‘But he just married her,’ said Flavia. ‘Won’t she automatically inherit?’
‘Not at all,’ said her father. ‘According to Roman law, wives and husbands have no automatic claim on each other’s property. If she’s not named in his will then the estate could be bitterly contested after his death. And Cordius has plenty of legacy-hunters eager to do such a thing. They won’t be pleased about the new will, but it might thin them out. I’ll be glad to see the back of them.’
‘Cordius has legacy-hunters?’ asked Flavia. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Of course he has legacy-hunters,’ said her father. ‘Until he got married last week he was the perfect type of fish for them to cast their baited lines to: childless, rich and old.’
‘Childless, rich and old,’ echoed Flaccus, and glanced over his shoulder at Lynceus, who stood quietly behind him. Flavia saw Lynceus give his young master a sad nod. Flaccus turned back. ‘I hate legacy-hunters. They cultivated my father even though he wasn’t childless. But I was his only obvious heir, and I always felt them watching me and hoping for me to die first.’
‘I wonder if Nonius was a captator,’ mused Flavia.
‘I forget which one is Nonius,’ said Nubia. ‘Their names are most confusing.’
‘Nonius is the man who inherited Dives’s estate,’ explained Flavia. ‘The man with the light brown skin and swollen eye. He’s the one who’s accusing Hephzibah of murder.’
Aristo shrugged. ‘Some say Nonius was a captator, and some say no. But Nonius’s father was Dives’s best friend and tentmate when they served together in Judaea. So I’m guessing he was a genuine friend rather than an inheritance-hunter.’
Flaccus shook his head. ‘I wonder if any rich man has true friends. There’s a saying doing the rounds of Rome at the moment: If you’re childless, rich and getting old, your so-called friends are probably after your gold.’
The sixth day of December dawned clear and cold. The four friends spent the whole morning lesson studying the basics of rhetoric, on Flavia’s request. She wanted to be able to understand the next day’s court case, and Aristo agreed this was a useful thing to know.
The winter sun had almost reached its zenith when a knock came at the front door. Caudex was out shopping with Alma so Lupus ran forward to push back the bolt and open the door.
It was Flaccus and his slave. ‘Sorry to interrupt your lesson.’ Flaccus was unwrapping his toga as he walked across the atrium towards the inner garden. ‘We’ve spent the whole morning interviewing Hephzibah of Jerusalem, one of the seven survivors of Masada. I have a few more witnesses to interview before I write my speech. I’ll leave you to finish your lesson.’
‘No!’ cried Flavia. ‘Don’t go! We’ve been studying the six parts of a speech all morning. Test us!’
Flaccus paused in the corridor leading into the inner garden and turned back to them with a smile. ‘Very quickly, then,’ he said to them. He handed his toga to Lynceus. ‘Take this up to my room and bring down my travelling cloak.’
‘Yes, master,’ said Lynceus, and left.
Flaccus turned back to them. ‘Go on, then, Flavia,’ he said with a smile. ‘Tell me the first part of a speech.’
‘The prologue!’ cried Flavia. ‘The beginning of your speech is the prologue.’
Flaccus nodded. ‘Very good! I call it the exordium, as Quintilian does. This is when I must gain the sympathy of the judges and spectators.’ He winked at Aristo, who was sitting back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. ‘Did your tutor teach you the next step?’
‘Yes!’ cried Flavia. ‘The narration. Where you tell what happened. Like a story.’
Aristo gave a grunt of approval. ‘And after the narration?’ said Flaccus. ‘What comes next? Somebody other than Flavia?’
Jonathan looked up at the ceiling. ‘The proposition,’ he recited, ‘in which you present your case and the line of argument you intend to take.’
‘Exactly so. And then we have . . . Lupus?’
Lupus held up his wax tablet. On it he had written the six steps of a rhetor’s speech. He pointed to the fourth item on the list: PROOFS.
Flaccus leaned forward, squinted at the tablet, then added. ‘Correct. Proofs are next, when you back up your theory with facts, witnesses and evidence.’
‘Then comes the refutation,’ said Flavia, ‘where you try to guess which arguments your opponent might have and refute them before he can even list them.’
‘Excellent,’ said Flaccus. ‘Nubia. Can you tell me the final and sixth step of the orator’s speech?’
Nubia gazed up at him and solemnly shook her head. ‘All the words are sounding the same to me,’ she said.
Flaccus smiled. ‘The final part of the rhetor’s speech is called the peroration. That is when I must sum up the case, appeal to the judges’ better nature and ask them to vote justly.’
