The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Two young sparsores ran up with jugs of water in wicker casings. Jonathan’s laughter had turned to hiccups which made it hard to drink.

  ‘Dear gods!’ he gasped, once he had enough moisture in his mouth to speak. ‘I have never been so terrified in my entire life.’

  ‘I know,’ said Flavia, and passed the water jug to Nubia with shaking hands. ‘Pollux! I have a piece of grit in my eye.’

  ‘Don’t rub it,’ said Jonathan, ‘or you could scratch your eye. Hold your nose and blow gently. That should dislodge it.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Flavia. ‘It’s gone. Ugh! There’s sand in my mouth, too. Dear Juno! What an experience!’

  Lupus came dancing up to them, waving a tiny palm branch and wiggling his hips.

  ‘You didn’t win, Lupus,’ protested Jonathan.

  Lupus put up three fingers.

  ‘You are coming three?’ said Nubia.

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘Who came first?’ asked Flavia. ‘I had my eyes closed the whole time.’

  Lupus made his face expressionless and stood with his arms pressed to his sides, like an archaic statue.

  ‘Scopas?’ said Flavia with a giggle.

  Lupus nodded.

  ‘Stiff as a pillar,’ said Jonathan, and hiccupped.

  ‘He is not stiff when he drives,’ said Nubia, handing the wicker-covered water jug back to one of the sparsores. ‘He drives like Apollo.’

  ‘Really?’ said Flavia.

  Nubia nodded.

  ‘Where did you get the victory palm, Lupus?’ hiccupped Jonathan.

  Lupus gestured vaguely in the direction of the barrier which ran down the centre of the race track.

  ‘Well done for coming third, Lupus,’ said Flavia. ‘Now stop showing off and collapse in a heap like the rest of us.’

  But Lupus wasn’t listening. He had let his jaw drop in mock astonishment and was staring at the carceres. The three friends turned their heads to follow his gaze.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ said Flavia. ‘Those statues between each of the starting gates? They’re called herms. I know you’ve seen ones like them before, Lupus. They’re everywhere.’

  Lupus pointed and giggled.

  ‘I’ve told you a dozen times, Lupus,’ said Flavia patiently. ‘They’re not rude, they’re prophylactic. They turn away evil.’

  Lupus grinned and sat beside Jonathan, who was now hiccupping resignedly.

  ‘You four all right?’ Urbanus came up to them, his whip in one hand and a glass beaker in the other. He had taken off his leather helmet and although his long sandy hair was dark with sweat, his eyes were sparkling. He took a sip from his beaker. ‘Wasn’t that fun?’

  ‘Fun?’ croaked Jonathan. ‘My life passed before me like a scroll unrolling.’

  ‘Why did we go so fast?’ asked Flavia. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a slow practice circuit.’

  ‘You think that was fast?’ laughed Urbanus. ‘Didn’t you notice? We barely used our whips. And I was actively holding my lot back. We don’t want to exhaust them before tomorrow’s race.’

  ‘You were holding back?’ gasped Flavia.

  Urbanus laughed again. ‘Of course! In a real race the horses go twice as fast. And they do it for over double that length. We only completed three circuits today; they’ll run seven tomorrow. Over two miles.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Overweening,’ murmured Nubia.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ hiccupped Jonathan, and then exclaimed, ‘That must be why Scopas won!’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Urbanus with a chuckle. ‘Believe it or not, he was holding back, too, though I’ve never seen that team run so well . . .’

  Jonathan hiccupped again and Urbanus extended his glass. ‘Drink some posca. Never fails to cure hiccups.’

  Jonathan took the beaker. It was mould-blown glass, pale blue-green with little raised chariots running around it. He drank. ‘Aaargh!’ he choked. ‘It’s almost pure vinegar!’

  ‘But your hiccups are gone, aren’t they?’ asked Urbanus. Somewhere a trumpet blared.

  Jonathan waited a moment, then nodded.

  ‘Then up you get.’ Urbanus grinned and took back the beaker. ‘Our second lot of chariots will be out of the gates in a few moments and I’m sure you don’t want to get under foot. Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

  Urbanus led the four friends off the track, up a dark stairwell and into the vast bright space of the seating. Here and there, slaves were sweeping the marble benches or using red paint to fill the shallow incisions that marked the seats, but mostly the great Circus was deserted.

