Aristo rubbed his jaw. ‘But where is the Stables of the Greens?’
Lupus grunted and pointed behind them towards a fork in the road.
‘Yes, let’s try that other road,’ said Flavia, ‘the one leading back towards that big theatre. It’s not the same theatre we just passed, is it?’
‘No,’ said Jonathan. ‘This one is much bigger. And more badly burnt,’ he added under his breath.
‘That’s the Theatre of Pompey,’ said Aristo.
Stalls and souvenir shops lined the shoulder-high wall which separated the road from the Campus Martius beyond. Lupus ran over to one of the stalls, picked up a small red whip and cracked it. Then he pretended to be a charioteer driving a team of horses.
Flavia laughed. ‘I think we’re back on the right track. Look at what these stalls are selling.’
One stall displayed miniature whips, curved knives and models of chariots. Another sold woven wristbands and felt skullcaps. One lamp-shop had a special display of cheap clay oil-lamps with quadriga designs stamped on them. Most of the souvenirs were available in the colours of the four factions. Nubia noticed that green and blue were the most popular colours.
There was big building up ahead, with an unusual roof of dark-green glazed tiles. It was fronted by a rank of umbrella pines, one of which had been burnt, and Nubia saw scaffolding on the far side of the upper storey.
‘Behold,’ she said. ‘That building has green marble arch and green roof tiles. It must be Greens.’
‘Judging by those guards in green tunics standing either side of the entrance,’ said Aristo, ‘I suspect your theory is correct.’
‘The inscription reading FACTIO PRASINA over the doorway is also a good clue,’ remarked Jonathan, as twin beggar-boys with curly hair ran up and held out identical grubby hands.
‘Watch your coin-purse,’ Flavia hissed in Nubia’s ear. ‘Sometimes beggars are thieves.’
Presently the curly-haired twins abandoned them for a rich woman in a sedan-chair coming the other way, but Nubia saw two other beggars sitting near a glassware stall by the entrance of the Greens. One was a withered old woman and the other a bearded man with a stump where his right leg should have been.
Nubia stopped to gaze at the one-legged beggar in dismay, but Flavia hooked her arm through Nubia’s and pulled her firmly towards the green marble arch.
‘Sorry.’ One of the guards stepped briskly forward as they reached the arch. ‘No entry without one of these.’ He pointed to a green linen band around his wrist. It had the word ‘CVSTOS’ embroidered in capital letters of black thread.
‘But we have an invitation from Scopas,’ protested Flavia, waving the papyrus letter.
‘Scopas? Who’s Scopas?’
‘One of your grooms.’
‘Miss,’ said the guard with a glance at his companion, ‘do you know how many people live and work here?’
‘Um . . . twenty or thirty?’
The other guard stepped forward. ‘At least two hundred.’
‘Two hundred?!’
The first guard nodded. ‘We’ve got nearly two hundred and fifty horses running in the races, so we need at least fifty grooms. Plus trainers, cartwrights, saddlers, medics, priests, hortatores, moratores, desultores and sparsores. We’ve got over two hundred people coming and going through this arch every day. The races start the day after tomorrow and security is tight. Now, have you got identification or not?’
‘But we have urgent business with him!’
‘Would your urgent business have anything to do with a certain missing horse?’ said the second guard.
‘Yes! How did you know that?’
The first guard took a few strides forward and cheerfully kicked the one-legged beggar out of the way.
Nubia saw that the crippled man had been blocking a painting on the whitewashed plaster wall. The crude painting showed a rearing horse: a dark chestnut stallion with four white socks and a thin white blaze on his forehead. Underneath the horse was a message in neat red letters:
VALUABLE RACEHORSE MISSING: SAGITTA
REWARD OFFERED 100,000 SESTERCES
IF FOUND BY NON. SEPT REPORT TO URBANUS
‘If we can’t see Scopas,’ said Flavia to the guard, ‘then we’d like to see Urbanus!’
Guard One gave her a crooked smile. ‘You and a hundred other bounty-hunters. But you can’t. He’s far too busy.’
‘But we need more clues,’ protested Flavia. ‘How do we know—’
‘All you need to know,’ said the guard, his smile fading, ‘is right there on the wall.’
