The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Fire!’ screamed Flavia, leaping to her feet. ‘Pater! Alma! FIRE!’ Scuto and Nipur began barking as Flavia grabbed a cushion from her bed and beat the burning scroll-case. But this only excited the thin tongue of fire, and the cushion also burst into flame. Flavia squealed and dropped the burning cushion onto her bed. ‘Get out, Nubia!’ she cried. ‘Water! We have to get water from the impluvium!’ Flavia ran out of the bedroom with the barking dogs close behind.

  But Nubia remained motionless. The burning bed was between her and the doorway and she found she could not move. There was something horribly familiar about this.

  The flames were taking hold, making Flavia’s bed a wide torch at the end of a long tunnel, and presently the only sound she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears.

  ‘Nubia!’

  She saw Flavia in the distance, standing in the remote doorway of the bedroom with a bowl in her hands and a look of horror on her face. Flavia tossed the contents of the bowl towards the flames. The water slowly rose up and described a crystal arc and shattered onto the floor, missing the fire completely.

  The flames laughed and grew brighter.

  For a long moment Nubia stared through the fire at Flavia’s horrified face. Her friend seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and her skin darker. It was no longer Flavia in the distant doorway, but someone else, whom Nubia could not make out.

  Then everything was darkness.

  ‘Nubia, are you all right?’

  A familiar-accented voice and the comforting smell of mint tea: Nubia smiled. Jonathan’s father was here; she was safe.

  She opened her eyes to find herself downstairs in the torchlit triclinium, propped up by cushions. A crowd of people gazed down at her. Flavia, her eyes red and swollen; Jonathan, his tunic on inside out; Lupus, his hair tousled and spiky; Jonathan’s beautiful mother Susannah, her violet eyes full of concern; and Doctor Mordecai, smiling with his heavy-lidded dark eyes and extending a ceramic beaker of steaming mint tea.

  Nubia took it and drank gratefully. It was fragrant and hot and sweet. It comforted her and she smiled.

  ‘Oh, praise Juno!’ cried Flavia. ‘She’s smiling! She’s going to be all right!’

  Suddenly Nipur was up on the couch, where he was never allowed to go, and his hard paws were digging into her stomach and his hot tongue was lathering her face and she was laughing and had to hold out the beaker of tea for someone to take quickly.

  A moment later two big men filled the triclinium doorway, with Caudex behind them. Their thick, slightly-charred woven mats and empty buckets showed that they were vigiles, men specially appointed to prevent crime and fires. They clumped into the dining room on muddy, hobnailed boots.

  ‘That was a close call,’ said one of the vigiles to nobody in particular.

  ‘Oh, thank you very much!’ said the second to Alma. He took a steaming beaker of tea from a tray she was holding. ‘It is thirsty work!’

  ‘If we hadn’t arrived when we did, this whole house would be a smouldering ruin,’ said the first man. ‘Lucky your bedroom is part of the town wall. It’s built like . . . well, like a town wall.’ He took a sip of tea, then spat on the ground. ‘Pollux!’ he cursed. ‘This isn’t spiced wine.’ He took another tentative sip. ‘But it’s good all the same. Gaius!’ he said to his companion, ‘try this. It’s nice and sweet.’

  The two vigiles sipped their mint tea and nodded at one another. Then the first one jerked his chin towards Jonathan: ‘That lad is a clever one. It was the best thing you could have done: soaking cloaks in water and throwing them on the fire. Smothers the flames, you see. Good lad!’ He slapped Jonathan so hard on the back that Jonathan’s eyes bulged.

  Lupus laughed and then everyone else began to laugh, too. And suddenly Captain Geminus and Aristo were pushing through the crowd of people, asking if Nubia was all right. They both wore dinner garlands and expressions of such concern that Nubia had to hide her emotion by burying her face in Nipur’s sleek black neck.

  ‘Up you get, you two,’ said Flavia’s father the next morning, coming into the triclinium. ‘I have news.’

  Flavia yawned and rubbed her eyes and sat up. She and Nubia had slept downstairs on the dining couches. It was a brilliant September morning, well past dawn.

  ‘Good morning, pater!’ Flavia stretched and yawned. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Nubia, sitting up. ‘How is bedroom?’