  As Urbanus led them higher and higher, Lupus noticed that the marble seats gave way to wooden benches on the upper levels. Finally they reached the highest tier, a roofed colonnade. The morning sun streaming through an arched window in the outer wall of the colonnade warmed his back as he turned to look down over the arena. From here they had a bird’s-eye view of the whole Circus.

  ‘Behold!’ said Nubia. ‘The middle thing is full of water, with temples and sculptures like islands.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Urbanus. ‘Some people call the central barrier the spina, because it’s like the backbone of the racecourse, but most call it the euripus.’

  ‘Euripus means “canal”,’ said Nubia.

  ‘That’s right. They say the water in it represents the sea.’

  Lupus chuckled, and pointed at the bronze dolphins.

  ‘The racetrack surrounds the euripus,’ continued Urbanus, ‘just as the world surrounds the sea, so the racetrack represents the world. That obelisk there in the centre represents the sun. See the sun-shaped bronze flame on top? The twenty-four races are the hours of the day,’ he continued, ‘the seven laps the horses run are the seven days of the week, and the twelve gates of the carceres are the twelve months of the year.’

  ‘Great Neptune’s beard,’ said Jonathan. ‘Did they plan it that way?’

  ‘They must have,’ murmured Flavia. ‘It couldn’t be coincidence.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ said Urbanus. ‘The four colours of the factions represent the four seasons. Red is summer, Blue is autumn, White is winter and Green is spring. There’s even an underground shrine to Consus, the god of storehouses, which is just like the entrance to Hades.’

  Lupus stared at Urbanus in amazement and Flavia echoed his thoughts: ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ she breathed. ‘I never knew that.’

  ‘Life’s a Circus,’ said Urbanus. ‘And the Circus is a world. Everything you need to know about life, you can learn right here in the Circus.’

  Lupus glanced at Urbanus, and was surprised to see that his smiling eyes were moist with tears.

  The Greens left the Circus Maximus at the third hour after dawn, just as the Whites were arriving for their test circuits. As they passed one another, the grooms and charioteers exchanged cheerful insults and laughter.

  The Whites were followed into the hippodrome by a troop of curious-looking barbarians on shaggy ponies. They wore patterned trousers under short tunics and most had floppy cloth caps. Lupus guessed they were desultores, acrobats who jumped from horse to horse. The youngest was a hatless boy wearing zigzag-striped trousers under a vertically-striped tunic. He saw Lupus staring and gave him a grin.

  Lupus tugged Flavia’s tunic and pointed hopefully at the troupe passing into the hippodrome.

  ‘You want to stay and watch the Scythians?’ she said.

  He nodded.

  Flavia hesitated. ‘All right. You know where to find us. We’re going back to the Stables of the Greens right now. Do you remember how to get there? Good. If Aristo comes here, remind him where we are. And don’t forget the banquet later at Senator Cornix’s. It’s starting early, at the fourth hour after noon.’

  Lupus nodded and grinned and ran after the acrobats.

  Scopas was waiting for them in front of the Pavilion of the Greens. He was wearing his usual green tunic and a serious expression. �
�Scopas wins the race,’ he said. ‘Maybe they will be kind to Scopas now.’

  ‘Maybe who will be kind to you?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘But it was only a practice run,’ added Scopas. ‘So maybe it does not count.’

  ‘Is is true?’ said Jonathan. ‘Do they run faster in a real race?’

  ‘This is correct. They run faster in the real race.’

  ‘Aren’t you frightened when you race?’ said Flavia. ‘I was terrified.’

  ‘Scopas is not afraid of horses. But sometimes Scopas is afraid of people.’

  Suddenly Nubia caught sight of a familiar figure sitting by the bronze bull fountain. ‘Flavia!’ she whispered. ‘Behold! It is the beggar who tells us where to find Sagitta. May I thank him?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Flavia. ‘Let’s go together.’ She linked her arm in Nubia’s and said over her shoulder to Jonathan and Scopas, ‘We’ll be right back.’

  ‘Hello, again, sir,’ said Nubia a moment later, letting her knees bend in respect. ‘Thank you for helping us to find Sagitta yesterday.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘How did you know where to find him?’

