Lupus was tapping her arm and she looked down at him.
He was holding out his wax tablet and her eyes widened when she saw what he was writing there:
I JUST SAW ONE OF HIS MEN TALKING WITH URBANUS, Lupus wrote, AND THEY BOTH LOOKED ANGRY.
The Reds won the fourth race of the day. The Blues and Whites were close behind, but it was not until several minutes later that the waterlogged Greens staggered over the finishing line to a wave of booing.
As Lupus’s troupe of Scythian desultores rode their ponies onto the race track, Senator Cornix hid his face in his hands. ‘What humiliation,’ he moaned. ‘This is far worse than a naufragium. At least that way we go out in glory. Praise the gods Antilochus wasn’t riding in that race. He vowed to fall on his sword if he ever came last.’
‘Just as well you took his idol after all,’ muttered Jonathan to Lupus.
‘Come on!’ hissed Flavia to her friends. ‘I have a theory I need to discuss with you. I think I know what’s happening.’
‘For Jupiter’s sake, girl! Stop coming and going!’ Senator Cornix scowled up at the four of them as they squeezed past him.
‘Sorry, Uncle Aulus, but I promised pater I’d buy him a souvenir,’ lied Flavia, ‘and I want to do it before the next race.’
‘Oh, all right then. But I wish you’d sit still, like Aulus Junior.’
‘So!’ said Sisyphus a few moments later, as they stopped by one of the shops in the arcade on the outside of the Circus. ‘What’s our theory?’
‘Sisyphus!’ cried Flavia. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Helping you solve the mystery!’ He grinned. ‘I have a clue.’
‘What?’
‘My betting agent just told me that someone’s been placing huge bets against the Greens. Just like I said.’
‘Who? Who’s been placing huge bets against the Greens?’
‘An old woman, probably acting for someone else. Here, come inside,’ he said, as three men pushed past them. He led them through an arched doorway into a shop which sold the same sort of glass beakers as the stall in the Campus Martius. ‘Does my information fit with your theory?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘We know that someone has been trying to ruin the Greens’ chances of winning and we think the culprit works for the Greens.’
‘An inside job,’ said Sisyphus.
Flavia nodded. ‘When you told me about the Patron of Gambling, I suddenly wondered if the motive could be money.’ She lowered her voice. ‘A short while ago Lupus saw one of Acutus’s men arguing with Urbanus.’
Lupus held up his wax tablet: HE LOOKED LIKE MARS WITH GREASY HAIR
Flavia looked around at them grimly. ‘Can you guess what I’m thinking?’
Jonathan nodded slowly. ‘That Urbanus himself is indebted to Acutus.’
‘Exactly,’ said Flavia. ‘It fits all the clues. Who knows the horses and drivers better than Urbanus? Who could easily replace a bronze lynchpin with a wax one under the pretence of checking the chariot?’
‘What about Scopas?’ said Jonathan. ‘Doesn’t anyone else think he’s strange?’
‘Scopas is strange,’ said Nubia, ‘but I like him.’
Lupus scowled and wrote on his tablet: HE IS FRIEND OF MY MOTHER. SHE ASKED US TO BE KIND TO HIM
‘True,’ mused Flavia, ‘but Jonathan does have a point. Sagitta disappeared shortly after Scopas arrived at the Greens. Also, Scopas knows all the charioteers and horses and he could easily have replaced the lynchpin.’
‘Oooh!’ cried Sisyphus, rubbing his hands together with relish. ‘It’s exciting, isn’t it? Is the culprit strange Scopas or enigmatic Urbanus?’
‘I’m sure it’s Urbanus,’ decided Flavia. ‘I know Scopas likes to be squashed by horses and that he’s a bit strange, but after all, he’s the one who showed us the wax lynchpin. Also, he can’t read or write. And he doesn’t know Aramaic.’
‘But Urbanus probably does!’ cried Jonathan.
‘Exactly!’ said Flavia. ‘Who else could write a curse-tablet in Aramaic? Also,’ she added, ‘Urbanus knows where to hide things. That’s probably why he got angry with you this morning, Nubia. You thwarted part of his plan by finding the sacred images. Urbanus knew if the images disappeared, his charioteers would drive badly. Or not at all.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Jonathan. He picked up a glass beaker and idly examined it.