‘Where did Lupus go?’ asked Flavia suddenly.
‘If that boy runs off and breaks his neck, I’ll thrash him,’ growled Aristo.
‘Your little friend slipped into the stables while you were talking to the guards,’ chuckled a voice at their feet.
Flavia turned to see the one-legged beggar grinning up at them. His dark beard did not quite cover the puckered skin of a terrible scar on the right side of his face.
She tried not to shudder. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely and averted her gaze.
‘Look!’ said Jonathan. ‘Here comes Lupus. And he’s with Scopas. He did get in!’
‘Lupus!’ cried Flavia. ‘Praise the gods! We thought we’d lost you! And Scopas. Salve!’
Scopas flinched as Flavia went to hug him, so she stepped quickly back. She noticed he looked paler and thinner than he had in August. And he had ugly bruises on his arms.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Scopas does not like people touching,’ he said in his flat voice.
‘I’m sorry.’
He attempted a smile. ‘Thank you for helping me get a job with the Greens.’
‘Are they treating you well?’ asked Aristo.
Scopas’s smile faded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Urbanus is very kind to me.’
‘We just heard that there are over fifty grooms here,’ said Flavia.
‘This is correct. There are fifty-four grooms. Here are some passes,’ he added, handing each of them a green wristband. ‘Urbanus says you may borrow these because you are my friends. Urbanus is very kind.’
Flavia looked down at hers. Embroidered in black thread on the green cloth was one word: SPARSOR. The others were the same.
‘What’s a “sparsor”?’ said Flavia.
‘Sparsores are boys who sprinkle horses with water during the race,’ said Scopas. ‘To refresh them.’
‘Sprinkly boys?’ said Nubia.
Jonathan grinned and Lupus gave a bark of laughter.
‘Well, I may not be a sprinkly boy,’ said Flavia, waving her wristband as she marched past the openmouthed guards, ‘but at least I’m in!’
Nubia and her friends followed Scopas through the green arch into the Stables of the Greens.
The first room was a large bright atrium, with a rectangular skylight above and the usual rainwater pool below. There were office cubicles all round it, with men in dark green bustling here and there, writing, dictating, counting and sealing letters. Scopas did not look right or left as he led them into a large two-storey courtyard, with stalls below and living quarters above. Half a dozen boys in sea-green looked up from polishing tackle. They sat at a wooden trellis table in the shaded peristyle, near one of the massive columns of granite that supported the upper storey.
Nubia smiled. The sweet aroma of fresh hay and horse dung filled her head and caused a flood of happiness to rise in her chest. As she and her friends followed Scopas along the shaded peristyle, the horses put curious heads over the wooden half-doors of their stalls and pricked their ears.
‘These stables are so luxurious,’ said Flavia. ‘The stalls have gilded doors.’
‘Even the flies are of the highest class,’ said Jonathan drily.
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ exclaimed Flavia. ‘Look at the frescoes in this stable. Is it for a horse?’
‘Yes,’ said Scopas, and recited: ‘This stall belonged to Incitatus, favouri
te stallion of the Emperor Caligula. During that Emperor’s reign, it boasted an ivory manger for barley, a golden trough for water, and also a silken couch.’
‘I don’t see the ivory manger or the golden trough,’ said Jonathan, ‘but there’s the couch.’
‘Did horse sleep on couch?’ said Nubia.
‘No,’ said Scopas. ‘Caligula slept on that couch in this stall.’
They all stared at him.
‘Zip q’nee,’ murmured Scopas and then added: ‘Now the stall of Incitatus is used for sick horses. Come.’ He led them along the peristyle. ‘We keep our best runners here in individual stalls. There is a second courtyard beyond, with other horses stabled in groups of five. Beyond that is an exercise area, with access to the Campus Martius and a canal called the euripus. There is also a cartwright’s workshop and an infirmary for injured charioteers. On the upper levels—’ here he gestured stiffly ‘—you will find pleasant dormitories for charioteers, medics, cartwrights and stable boys, as well as their families.’
Nubia nodded, hardly hearing him. She had never seen so many superb horses in one place.
‘The horses are all so shiny,’ said Flavia. ‘And their manes seem to float.’
