‘Then we’ve got to go there and ask people,’ said Flavia. ‘Maybe someone knows where he lives.’
‘It won’t be any use,’ muttered Jonathan. ‘There must be hundreds of houses on that hill. And it’s almost dark.’
‘Do you have a better plan?’
‘No,’ admitted Jonathan.
‘Then let’s go!’ cried Urbanus.
Through the flames in the doorway, Nubia could see Hierax struggle to his feet, then lurch away on his crutches, an ominous figure in his hooded cloak. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a curly-haired boy on the other side of the flames, gazing at her.
Something sparked a memory. Another face beyond the flames. A boy’s face. A twin’s face. Her brother, Shebitqo. He was the one who had been trapped in the burning tent that night in the desert.
‘No,’ whispered Nubia. ‘No.’
The flames laughed and grew brighter.
Behind her Pegasus was screaming. She had never heard a horse scream like that before. The sound was almost human.
‘No,’ she said again, and she felt the strength drain from her and the world began to go dark.
Lupus whooped with terror as Latro thundered down the steep stone street of the twilit Aventine Hill.
Thankfully, they seemed to be going the right way. It was all Lupus could do to stay on board; there was no way he could guide the stallion. He cried out again as Latro took a skidding turn and he felt himself slipping. But he caught hold of the stallion’s mane and hauled himself back up and gripped tightly with his thighs.
‘Unnggh!’ he tried to send Latro the mental command: Slow down!
The street was deserted, for it was almost dark now, but as Lupus reached the bottom of the hill he saw the distinctive silhouette of the circular temple of Hercules, black against the deep blue twilight. They were coming in to the Forum Boarium. Should he go left towards the stables or right to the pavilion by the Circus Maximus? If he made the wrong decision Nubia could die.
Latro was making for the bronze-bull fountain when a figure with a torch suddenly appeared before them, arms outstretched. It was Senator Cornix. The stallion reared and Lupus clutched the horse’s mane. But Latro remained on his hind legs, pawing the air and whinnying in alarm as people shouted at him in different languages.
One of the voices was Flavia’s, screaming for him to watch out, but it was too late. His fingers were slipping in the horse’s mane and he knew with a terrible certainty that he was going to fall.
Jonathan watched helplessly as Lupus slipped off the rearing horse and fell towards the cold hard paving stones.
Fast as a whip-crack Urbanus was there and Lupus was safely in his arms. And here was Scopas, catching Latro’s mane and calming him with soothing words.
As Urbanus set Lupus down, the boy uttered an inarticulate grunt, then pointed urgently back up the hill.
‘You know where Nubia is?’ cried Flavia.
Lupus nodded and imitated someone limping along on imaginary crutches.
‘Hierax is with her?’ cried Jonathan.
Lupus nodded vigorously.
‘Then let’s go,’ cried Flavia, and Jonathan added, ‘We don’t have a moment to lose!’
Evil comes at dusk when the sun sets behind the city. It has the head of a lion, the body of a goat and a snake for a tail. From its mouth comes fire, a blast of hatred that ignites all before it. Now the hay is burning and the only way past the wall of fire is to ride through it. And this time she cannot wake up, for it is not a dream.
‘No!’ Nubia shook her head to clear it of darkness.
She could not let her beloved Pegasus die the way her little brother had died. She turned away from the wall of flames and looked around the room, lit bright by the fire. There! The trough of water. A few months ago she had seen men soak themselves and their horses in water and jump through flames unharmed. But at that time Pegasus had refused. He must do it this time. It was their only hope of survival.
She ran to the wall and took down the leather bucket and dipped it in the water and tossed it at him. The water drenched his head and mane but only seemed to make him more afraid.
‘No, Pegasus!’ she cried in her own language. ‘We must soak ourselves in water and jump through. Or we will die!’ She stopped for a moment, imagining she could hear screams from the past. ‘No. Pegasus. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t mine. We couldn’t save them because we were little. But now we are big. Now we must be brave.’
This seemed to calm Pegasus a little, for he stopped screaming. But she could see the whites of his eyes, still rolling with terror. Nubia sluiced him down again and again, making sure his tail was soaking wet. She sent him thoughts of vast cool water, of the Tyrrhenian Sea. But the flames were coming closer, the heat now almost unbearable, the smoke making her cough.