‘It is very confusing,’ said Nubia in a small voice.
Lupus tapped her shoulder and held up his wax tablet.
They all looked at Lupus’s tablet. On it he had added explanations for each of the six steps.
EXORDIUM
INTRODUCTION
NARRATION
WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE THE CRIME
PROPOSITION
HOW THE CRIME WAS COMMITTED
PROOFS
EVIDENCE AND CLUES
REFUTATION
HOW YOUR OPPONENT IS WRONG
PERORATION
CONCLUSION
Nubia’s amber eyes lit up. ‘Oh! I understand,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Lupus.’
‘Well done, Lupus,’ said Aristo. ‘You’ve put the six parts of an orator’s speech in terms that are clear and simple.’
Flaccus sighed. ‘I just hope I can state the case as clearly tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Lupus,’ said Flavia, ‘if only you could speak, you’d be a brilliant orator.’
‘He doesn’t need to speak,’ said Flaccus. ‘Don’t you know the story of the King of Pontus and the pantomimes?’
‘What is pant oh mine?’ asked Nubia.
Aristo smiled. ‘It’s a type of play in which the lead actor wears a mask and acts out a story with dance and gestures. He is accompanied by a chorus singing the story, and by musical instruments.’
‘And the lead actor is called a pantomime, too,’ said Flaccus, turning to go to his room.
‘Don’t go yet, Floppy!’ cried Flavia. ‘Tell us the story about the king and the pantomimes!’
Flaccus shook his head. ‘I’ve got to ride out to Laurentum,’ he said, ‘and make some enquiries.’
‘Oh, please tell us! Just the short version.’
He sighed and turned back to them. ‘Very well; the short version. It happened in the time of Nero, when my father was a senator. The King of Pontus was visiting Rome and Nero took him to see some pantomimes. Having no Latin, the King of Pontus couldn’t understand the words of the songs or speeches, but the gestures of the pantomimes were so clear that he was able to follow the performances from beginning to end. The king begged Nero to give him some of the pantomimes, saying he could take them home and use them instead of interpreters. Of course we orators do not like to be grouped with pantomimes, but the principle is the same. You can speak very eloquently through gesture.’
Lupus spread his hands, as if to say There you are, and when they all laughed he bowed.
Lynceus appeared from the direction of the inner garden. He held his master’s travelling cloak in his hands.
‘Tempus fugit!’ he said, ‘Time flies.’
‘Well put,’ said Flaccus and accepted the cloak. ‘We’ve got to fly, too.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Flavia.
‘We’re going to Nonius’s estate. I want to talk to . . .’ He glanced at Jonathan.
‘Restituta,’ said Jonathan.
‘Restituta,’ said Flaccus, ‘to get to the bottom of the rumour that Dives was murdered. I also want to interview the slaves and freedmen, too. I ho
pe to find out more about Dives and Nonius, their former and present masters.’
‘Then you’re not going to the synagogue?’
He frowned. ‘Why would I go to the synagogue?’
Without answering him Flavia excitedly turned to Aristo. ‘Please, may we go to the synagogue?’ she asked. ‘I think I’ve just realised what find the other six means!’
‘That boy and his family follow a blasphemous doctrine,’ said the rabbi gruffly, glowering down at Jonathan. He turned to Flavia, ‘But you and he have been doing good deeds in the community. For that reason I will grant you a short interview.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Flavia politely. She and her friends followed the bearded, turbaned Jew through the arched doorway of the synagogue. As they emerged into the bright inner courtyard, Flavia looked around.
Two summers ago, she and Jonathan and Nubia had come here to hide from kidnappers. The fig tree was bare now, but it was a sunny morning and the rabbi indicated that they should sit on a marble bench beneath it. He clapped his hands and a few moments later a boy in a cream tunic brought out a light table with steaming beakers of sweet sage tea and almond pastries. The boy put the table before the bench and disappeared back inside.
‘Tell me,’ said the rabbi. ‘How can I help you.’
‘Have you heard of the case of Hephzibah of Jerusalem?’ asked Flavia.
The rabbi nodded. ‘Yes, I have heard. Some of the freedmen from Nonius’s estate attend our services. Again I say: it is a good deed you are doing, defending her.’
‘Did you know that she was one of the seven survivors of Masada?’ asked Jonathan.
The rabbi nodded solemnly. ‘I know.’
‘We think,’ said Flavia, ‘that the other survivors might provide a clue to the death of the magistrate Papillio. His dying words were find the other six. we know that Hephzibah’s mother died last year, so now there are only five. Do you know where any of them are?’