  ‘I’m fine, but the bedroom is not. I’ll have to get the plasterer in, and the window needs a new lattice-work screen, and some of the charred ceiling beams will have to be replaced. And I’ve got to find the people to do it before tomorrow, because I’m off to sea.’

  Flavia stopped scratching Scuto behind the ear and looked at her father. ‘You’re going to sea?’ she said. ‘Again? You’ve only just returned from Sicily.’

  ‘Flavia.’ She felt the couch sink as he sat on the edge of it. ‘Last night my patron Cordius expressed a desire to go to Greece. He wants to charter the Delphina and he wants me to take him.’

  ‘But we’ve already been to Greece this year.’

  ‘He doesn’t want any children along. I’ll have to leave you behind.’

  Flavia opened her mouth to protest, but her father hurried on: ‘I know I said I wouldn’t take any more voyages this season, but he is my patron, and he’s paying me very well. Very well, indeed. And there are several weeks left in the sailing season. I thought perhaps you could go stay with your aunt and uncle in Rome. That would give the workmen time to repair your bedroom properly.’

  ‘Rome?’ said Flavia, with a quick glance at Nubia. ‘You want us to go to Rome?’

  ‘I don’t want you to go to Rome, but I see no other choice. If your aunt and uncle are agreeable, the boys can go too. Caudex will be overseeing the work on your room, so you can take Aristo as your bodyguard. I’m not having you wandering around unchaperoned—’ here he smiled at Nubia ‘—especially as one of you is now of a marriageable age.’

  ‘If you insist,’ said Flavia, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. ‘It will be boring in Rome, but I suppose we can find something to do.’

  ‘Good!’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Of course we will, pater,’ said Flavia, but as soon as he left the triclinium she gave Nubia a huge smile and a thumbs-up. ‘Euge!’ she whispered. ‘We’re going to Rome. Isn’t it exciting, Nubia? We can find the missing horse and get the reward!’

  ‘Flavia et al!’ A young Greek in a mauve tunic stepped out from beneath the shelter of a columned porch and gazed dramatically up towards the blue sky. ‘Thank you, whichever of you gods have done this!’ He lifted his hands in mock worship. ‘You’ve just saved me from an extremely dull September.’

  Flavia laughed and threw her arms around his waist. Sisyphus was slave and secretary to Flavia’s uncle, Senator Aulus Caecilius Cornix. The senator’s townhouse was located at the foot of an aqueduct on the Clivus Scauri, a quiet residential street not far from the Circus Maximus. It was early afternoon and the cicadas were creaking steadily in the umbrella pines.

  Sisyphus gave Flavia a quick squeeze, then held her at arm’s length and narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes at her. ‘Are you wearing make-up, you naughty girl?’

  She blushed. ‘Only a little,’ she said, and then grinned. ‘Not as much as you!’

  ‘Oh, you cheeky thing!’ He thrust her aside in pretend disgust, then shot her a quick grin before turning on Nubia. ‘Great Juno’s peacock! Look at this dusky beauty. We’ll have to post extra guards to keep the suitors away from you,’ he gushed.

  Nubia hid a giggle behind her hands.

  ‘Jonathan, you look very fit and muscular, and so do you, my dear!’ This last was addressed to Aristo, who scowled and said something in rapid Greek.

  Lupus guffawed and Flavia gasped. ‘Aristo! You called Sisyphus a bad word!’

  ‘Pollux!’ said Aristo with a sheepish grin. �
��You’re becoming far too fluent in Greek.’

  Sisyphus winked at Aristo and turned to Lupus. ‘My dear boy!’ he said. ‘Last, but never least. How are you?’

  Lupus grinned and gave Sisyphus a thumbs-up.

  ‘Any dogs?’ Sisyphus looked up and down the hot, empty street.

  ‘No dogs,’ sighed Flavia. ‘Pater said they had to stay at home. Jonathan’s mother is looking after them.’

  ‘Lucky her,’ said Sisyphus, and then gave Jonathan a keen look. ‘How’s that working out, having your mother back home, I mean?’

  Jonathan shrugged and looked away.

  Sisyphus winced, but as they filed past him into the atrium he turned to Flavia and grinned, ‘Got any good mysteries for me to solve?’

  ‘Of course!’ said Flavia. ‘A missing racehorse with a reward of a hundred thousand sesterces. If we find him in the next two and a half days!’