She quickly stepped into the bronze water trough. It was only half full now, but she was still able to submerge herself. The water was blood warm from the heat of the flames. She rose up dripping and wiped the water from her eyes and caught Pegasus’s wet golden mane and pulled him closer to the trough. Then she stepped up onto its wet rim and from there onto his trembling back. He reared and pawed the air and she almost slipped off.
‘No, Pegasus!’ She clung to his neck and whispered into an ear pressed flat against his head. ‘We must jump through flames. You can do it! On the other side is cool air and freedom. It was not your fault, Pegasus. Trust me. And fly, Pegasus. Fly!’
‘It’s on fire!’ Flavia screamed. ‘The house is on fire!’
Through the open double doors they could see a flickering orange glow and they could hear the roar of flames.
‘The vigiles!’ bellowed Senator Cornix. ‘Sisyphus! Go find the vigiles!’
‘Yes, master!’ cried Sisyphus and disappeared into the night.
‘Oh no!’ cried Flavia. ‘Nubia’s terrified of fire. What if she’s in there?’
‘She’s not!’ wheezed Jonathan, and pointed. ‘Look!’
They all gazed in astonishment as a girl on a horse emerged from the flames. The horse’s hooves clattered on slippery paving stones and he almost slipped as he charged through the open doors of the townhouse and into the street.
Great orange billows rose up from horse and rider.
‘They’re on fire!’ screamed Flavia. ‘Quick! Put it out!’
‘It’s not fire!’ cried Senator Cornix. ‘It’s just clouds of steam. Look. They’re all right.’
Everyone ran forward. Scopas grasped Pegasus’s mane to calm him as Senator Cornix lifted Nubia down from the horse’s steaming back.
‘Oh, Nubia!’ cried Flavia, throwing her arms around her friend. ‘Nubia, you’re alive!’
For a long moment the girls embraced, while the others crowded round with congratulations and questions.
But presently the roar of the flames was too loud to ignore.
‘Where’s Urbanus?’ cried Jonathan suddenly. ‘He was here a moment ago.’
‘I think I saw him go into the villa,’ said Senator Cornix. ‘He said something about other horses.’
‘Nubia,’ cried Flavia. ‘Are there any horses still in there? Or any people?’
‘No horses,’ said Nubia. ‘And I think no people.’
Jonathan cursed. ‘I’ll get him.’
‘No, Jonathan!’ cried Flavia. ‘Wait for the vigiles. They’ll be here any moment. I can hear their bells ringing.’
Jonathan shook off her arm.
The terrible fire he started last February had killed Urbanus’s family. But now he could atone for that in a small way. He could save Urbanus.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged through the flaming doorway and dived straight into the shallow impluvium, rolling around to drench his clothes and hair. Then he stood up and shook himself off.
There was only one way to go from here, so he ran forward, into the garden courtyard.
A flaming timber fell in the spot he had occupied a moment before, but
he did not allow himself the luxury of fear.
‘Urbanus!’ he cried. ‘Where are you? Urbanus!’ Then a fit of coughing seized him. He remembered something his father had once said: In a fire, more people are killed by smoke than by the flames. Jonathan pulled his damp toga across his mouth and crouched down before running forward.
‘Urbanus!’ he cried again, and this time a weak cry brought his stinging eyes round to a figure lying at the opening of a room. The man was pinned to the ground by a fallen beam which had not yet caught fire.
Even as he moved forward, one of the doorways vomited a surge of flames and sparks.
Jonathan threw himself down on the marble pathway and felt the air sucked from his lungs. For a moment he gasped like a fish on the beach. Then the air returned. But only half a lung-full. The smoke was making his asthma worse. He knew a bad attack was inevitable. If he survived the fire.
With a superhuman effort, Jonathan raised the wooden beam a fraction and Urbanus was able to inch backwards until his leg was out from underneath.
‘I think it’s broken,’ he gasped, his face white with pain. ‘Leave me. Save yourself. I couldn’t bear to have any more deaths on my conscience . . .’