Flavia looked at Nubia. ‘Pegasus showed you where the amulets were hidden, but did he show you who did it?’
Nubia shook her head. ‘Pegasus only shows me fuzzy image of man wearing hooded cloak,’ she said. ‘Maybe Urbanus, maybe not. Pegasus himself is not sure.’
‘Extraordinary,’ murmured Sisyphus. Then he frowned. ‘But surely it’s against Urbanus’s interest to sabotage his own side. As head trainer, Urbanus gets a good percentage of the prize money for each of his winning horses.’
‘Is it a lot?’
‘Of course.’
‘But what if he’s deeply in debt, like those gamblers you told me about?’ said Flavia. ‘What if he needs to make lots and lots of money fast?’
Sisyphus nodded slowly. ‘Yes. He could sabotage his own team, bet against them, and make a fortune. And because he’s their trainer, nobody would ever suspect him.’
‘Or what if he’s not in debt,’ said Jonathan, ‘but just wants to become fabulously wealthy?’
‘All those scenarios,’ said Sisyphus, ‘would make sense of the facts.’
‘And they all point to Urbanus,’ said Flavia.
‘Wait,’ said Jonathan, ‘what if someone is bribing or blackmailing Urbanus, forcing him to sabotage his own team, but they are the person placing the bets?’
Behind the counter the shopkeeper cleared his throat. He was a cheerful-looking man in a grey tunic. ‘Are you lot going to buy something or just stand there chatting all day?’ he asked. ‘There is a wine shop two arches down, you know.’
Flavia picked up a pale sea-green beaker from a table marked half price and took it to the counter and put down a denarius.
‘Whichever theory you choose,’ she said when she returned to her friends, ‘Urbanus seems to be behind the sabotage. We’ve got to find out why, and we’ve got to stop him.’ She turned to Lupus. ‘Can you go back and spy on him?’
Lupus nodded and Jonathan patted him on the back.
‘Be careful, Lupus!’ called Flavia after him. ‘We’ll make an offering at the shrine for your safety.’ She turned to the others. ‘And we’d better make an offering for the charioteers named on the tablet. Until we solve this mystery, they’re doomed.’
Lupus found Urbanus in the Pavilion of the Greens. The next race was about to start but the head trainer was standing beside a stall, with the hood of his cloak pulled up. He was rocking back and forth, as Jonathan’s father did whenever he prayed. The trainer was repeating a phrase over and over under his breath.
Lupus crept closer and listened with ears as sharp as a rabbit’s. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. Urbanus was speaking Hebrew, uttering a phrase that Lupus had heard many times before in the prayers of Jonathan and his family. But out of context, its meaning eluded him.
‘Selah lanu et hovoteynu. Selah lanu et hovoteynu,’ muttered Urbanus, using the guttural ‘h’ Jonathan called ‘het’. Lupus could tell he was weeping.
‘Selah lanu et hovoteynu.’
It was maddeningly familiar. If only he could remember what it meant.
‘Where did you get the beaker?’ said Aulus Junior, who had moved to sit between his father and Sisyphus. ‘We’ve got some at home like that.’ He spoke with his mouth full. Senator Cornix had just bought everyone spiced sausages from a vendor.
‘I found it at one of the shops in the arcade,’ said Flavia, and handed it to him. ‘It’s pretty, isn’t it? I’m going to give it to pater.’
‘Out of date,’ said Aulus Junior, after giving it a quick glance. ‘Two of the charioteers are from two years ago.’
‘What
do you mean?’
‘See the names of the charioteers around the rim?’ Aulus Junior gestured with his sausage.
‘Oh!’ She turned the beaker in her hand. It was made of pale green glass blown into a mould. ‘I didn’t even notice. It names Hierax, Antilochus, Olympus, and poor Cresces.’
‘Hierax used to be one of the Greens’ best drivers,’ said her uncle, peeling back the cabbage-leaf wrapper from his sausage, ‘but he was horribly maimed in an accident last year. Lost an arm and a leg, if I recall correctly. And Olympus rides for the Reds now. He’s driving in the next race. Four teams of four,’ he added.
‘What’s the name of the Green auriga in the next race?’ asked Flavia.
‘According to this programme—’ Sisyphus rattled a sheet of papyrus ‘—his name is Musclosus.’