  The beggar smiled up at Nubia with dark intelligent eyes. ‘I was passing the little Temple of Venus yesterday and I heard a horse whinny. I knew it was him.’ He shook his head. ‘I tried to tell others. But you were the only one to believe me.’

  ‘Would you like to meet Urbanus?’ Nubia gestured towards the Greens’ pavilion. ‘He might give you a reward, too.’

  The beggar’s smile faded and he hung his dark head. ‘No. Urbanus hates me.’

  ‘He hates you?’ said Flavia.

  ‘Yes,’ muttered the beggar. ‘He hates all cripples.’

  ‘Do you want some of my gold then?’ asked Nubia. ‘I have much.’

  ‘Nubia!’ hissed Flavia. ‘No!’

  ‘Another denarius will do me fine.’ He lifted his head and gave his gap-toothed grin. ‘If I were rich I’d have no profession.’

  Nubia stared at him wide-eyed. She had never heard of a beggar turning down gold. Was Jonathan’s suggestion true? Could the one-legged beggar really be one of the gods in disguise?

  Lupus watched the boy in zigzag trousers with a mixture of admiration and envy. The boy and his friends could vault onto their ponies, spin around, stand up and jump from one pony to the other, all while the creatures were moving.

  Lupus had heard them talking to each other in a language that sounded like ‘bar-bar-bar’, and he guessed that few of them spoke Latin.

  Presently a trumpet sounded and the desultores rode or led their mounts to the side of the carceres to watch the Whites run their practice circuits.

  Lupus came down the steps from the front row of the seating, plonked himself on the sandy track beside the boy in zigzag trousers and grinned at him.

  The boy grinned back. He had straight dark hair and dark almond-shaped eyes that slanted up at the corners.

  Lupus pointed at the boy and at his shaggy pony and gave a thumbs-up, as if to say: You’re good.

  The boy nodded his thanks and his grin widened to show even white teeth.

  Lupus pointed at the boy and then at himself and then at the pony.

  Zigzag shook his head in puzzlement.

  Lupus pointed at himself again. He forked the first two fingers of his right hand upside down and made them ride his left wrist. Then he pointed at the boy’s pony.

  ‘You want ride?’ said Zigzag.

  Lupus nodded vigorously.

  ‘You know ride?’

  Lupus shook his head, pointed at the boy and then at himself, and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You want teach ride?’

  Lupus nodded again.

  Zigzag grinned and shook his head. ‘I too busy.’

  But his eyes widened and his jaw dropped when Lupus reached into his belt-pouch and pulled out a bright gold coin, an aureus worth a hundred sesterces.

  The tenth time Lupus fell off the little shaggy pony, he groaned in frustration and angrily kicked at the sandy track.

  ‘No,’ said Zigzag patiently. ‘Hold tight here.’ He squatted and stroked the inside of his legs with both hands. ‘You must have thighs of iron.’

  Lupus gave his bug-eyed look and the boy laughed. ‘Yes. Thighs of iron. Do not do this.’ He flailed his arms wildly and waved his head about, mouth open and eyes rolling.

  Lupus scowled at him, then took a deep breath and ran towards the pony.

  He had easily mastered vaulting over the pony’s rump and onto its low, sturdy back, and he could sit on it while it walked, but as soon as it began to trot he always fell off. This time he held his arms loosely by his side but clamped his thighs tightly round the pony’s barrel body.

  The pony began to trot and for a moment Lupus was tempted to grab wildly for its woolly mane. Instead he kept his arms relaxed and made his thighs grip like iron.

  And he stayed on.

  A huge grin spread across his face as the pony trotted in a circle around the boy.

  The boy uttered a brief command and the pony began to gallop.

  Once again, Lupus found himself on the sandy track of the Circus Maximus.

  After the practice run in the hippodrome, Nubia hurried straight back to the Stables of the Greens. Flavia and Jonathan were eager to spend some of their reward money on gifts for friends and family, but she longed to be with Pegasus. She also wanted to know if Aristo was feeling better.

  However, Aristo was not at the stables and she couldn’t find Scopas either.

  ‘Have you seen Scopas?’ she asked one stable boy after another. Most shook their heads, but some snickered and a good-looking boy with blond hair spat contemptuously on the ground. ‘Scopas is a freak,’ he said. ‘He thinks he can become an auriga when he hasn’t even been here one month. He should be put up for sale in the Monster Market.’