  Flavia’s uncle Aulus was a solidly-built man of about forty-five. He had a big nose, small brown eyes, and strong opinions. He was a conservative who strongly disapproved of gladiatorial combats, beast-fights and the theatre. However, he loved the races and was a staunch supporter of the Greens.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, as a slave draped a scarlet-bordered toga around him. ‘Rome has been crawling with bounty-hunters. Sagitta, the captain of the Greens’ alpha team, is missing, and there’s a huge reward.’

  ‘Captain?’ said Jonathan. ‘I thought a horse had gone missing.’

  ‘Sagitta is a horse. “Captain” is what they call the right-hand yoke horse, because it’s the most important position.’

  ‘Did he run away, or did somebody abduct him?’ asked Flavia.

  The senator shrugged. ‘The popular theory is that one of the other factions took him, in order to sabotage the races and ensure their own victory.’

  ‘Probably the Blues,’ said Aulus Junior, the senator’s twelve-year-old son. He spat over a low hedge, into the garden courtyard. ‘The Blues are scum.’

  ‘But surely,’ said Aristo, ‘one horse can’t cause the downfall of a whole faction?’

  ‘It does if the horse is one like Sagitta,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘He is the power behind the Green’s top team. Of course, Castor could win with a team of crippled mules. He’s our only hope.’

  ‘Who’s Castor?’ asked Flavia. ‘Is he another yoke-horse?’

  Aulus Junior snickered and his father shot him a stern look. ‘Castor is probably the greatest auriga of our times,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘He is a skilled and fearless driver. A miliarius.’

  ‘What is milly arias?’ asked Nubia.

  Aristo smiled at her. ‘A miliarius is a charioteer who has won more than a thousand races. Quite a feat in such a dangerous profession.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ said Nubia.

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ Aulus barked with laughter. ‘At the races last month, three charioteers were trampled to death and one had his arm ripped out at the shoulder.’

  Nubia shuddered.

  ‘They say the gods have blessed Castor with invulnerability,’ came a woman’s voice from the shaded peristyle. Senator Cornix’s wife, Lady Cynthia, was weaving at her loom.

  ‘Wool fluff!’ said the senator. ‘Nobody is invulnerable. Castor is simply a brilliant horseman.’ He pushed away the slave, who was smoothing folds of the toga, and turned to Jonathan. ‘So where will you start your investigation?’ he said.

  ‘Um . . .’ Jonathan looked at Flavia.

  ‘We know a stable boy of the Greens,’ she said. ‘We’re going to see him now.’

  ‘You mean the boys are going,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘Surely you girls will remain here with my wife and weave, as good Roman girls should? The slaves can set up a second loom.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ said Aristo quickly, as Flavia opened her mouth to object, ‘I’ll stay with the girls and give them a lesson.’ He winked at Flavia.

  The senator grunted, nodded, then turned and called, ‘Sisyphus! Have you got my bath-set?’

  ‘Right here, sir,’ said Sisyphus. He held up a brass ring with a bronze strigil, oil-flask and tweezers attached. It clinked softly as he slipped it over his forearm.

  ‘And your writing things?’

  ‘Of course!’ Sisyphus patted a leather shoulder-bag.

  ‘Come along, then!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Sisyphus rolled his eyes at Flavia and just before he followed the senator out of the house, he mouthed the words: ‘Good luck!’

  ‘This can be our lesson for today,’ said Aristo over his shoulder as he led the four friends down the steep stone-paved road from Senator Cornix’s house. ‘How to find the stables of the four factions in the Campus Martius.’

  Turning right, they walked along the long road between the Circus Maximus and the Palatine Hill. Presently they came to the Forum Boarium – the ancient cattle market – with its temples, altars, fountains and statues. As they passed beneath an arched gate in the Servian Wall, Aristo said. ‘The city of Rome has spread well outside this wall. It’s only function now is to keep wheeled traffic from entering Rome during the hours of daylight.’

  He consulted his papyrus map and looked up. ‘There’s the theatre of Marcellus on our right, so the bridge on our left – with the herms and bronze balustrade – must be the Pons Fabricius, which leads to the Tiber Island.’

  A surge of unpleasant memories flooded Jonathan’s head as he spotted the familiar riverside stalls with their displays of votive objects and medicines. He glanced over towards the island, with its obelisk marking the sanctuary of Aesculapius. Six months ago he had fled there from a fire he had accidentally started. A fire which had claimed twenty thousand lives.