‘I’ll help you . . . Come on.’ Jonathan knew an asthma attack was coming. For the first time in many months he offered up a prayer: ‘Please God . . . not until I get him out.’
Miraculously, he felt his chest loosen a little. He was able to stand and haul Urbanus to his feet and half pull, half drag the man beneath a burning apple tree towards the front of the house.
As they passed into the atrium, Jonathan realised Urbanus’s cloak was on fire. He smothered the flames with his own wet toga, then pulled Urbanus through the double doors and into the waiting arms of his friends.
Then the asthma attack was upon him.
‘I think he’ll be all right.’
Jonathan heard Hippiatros’s Greek-accented voice and opened his eyes. He was lying on a narrow cot in a small torchlit room. ‘Thank goodness you had the sense to tell me about the ephedron,’ the medic was saying. ‘If I hadn’t given him that tincture . . . Oh, there you are. Welcome back.’
‘Jonathan!’ cried Flavia and he saw the faces of his friends as they bent over him. ‘Oh Jonathan, you were so brave!’
Jonathan nodded. He felt exhausted but at least he could breathe.
‘Jonathan,’ said Flavia. ‘The vigiles caught Hierax and the old woman, too. It turns out she was his mother. She made all the bets. But the twins got away. Apparently they used to be sparsores for the Greens. That’s why they knew so much about horses and the Stables of the Greens.’
‘Urbanus?’ wheezed Jonathan. ‘Is Urbanus . . .?’
‘Urbanus is going to be fine,’ came Hippiatros’s voice from nearby. Jonathan turned his head to see Urbanus lying on a cot next to him. ‘His leg’s broken but it’s a clean break.’ Hippiatros looked down at the head trainer. ‘No riding horses for a month or two.’
Urbanus nodded weakly and smiled up at Scopas, who stood stiffly next to the doctor. Then Urbanus turned his pale face towards Jonathan. ‘You risked your life to save me,’ he said. ‘Why?’
Jonathan shook his head weakly, then closed his eyes.
‘I am sorry, master,’ came Scopas’s flat voice. ‘You were kind to me. I should have saved you. I did not know you had gone into the burning house until Jonathan brought you out. I would have gone in after you. Even though I do not like yellow.’
‘Don’t worry, son,’ said Urbanus. ‘You were attending to Pegasus. And I know you would have risked your life to save me. You’re a good boy.’
Jonathan opened his eyes in time to see Urbanus reach out and squeeze Scopas’s hand.
The youth flinched but he did not pull his hand away.
Jonathan closed his eyes again, and smiled.
Nubia did not want to let Pegasus out of her sight, so Senator Cornix reluctantly gave permission for her to spend the night with the horse. ‘Just don’t tell anyone I allowed an unchaperoned girl of marriageable age to sleep in the Stables of the Greens,’ he had muttered, giving her a quick pat on the head.
She and Scopas had eaten a bowl of mutton stew in the stable kitchens, and now they were bedded down on sawdust and hay in the spacious stall of Incitatus. Nubia lay wrapped in her leaf-green palla, wide awake in the warm, sweet-smelling darkness, close enough to Pegasus to hear his breathing.
‘Nubia?’ said Scopas. She could tell from the softness of his voice that he was squeezed between Pegasus and the frescoed wall.
‘Yes?’
‘Flavia told me that Nubia is not your real name.’
‘This is correct. Nubia is name slave-dealer gives me. It is name Romans give my country.’
‘What is your real name?’
‘Shepenwepet.’
‘Shepenwepet. Do you want me to call you Shepenwepet?’
‘No. Nubia is my new name for my new life with Flavia and Jonathan and Lupus.’
‘Do you like them?’
‘I love them,’ said Nubia. ‘They are my family now.’
‘Yes,’ said Scopas in his softly muffled voice. ‘Sometimes it is possible to find a family not of your own flesh and blood.’
In the pause that followed Nubia heard Pegasus breathing slow and steady. She could smell his scent mixed with that of the sweet hay.
‘Nubia?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why did you try to take Pegasus away from here?’
‘I wanted him to run free in Alban Hills.’
‘What are Alban Hills?’
‘They are south of here. They are a paradise for horses.’