  Nubia finally found Scopas in a corner of Incitatus’s stall, rocking and gently thumping his head against the frescoed wall. He was whimpering: ‘Zip q’nee, zip q’nee, zip q’nee.’

  He had been whipped and beaten, then tied up with green ribbons. As a final indignity, he had been smeared with horse manure.

  ‘Great Juno’s beard!’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s been beaten.’

  He and Flavia had arrived back at the Stables of the Greens to find Nubia sponging Scopas’s face.

  ‘Nubia, what happened?’ Flavia dropped her parcels in the doorway of the frescoed stall and ran forward. Jonathan followed.

  ‘They beat him,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Who?’ said Jonathan.

  ‘I think stable boys,’ said Nubia in a small voice.

  ‘Some of the stable boys of the Greens did this?’ gasped Flavia.

  Nubia nodded, and waved away the flies buzzing round Scopas, who was sitting on the silken couch, staring blankly ahead and rocking.

  ‘Does Urbanus know about this?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘I just heard!’ Urbanus hurried through the doorway. ‘One of the grooms told me – Master of the Universe! Look what they’ve done to him.’ He knelt before Scopas and gently examined the boy’s head and arms. Suddenly he turned and they followed his gaze to see a dozen sullen stable boys lurking outside the frescoed stall. Urbanus rose and stalked to the doorway. ‘Did you do this?’

  Most hung their heads but the blond stared back defiantly. ‘We don’t like him and we don’t want him here.’

  ‘You don’t like him,’ repeated Urbanus.

  A few shook their heads.

  ‘Any of you who don’t like this boy,’ he said, speaking softly and clearly, ‘have my permission to leave these stables immediately! You can go and work for one of the other factions.’ Urbanus was no longer speaking softly. ‘Those of you who stay will treat him with respect!’ He slammed the door on them and returned to Scopas. ‘Jealous,’ he muttered. ‘Cruel and jealous.’

  Scopas was still staring blankly ahead, and his lips were forming the silent words ‘zip q’nee’ over and over.


  ‘What language is that?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Urbanus with a sigh. ‘It’s not Greek or Hebrew or Aramaic or any language I’ve ever heard of.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe it is the language of centaurs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Centaurs. Man’s torso, horse’s body. I wrote to his people at Delphi shortly after he arrived and recently had a letter back from a priest there. He said they think Scopas was raised by centaurs.’

  ‘Scopas was raised by centaurs?’ repeated Flavia incredulously.

  ‘That’s what they said. They told me that he didn’t speak until he was ten or eleven. Apparently he would sit rocking for hours, staring at a grain of sand or a wild flower. If anyone touched him he would fight and scream. Wouldn’t be held, wouldn’t be comforted, just banged his head against a wall. Seemed impervious to pain. But he always loved animals, especially horses.’ Urbanus swatted at a fly. ‘I suppose that’s why they thought he was raised by centaurs.’

  ‘What are you using to sponge his cuts?’ Jonathan asked Nubia, glancing at her copper bowl.

  ‘Vinegar,’ said Nubia. ‘Hippiatros gives it to me.’

  Jonathan turned to Urbanus. ‘Do you have baths here, sir? I should wash this muck off him before we anoint his wounds. My father’s a doctor,’ he added.

  ‘Bless you, son.’ Urbanus blinked back tears. ‘I’d be very grateful if you would attend to the boy. The Baths of Agrippa are just past Pompey’s Theatre, only a block away.’ Urbanus reached into his belt-pouch and pulled out a coin. ‘They’re expensive but good. Here. Take this. Wash him and anoint him and bring him back here. I’ll put him in my own apartment upstairs if that’s what it takes to keep him safe.’

  Scopas was not even allowed to enter the baths until a slave had sluiced him down with a bucket of warm water. Jonathan paid his coin and led Scopas into the apodyterium.

  Jonathan peeled off Scopas’s filthy tunic and handed it to a bath attendant, telling him to burn it and send someone out to buy a new one. Then he turned back to Scopas. He could see that some of the bruises on the boy’s skinny torso were old ones. ‘This isn’t the first time they’ve beaten you,’ he muttered, as he slipped off his own tunic.