‘The horses are brushed and massaged every day,’ said Scopas. ‘Hippiatros says to stroke a horse with the hand sometimes does more good than a hearty feed.’
‘Who’s Hippiatros?’ asked Aristo.
‘The stable veterinarian and medic. He is Greek, like me.’
As they approached one stall, a beautiful grey horse turned its head towards them. Flavia stopped so abruptly that Nubia bumped into her back.
‘She’s beautiful,’ breathed Flavia.
‘He is a he, not a she,’ said Scopas. ‘In a stable full of ungelded stallions it would not be wise to have a mare. This is Glaucus. Urbanus says his sire was Italian and his dam was from Greece.’
Nubia stroked his bony nose and gazed into his long-lashed dark eyes. ‘Glaucus is both happy and sad,’ she said.
‘How can he be happy and sad?’ asked Flavia.
‘He is happy because I put him in the captain’s position for a trial run today,’ said Scopas, and added, ‘He is an excellent captain.’
‘But he is also unhappy,’ said Nubia.
‘This is correct,’ said Scopas. ‘He misses his friend Sagitta.’
‘How do you know all that, Nubia?’ said Flavia. ‘Can you read his mind?’
‘Maybe she saw that empty stall next to him,’ suggested Jonathan. ‘The one with “SAGITTA” painted on the door.’
For a moment they all stared into Sagitta’s empty stall, then Lupus grunted and pointed to the stall beyond. Its occupant was a big stallion with a reddish-gold coat and dark brown mane.
‘You like that one, Lupus?’ said Jonathan.
Lupus nodded enthusiastically.
‘That is Latro,’ said Scopas. ‘He is from Greece. He is the outside horse. They must be fast and brave.’
Lupus grinned and pointed at himself as if to say: Just like me!
The bronze-coloured horse moved towards Nubia and nodded his head, so that his dark forelock fell softly over his eyes. Suddenly she felt a pang in her gut. She knew immediately what it was.
‘His stomach is unhappy,’ said Nubia.
Scopas gave a nod. ‘This is correct. Latro has colic. Yesterday Hippiatros cleansed his nether parts and is now giving him a drench of caper-bush root mixed with vinegar. It took Hippiatros thirteen days to find the problem.’
‘How did you know that, Nubia?’ said Flavia. ‘And what is colic, anyway?’
‘Colic is severe pain in the stomach,’ said Jonathan.
‘I know he has colic,’ said Nubia, ‘because my own stomach is suddenly unhappy when I touch him. But his stomach is becoming happier,’ she said to Scopas. ‘He likes the vinegar and caper-bush root drench.’
‘This is correct.’
‘Remarkable!’ said Aristo and he stared at Nubia.
‘What’s a drench?’ asked Flavia.
‘Any dose of medicine given to an animal by mouth,’ said Jonathan.
‘Oh,’ said Flavia, moving on to the next stall. ‘Look at this brown one with the white socks and the little white star on his forehead. How does he feel, Nubia?’
‘He is very fine.’
‘That is Bubalo,’ said Scopas and recited: ‘He is the left-hand funalis, the unyoked inside horse. They must be steady and fearless, because they sometimes go very close to the turning post. Some people say they are more important than the captain. Urbanus says he is strong as a wild ox,’ he added.
‘I like him,’ said Jonathan. ‘I like Bubalo.’ Nubia noticed he was wheezing a little.
‘Those four make the alpha team,’ said Scopas. ‘Bubalo, Glaucus, Sagitta and Latro. But Sagitta is missing, as you see.’
‘Can’t they just use one of these other horses?’ asked Flavia, gesturing around her. ‘How about this one with the dark brown fur and black mane?’ she looked at the name on the stall: ‘Punctus.’
‘Punctus is fast and true. But he is too small. The alpha team consists of our four biggest horses. None of the other horses are big enough to be yoked to Glaucus. The horses on a team must have legs the same length, or their stride will not match and the rhythm will be wrong when they run.’
‘So what will you do?’ asked Aristo.
‘Our head trainer Urbanus might use a horse that recently came to us,’ said Scopas. ‘He is big and he is fast. Urbanus assigned him to me because I understand him. Here he is.’