‘Didn’t Musclosus used to drive for the Reds?’ said Aulus Junior to his father.
‘I believe so,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘In fact, I believe they traded him for Olympus.’
‘Olympus from my beaker is driving for the Reds now?’ said Flavia.
‘Yes,’ said the senator and his son.
‘Charioteers change factions?’ asked Nubia. ‘Are they not faithful to one colour?’
‘Of course not,’ said Aulus Junior, and rolled his eyes at his father.
‘Charioteers are mostly slaves,’ explained Senator Cornix, ‘like gladiators. And – like gladiators – they get a percentage of any prize money. Some save up to buy their freedom, but that often takes a long time. Until then, they can be bought and sold on from faction to faction.’
‘Don’t you mind? When your favourite charioteer moves from one faction to another?’
‘Of course we’re sad,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘But that’s life. Of course, it works the other way, too. Castor used to drive for the Whites. Then he was sold to the Greens three years ago. We were delighted about that.’
‘Castor’s a slave?’ said Jonathan.
‘Not any more,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘He bought his freedom last year, but couldn’t bear not to race. He’s stayed with the Greens of his own free will,’ he added.
‘Naturally,’ said Aulus Junior.
‘Would you still cheer him if he left the Greens?’ asked Flavia.
‘No,’ said Senator Cornix patiently. ‘We support colours, not horses or drivers.’
‘But Castor would never leave the Greens,’ said Aulus. ‘The other factions are scum. Especially the Blues.’ He took another bite of sausage. ‘I hope you didn’t pay full price for that beaker.’
Sisyphus leaned towards Flavia. ‘Is Musclosus one of the names on the curse-tablet?’ he whispered. ‘I can’t remember.’
Flavia shook her head. She put her half-eaten sausage in the beaker and handed it to him so that she could take out her wax tablet. She had copied the names in the same order they were mentioned on the curse-tablet: Castor, Cresces, Antilochus, Gegas, Phoenix, Tatianus and Eutychus. She silently showed the tablet to them.
‘If Musclosus isn’t named,’ murmured Jonathan, ‘then maybe he’ll win.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Flavia. ‘If my theory is right, the Greens will lose every race they run.’
‘So much for your theory,’ said Jonathan to Flavia, who was covering her eyes with her hands. ‘No doubt about the fact that Musclosus just won the Greens their first victory of the day.’
‘But at such a terrible cost,’ muttered Senator Cornix.
Beside Jonathan, Sisyphus shook his head and tore his papyrus betting slip into tiny pieces.
The race had begun well, with the four teams vying for position and the Reds and Blues running neck and neck. Then, at the turning point of the final lap, the Reds’ inside horse suddenly screamed and surged forward, pulling his team right under the hooves of the Blue team. Swerving violently around the terrible naufragium, the White auriga had to pull up his team to avoid colliding with the Shrine of Murcia, and lost all momentum. The track had been left wide open for the Greens chariot, which until now had been in last place. Musclosus carefully guided his team through the wreckage near the meta prima then flicked them up to speed with his reins. A few moments later they rounded the meta secunda alone and cantered across the finishing line to rapturous applause, the loudest Jonathan had heard so far.
Flavia and Nubia had both averted their eyes from the naufragium, but Jonathan forced himself to look. Medics and sparsores were swarming over the carnage. The Red and Blue charioteers were both dead and three of the horses had to be put out of their agony. As the animals’ bodies were being dragged off the track with hooks, Jonathan glanced across the track to the pulvinar where Titus was now sitting. After dropping the first mappa of the day, the Emperor had moved to the covered seating to join the idols of the gods and goddesses. Even from this distance Jonathan could see his grim expression. Only five races had been run, and already the toll was horrific. The track would have to be purified for the second time that morning and the programme was already running an hour late.
‘Ill-omened,’ muttered a woman behind them. ‘These games are ill-omened.’
‘Your theory about Urbanus must be wrong, too,’ said Jonathan to Flavia. ‘His faction won this time.’
‘Jonathan’s right,’ said Sisyphus. ‘It’s also unlikely that Urbanus could have caused the crash of another faction.’
‘Hey, Flavia!’ called Aulus Junior. ‘The Red charioteer who was killed was Olympus. That means two of the charioteers named on your beaker are dead and one is horribly maimed.’
‘Maybe it is curse beaker,’ said Nubia.