‘Urbanus says the Greens have a stud farm in the Sabine Hills. He says it is a paradise for horses. He says Pegasus will be happy there because there are mares and green fields. In the summer he drives them up to the mountain pastures to toughen their hooves. Urbanus says the horses love that.’
‘But I do not want his legs crackled in the wheels.’
‘You think chariot racing is dangerous. You want to protect him.’
‘Yes.’
‘You are correct to think that chariot racing is dangerous. But it is also exciting. And some,’ he added, ‘were born to race.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I cannot read or write,’ said Scopas. ‘I do not understand people very well. But I understand horses and I am an excellent auriga. I like to race.’
‘I am glad you like to race. But I do not want to see Pegasus hurt.’
‘Maybe Pegasus likes to race, too. Have you asked him?’
Nubia shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see in the darkness.
‘Why don’t you ask him now?’
Nubia moved closer to Pegasus. The stallion sighed as she rested her cheek against his neck.
‘Pegasus,’ she whispered, ‘do you want to race in the hippodrome or run free in green pastures? Tell me.’
He snorted softly and an image came immediately into her mind. Nubia gasped.
‘Do you see something?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘I see Pegasus with a palm branch in his chest strap. I hear the crowds cheering.’ Nubia began to sob.
‘Why are you crying?’
‘He is happy.’
Nubia woke with the notes of a song playing in her head, and she realised she had not heard music in her mind for a long time. It was a song she knew. It was the song of a horse galloping free on a sandy beach under a golden sun and blue skies. It was the Song of Pegasus.
She smiled and stretched and turned her head to see her beloved Pegasus lying on the soft hay nearby. She smelled his aroma and felt his warmth and sensed his peace, and in that moment she was perfectly happy.
There was a lattice window high up in the frescoed stable and presently the sweet notes of a bird flowed through and she saw the sky growing light. Scopas stretched and yawned and turned his head to look at her.
&nbs
p; ‘Zip q’nee,’ he said softly.
‘What does that mean?’
Scopas thought for a moment. ‘When I was little, these words would run around my head like chariots in the circus. I do not know what they mean. But they comfort me. They are silvery-green. I like silvery-green.’
‘Zip q’nee,’ said Nubia thoughtfully, then nodded. ‘Yes. They are silvery-green words.’
From somewhere inside the stables a wooden gong clattered, so they roused Pegasus.
Scopas showed Nubia how to mix a bucket of the best Cappadocian feed, a mixture of barley, beans and vetch bound together with the beaten yolks of sparrow eggs.
When they had fed and watered Pegasus they brushed him, working together in happy silence. Nubia was plaiting the stallion’s mane with green ribbons and Scopas was rubbing walnut oil into his hooves, when a noise at the doorway made them turn.
The blond groom called Priscus was standing with some of the stable boys.
‘Salve, Scopas,’ he said gruffly, and glanced at the other boys. They nodded their encouragement. ‘We wanted you to have this.’ Priscus stepped forward and held out a boar’s tusk on a leather thong. ‘It will bring you good luck for the race today.’
‘Thank you,’ said Scopas. He stood stiffly and allowed Priscus to slip the amulet over his head.
The other stable boys shuffled forward as more people entered the frescoed stall.
‘Good morning, Nubia,’ said Flavia, making her way to the front.
‘Good morning,’ grinned Jonathan, and Lupus waved.
‘Good morning, Nubia. I hear you had quite an adventure while I was groaning in a shuttered room.’
‘Aristo!’ cried Nubia. ‘How is your tooth?’
‘The tooth-puller had to come again,’ said Aristo, gingerly rubbing his jaw. ‘But praise the gods: it’s finally out.’
‘And that’s where I want the rest of you!’ cried Urbanus cheerfully from the doorway. ‘Out! You may have saved the day but I’ve got twenty-four races to oversee and no time to stand about chatting. Out, out, out!’ He was leaning on crutches, but when Nubia started to pass he put out his hand. ‘Not you, Nubia. You can stay. You’re always welcome among the Greens. Here.’ He removed his wristband and handed it to her. It was made of jade, with a tiny gold hinge and clasp. ‘If anyone ever questions your right to be here,’ he said, ‘just show them that.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 180