  Jonathan glanced up at the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline Hill and then looked quickly away. The fire had started up there, and the part of Rome they were now entering had suffered the most. Jonathan had not been back since the night he fled from a wave of fire. Now he looked around with trepidation, worried about what he might see.

  The damage down here on the riverbank was not too bad, but as the street angled them away from the Tiber, Jonathan noticed that some of the apartment blocks up ahead were still undergoing repair; he could see scaffolding and hear the sound of saws and hammers. One or two buildings remained charred shells, their owners presumably dead or missing.

  ‘That’s the Circus Flaminius,’ said Aristo, as they emerged into a square dominated by a long, lofty building. Like the Circus Maximus, its lower storey was pierced by a series of arched arcades. ‘There’s very little racing here these days,’ he said, ‘mainly a daily flower market, as you can see. And I believe bankers and money-changers occupy those arcades. Wait for a moment while I change some coins?’ He moved to one of the arches and began to speak in Greek to the man behind the table.

  Jonathan and the others looked around at the bright, sunny square.

  ‘The flowers smell very beautiful,’ said Nubia, inhaling deeply.

  ‘The fire didn’t seem to harm the Circus Flaminius,’ Flavia said brightly.

  ‘Probably because it’s made of stone,’ said Jonathan, and added, ‘All the other buildings around here were burned.’

  An old beggar came up to them, and to Jonathan’s horror extended a hand burnt and twisted by fire.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he muttered. ‘Over by Aristo.’

  As he turned away from the beggar, he ran straight into a man in a toga who trod heavily on his right foot.

  ‘Hey!’ scowled Jonathan. ‘Watch where you’re . . .’ He swallowed his rebuke as the man turned and regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes, the way a bear might examine an annoying lap-dog. He was a big man, with a sweat-glazed face and balding forehead. Jonathan muttered an apology, ducked his head and hurried away. One thing he had learned in gladiator school was how to avoid a fight he could not win.

  ‘Wise move!’ The money-changer winked at Jonathan as he handed over some coins to Aristo. ‘You don’t want to tangle with Antonius
Acutus. He’s king of the Campus Martius.’

  ‘Is he charioteer?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘Or the head of one of the factions?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘No,’ chuckled the money-lender. ‘Acutus runs the biggest gambling racket in Rome.’

  Nubia could smell the stables before she saw them.

  After leaving the Circus Flaminius, they had followed Aristo further along a street lined by partly-repaired buildings. As they passed a gilded statue of the young Hercules, she caught a whiff of horses and hay and turned to see a big red building on her left. She heard a faint horse’s whinny from inside.

  ‘That must be the Stables of Reds,’ she said to Flavia.

  Lupus nodded his agreement as a four-horse chariot emerged from between the red porphyry columns of a large porch, turned and rode off on the other side of a low wall.

  ‘And that must be the Stables of the Whites.’ Jonathan pointed to the building across the street from it on his right. Although it had the usual orange-red roof tiles, it was faced with dazzling white marble.

  ‘If these are the Stables of the Reds and Whites,’ said Aristo, ‘then the Blues must be just up ahead and the Greens—’ he consulted his map ‘—the Greens should be around here, too.’

  But the road soon ended at an arched gate leading to grassy fields.

  ‘Pollux!’ muttered Aristo. ‘We’ve gone too far.’

  Over a low wall to the left was a long dirt track with a line of dark, flame-shaped cypress trees beyond. Nubia thought the trees probably lined the bank of the River Tiber. To the right of the arch was a vast grassy field dotted with temples and groves. She could see some boys running a race, and – further off – some men throwing javelins.

  ‘That must be the Campus Martius,’ said Flavia, indicating the field with the exercising men.

  Lupus nodded. He had been here once before, just after the fire, when he had been seeking clues to Jonathan’s whereabouts.

  ‘Yes,’ said Aristo, almost to himself. ‘And this whole area is called the Campus Martius after it.’ He consulted his map. ‘So that must be the Trigarium.’ He pointed to the long track on their left. ‘Where they exercise the horses.’ As if to confirm his statement, two four-horsed chariots rumbled past, throwing up twin plumes of dust which glowed golden in the afternoon sunshine.