Flavia made the sign against evil. ‘Don’t say such a thing! That last crash was an accident.’
‘That was no accident,’ said Jonathan. ‘The Reds’ inside horse bolted exactly the same way Merula bolted. And at the same place – right before the meta.’
‘This is correct,’ said Nubia.
‘But why?’ muttered Flavia. ‘Why?’
‘I do not know why,’ said Nubia slowly. ‘But I think I know how.’
‘Flavia, we have to tell Urbanus!’ said Jonathan as they entered the Pavilion of the Greens. ‘Otherwise, someone could die.’
‘Like we told him about the curse-tablet?’ said Flavia.
‘This is different. This isn’t superstition. This time we have facts. Nubia knows what frightened the horse.’
Flavia shook her head. ‘I still think Urbanus is the culprit.’
‘He couldn’t have been the cause of that last disaster,’ said Jonathan.
‘Yes he could. I just have to find out how.’
‘Here is the Lupus,’ said Nubia. ‘Lupus!’ cried Flavia, as he ran up to them. She lowered her voice. ‘Have you been watching Urbanus? Has he been acting suspiciously?’
Lupus nodded and glanced around. Urbanus was standing at the mouth of the tent, congratulating Musclosus, fresh from his victory lap. Lupus flipped open his wax tablet and showed it to them.
Jonathan read the tablet, then looked at Lupus. ‘Urbanus was praying? In Hebrew?’
Lupus nodded and pulled them out of sight behind some stalls. Then he pointed to the place on his tablet where he had tried to write down the prayer using Latin letters. Although he had learned a little Hebrew living at Jonathan’s house, he could not yet write the alphabet.
‘Se lac la nu et co vo tey nu,’ read Jonathan haltingly. Then his eyes grew wide. ‘Selah lanu et hovoteynu?’
Lupus nodded vigorously, then raised both eyebrows at Jonathan.
‘Yes, Jonathan, what does it mean?’ said Flavia.
‘You should know that, Lupus,’ said Jonathan. ‘We say it every morning in our prayers. It means: Forgive us our debts.’
‘I knew it!’ cried Flavia. ‘Urbanus is horribly in debt and has to sabotage his own team to win enough to pay back what he owes.’
‘It doesn’t mean that kind of debt, Flavia,’ said Jonathan.
‘It doesn’t?’
‘Well it can, I suppose,
but usually “debts” means sins: Forgive us our sins.’
‘Even better! That proves he’s guilty.’
‘What are you lot doing here?’ said Urbanus behind them and Flavia jumped.
‘Oh, you frightened us!’
‘I told you four to get out!’ said Urbanus, his dark eyes angry.
Flavia glanced at Jonathan. He nodded back firmly and she took a deep breath. ‘Sir, we think we know why the horses are going berserk.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Tell him, Nubia.’
‘When Merula runs past meta in first race,’ said Nubia. ‘I hear something on euripus.’
‘What?’ Urbanus scowled. ‘What did you hear?’
‘Something like very piercy flute trill,’ said Nubia.
‘And?’
‘And then it comes again in race just now. Just before Red horse goes berserk.’
Flavia turned to Urbanus, ‘Scopas told us that horses are sensitive to sound as well as smell. Could the shrill note of a flute drive a horse mad? Like fearful cavalry horses who bolt whenever they hear the trumpet?’
‘Horses are having keen ears,’ said Nubia.
‘I know that,’ snapped Urbanus. ‘I’ve been working with them all my life.’ He glared at Flavia. ‘A shrill sound might irritate or spook a horse, but it wouldn’t make him go berserk.’
‘Maybe he is being trained to fear sound of flute,’ said Nubia. ‘Like horse who fears yellow.’
‘That’s right!’ said Flavia.
‘What are you girls babbling about?’
Flavia answered. ‘Scopas told us about a horse who feared yellow because when he was little, a man in a yellow cloak had beaten him.’
‘What if someone played a flute while they beat Merula?’ said Jonathan.
‘Then the horse would associate the sound of the flute with being beaten,’ said Urbanus slowly. ‘I suppose it could work. But what am I meant to do? Arrest every flute-player and whistle-blower in the hippodrome?’
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘But we can make piercy noise here.’
‘Merula’s not here,’ said Urbanus. ‘He’s back at the stables.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 175