For a moment Nubia’s heart stood still. The horse in the next stall was as dark as she was, but his flowing mane and tail were pale gold. He was drinking from his trough but as they came up to the gilded door of his stall, he raised his head and she saw the white blaze on his nose and his liquid black eyes.
It was Pegasus, the horse from her dreams.
Nubia stared at Pegasus, the horse she had dreamed of every night for two months. He was looking straight back at her with long-lashed black eyes and he nickered softly, as if to say hello.
‘By Hercules,’ said Aristo. ‘He’s magnificent.’
The columns of the peristyle tilted and Nubia had to grip the top of the stall door to steady herself.
Flavia gasped, ‘Great Juno’s peacock! It’s Felix’s horse, Pegasus!’ She turned to Nubia. ‘It’s the horse you told me about!’
Nubia nodded as Flavia recited the verse from Ovid: ‘He glides above the clouds and under the stars, with the sky his earth, and wings instead of feet . . .’
In his stall, Pegasus snorted again, and took a step towards Nubia.
‘How do you know this horse?’ asked Scopas. ‘He arrived from Neapolis last month, the same day that I came to the stables.’
‘We do not know him,’ said Nubia, quietly opening the stall door and stepping in, ‘but we have seen him from afar. And I have dreamed him.’
‘Be careful,’ said Scopas. ‘He is nervous with strangers.’
But Nubia and Pegasus came together like friends long separated. She stroked the velvet of his nose and smelled his sweet warm breath. As she smoothed the pale gold tresses of his mane, she felt a wave of recognition and love flowing from him to her.
‘Yes, Pegasus,’ she whispered in her own language. ‘It is I, Nubia. The one whose dreams you have been haunting.’
Suddenly he began to tremble. An image flashed into her mind and she started back as if she had been burned.
‘What is it, Nubia?’ cried Flavia.
‘Did he bite you?’ asked Jonathan.
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘But when I touch him I see terrible pictures.’
‘What pictures?’ asked Flavia.
‘I see a burning tent. And a bonfire on the beach. I think these are his memories.’
‘How do you do that?’ asked Jonathan.
Nubia shook her head. ‘It first happens with Pegasus. I make my mind smooth like a pebble and then I see pictures. Or feel
feelings. Or hear words. I never do this before I meet him,’ she added.
‘Do you think he fears fire because of Felix’s bonfire on the beach?’ asked Flavia.
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘This fear goes back a long time. To when he was a colt, I think.’
‘Can you ask him?’ said Jonathan.
‘Now?’
‘Yes. I want to see how you do it.’
‘Me, too,’ said Aristo.
Nubia stroked the white blaze on Pegasus’s nose, and then closed her eyes. ‘I see a burning tent. But maybe that was me. My family was killed by slave-traders. Then they burned the tents of my clan.’
‘Maybe Pegasus lost his family in a fire, too,’ said Flavia. ‘And that’s why you have a special bond with him.’
‘Try again,’ said Jonathan, and Lupus nodded his agreement.
This time Nubia rested her cheek against the stallion’s powerful neck.
‘There is someone in the tent. My mother. I want to help her but I cannot. I can hear her screaming.’ Nubia began to cry.
‘Is that your memory or his?’
‘It must be his,’ said Nubia. ‘My mother dies on the road to Alexandria. Oh, poor Pegasus. You were only a colt and you wanted to save your mother, but you were unable.’
She slipped her arms around his neck and suddenly saw the bonfire again. ‘He is afraid.’ She turned her wet face to look at Scopas. ‘He is afraid you will make him jump through fire.’
‘No,’ said Scopas in his Greek-accented Latin. ‘We train them to race chariots. There is no fire.’
‘Do you hear that, beautiful Pegasus?’ whispered Nubia. ‘Nobody here will ask you to jump through fire.’ Immediately Pegasus stopped trembling and relaxed. He breathed softly on her collarbone. She felt another wave of love flowing from him, flooding her with warmth and joy.
‘Oh Pegasus,’ she whispered, so that only he could hear, ‘if you were mine I would never let anyone hurt you.’
‘What’s going on here?’ said a man’s voice behind them. ‘Scopas, are these your friends?’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 167