himself gasping in surprise. It was the last person he had expected to see.
Flavia was wondering whether she dare make a quick visit to the latrine when she heard the call of an owl. Was it the culprit at last? It must be nearly midnight and so far nobody had come to Polla’s room.
Then she heard the scuff of a sandal on the marble floor of the colonnade. She stiffened and held her breath as a figure moved into the dim room.
The flame in the oil-lamp on the table was low, but she could see it wasn’t Polla. It was a man holding a wine-jug in one hand and two stemless glass goblets in the other. He moved to the dressing table and put down the jug and cups. As he picked up the lamp and turned, she saw his face.
It was Felix.
Lit from below, his face looked strange and dangerous, almost sinister.
‘Polla?’ he said softly, taking the oil-lamp towards the bedroom. ‘Are you here?’
He disappeared into the bedroom but re-emerged a moment later and used the oil-lamp to light two torches in their angled wall-brackets.
Now the room was lit with a soft golden light, and he looked like himself again.
‘Domina, where are you?’ came a low female voice.
Felix turned in surprise as the slave-girl Parthenope came into the room.
‘Is my mistress here?’ whispered the girl.
Felix shook his head and bent to put down the oil-lamp. As he stood up again she threw her arms around him.
‘Oh, master, I love you!’ she cried.
‘Careful, my little dove,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two cracked ribs.’ Then he bent his head to kiss her.
Flavia watched them, her mouth open and her heart thudding.
‘Mmmm,’ said Felix presently. ‘You smell like nutmeg.’ Suddenly he thrust her away. ‘Someone’s coming!’
He reached for the Odysseus wine-jug and busied himself filling the two glass wine cups; one was amber and the other cobalt blue.
‘Ah, so you’re here,’ said Polla, coming into the room.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, straightening up. ‘I’ve brought you some wine to help you sleep.’ He turned to face her, a scyphus in each hand, then glanced at Parthenope. ‘Your mistress won’t need you any more tonight. You may go.’
The slave-girl’s chest was still rising and falling and her cheeks were flushed. She looked from Felix to Polla, then pulled up the shoulder of her tunic and ran out of the room.
‘Were you enjoying yourself?’ said Polla.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, putting the goblets down and going to her. He started to take her in his arms.
‘No,’ she said coldly, twisting free and going past him to the table. ‘You’re not coming to my bed tonight.’
‘Very well. But at least have a drink with me. It’s from an amphora of ten-year-old Falernian that Flaccus gave us before he left. I know you don’t usually like sweet wine. You prefer your Surrentinum, your noble vinegar.’
‘On the contrary, this looks perfect,’ said Polla, and bent over the glass wine cups. She had her back to Felix, but Flavia could clearly see her take a small black silk pouch from beneath a fold of her ice-blue stola. Her hands were shaking as she opened it.
Polla bent over the wine cups and carefully emptied the contents of the pouch into the blue scyphus. Flavia’s heart was pounding like a drum. Had her theory been right? She was about to find out.
‘What are you doing?’ said Felix, coming up behind Polla and stroking her bare right arm. His hand looked very brown against her creamy skin.
‘I’m just stirring the wine,’ said Polla without looking round, ‘there are some dregs in it.’ She dropped the silver spoon on the table and stood straight, then closed her eyes as he kissed the back of her neck.
‘A fine . . . vintage . . . wine,’ he said, removing a hairpin with each word, ‘often . . . needs . . . stirring . . . up.’ As her honey-coloured hair tumbled free, he turned her and kissed her full on the mouth. This time she did not resist, but responded hungrily.
Flavia shook her head in amazement. How did he do it?
Presently they pulled apart, both breathing heavily.
‘You do still love me, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t kiss me like that if you didn’t.’
‘I love you more than you’ll ever know, my darling Aeneas,’ she whispered, stroking his cheek with a trembling hand.
‘What?’
‘Here, my love.’ She handed him the amber goblet. ‘Drink.’
‘To Venus,’ he said, tipping a small libation on the floor, ‘and to us.’
‘To Venus,’ said Polla. ‘May her name be cursed!’ Then Polla raised the blue goblet to her lips and drained it dry.
‘Polla!’ cried Felix, as the blue scyphus fell to the floor and she slumped forward into his arms. ‘Polla!’ he repeated, lifting her up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with her,’ said Flavia, pushing aside the cloaks and stepping out into the dressing room. ‘She’s probably just fainted. She thought there was deadly poison in her wine. But it was only saffron mixed with charcoal.’
‘By Jupiter!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here? H
ow long have you been spying on us?’
‘Long enough!’ said Flavia. Although her heart was pounding like a drum, she tried to make her voice confident. ‘Long enough to solve the mystery of who’s been poisoning Polla!’
‘Who?’ he said, and winced as he lifted Polla into his arms. ‘Who’s been poisoning my wife?’ In the golden torchlight his hair seemed blond. He looked young and vulnerable and impossibly handsome.
‘Take her into the bedroom,’ said Flavia, ‘and I’ll tell you.’
Felix obediently carried his wife’s unconscious body into the next room and laid her out on the low bed.
‘Sit down,’ commanded Flavia, ‘and listen to me.’
Felix sat on the bed beside his unconscious wife.
With only the flickering torchlight from the other room it was dark in here. She knew that if she stood with her back to the doorway he would not see the emotion on her face. That was good.
‘Who’s been trying to poison my wife?’
‘She’s been poisoning herself,’ said Flavia.
‘What?!’
‘She’s been trying to commit suicide, like Arria or Seneca’s wife, but she botched it. She’s been using hemlock and she’s built up a resistance to it. I don’t think her heart was really in it. Until tonight.’
‘But why on earth would my wife want to kill herself?’
‘Because of you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Flavia tried to find the words to tell him, then a sudden inspiration took her. ‘Treacherous one!’ she whispered. ‘Did you really believe you could hide such terrible wickedness and depart quietly from my land?’ Flavia took a step towards him. ‘Will love not keep you with me? Or the right hand once given as a promise of marriage? Not even the terrible death I am about to suffer?’
‘The Aeneid,’ whispered Felix. ‘You’re quoting the Aeneid.’
Flavia nodded. ‘Book four,’ she said. ‘Dido’s plea to Aeneas before she killed herself. She knew he was about to leave her and she couldn’t face life without him. She loved him that much.’
On the bed Polla moaned and stirred, her fair hair pale against the dark bedspread.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 161