‘I only know where one of them is,’ said the rabbi. ‘A youth called Zechariah. He was the youngest of them and he is now nine years old.’
‘Zechariah!’ cried Flavia, and looked excitedly at the others. ‘I think that was the name of the little boy who got hungry.’ She turned back to the rabbi. ‘Can you tell us where he is?’
‘I can do better than that,’ said the rabbi. He clapped his hands again and the serving-boy reappeared. ‘Zechariah,’ said the rabbi, ‘these children are friends of one of your fellow-survivors. They would like to speak to you.’
‘Did you learn anything useful at the synagogue?’ Flaccus asked Flavia later that afternoon as they ate an early dinner of hot bean soup and cold roast chicken.
Flavia put down her spoon and shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she said, ‘but we met the youngest survivor of Masada, a boy named Zechariah. He was taken to Rome along with the others. Do you know Josephus? The Emperor’s freedman, who’s writing about the Jewish Wars?’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Flaccus, ‘but I’ve never met him.’
‘Well, Josephus bought all seven survivors, but eventually he sold Zechariah and the other three children to a tavern-owner in Rome. They died in the fever last year, all apart from Zechariah. He was the only one to survive. He’s nine years old now. The priest from the synagogue bought him and has adopted him.’
‘Rabbi,’ said Jonathan, mopping his empty bowl with a piece of bread. ‘The priest is called a rabbi.’
‘What about the old woman?’ asked Flaccus, taking a piece of chicken from the platter. ‘Hephzibah told me there was an old woman who survived the siege, too.’
‘Yes, but according to Zechariah she died while they were still in the service of Josephus.’
‘So those weren’t the six you’re looking for?’
‘No,’ sighed Flavia. ‘It was an empty amphora. How about you? Did you visit Nonius’s estate?’
‘Yes,’ said Flaccus, ‘Luckily Nonius wasn’t there; I don’t think he would have been very welcoming. But his bailiff was. He took me to interview Restituta and some of the slaves.’
‘What did Artoria Restituta say?’ asked Flavia.
‘Not much. As you guessed, she is reluctant to say which of the slaves claims that Dives was smothered. If she named him, he would be arrested and tortured. I also saw Hephzibah’s friend, Priscilla.’
‘Slave-girl who is pregnant,’ said Nubia.
‘Yes.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Flavia.
‘Nothing, really. She just said that everybody loved Hephzibah, especially the children on the estate.’ Flaccus tossed a chicken bone onto the floor. ‘Oh, she did say one curious thing.’
‘Yes?’ They all looked at him.
‘She said she couldn’t wait to live with Hephzibah.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know. When I asked her she suddenly sank to a chair and claimed to feel weak. She’s terribly young – not much older than you two girls – and terribly pregnant. I’m not an expert on these things, but I’d say she’s overdue.’
‘And did you learn anything from your interview with Hephzibah this morning?’ asked Aristo.
Flaccus shook his head. ‘Nothing new. Nothing you hadn’t told us before. Poor girl. She reminds me of Cassandra, the red-haired princess who survived the terrible destruction of Troy only to find death in the land of her captors.’
‘Did Cassandra have red hair?’ murmured Flavia. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘I feel like Cassandra,’ said Jonathan. ‘I keep having these dreams and nobody believes me.’
‘Ora non umquam credita,’ said a voice. ‘Lips that are never believed.’ They all looked up to see Lynceus standing in the doorway. ‘Virgil,’ he said, and added. ‘It will be dark soon, master, and you have a long day tomorrow.’
‘You’re like an old nursemaid,’ grumbled Flaccus. ‘But you’re right. I have a big day tomorrow and I should retire. I want to get up before dawn to make a sacrifice to Janus, the god of good beginnings.’
On the morning of the trial, Jonathan woke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding and his mind spinning. He had dreamt the dream again. The dream about the funeral on the foggy day. It had seemed so real. He could still smell the fog, and the myrrh used to anoint corpses.
He sat up too quickly and felt sick. He waited for the nausea to pass, then wondered whether to lie down again or go to the latrine.
‘I’m going to die,’ he whispered. ‘Or someone close to me. Dear Lord, please avert this disaster.’
There was a grunt to his left. Jonathan turned to see Lupus, sitting on his bed. Lupus looked as pale as Jonathan felt.
‘What? What is it, Lupus?’
His friend held out a wax tablet.
It was not sealed, so Jonathan opened it.
A moment later he looked up at Lupus. ‘Master of the Universe, Lupus! What possessed you to write this today? It’s your last will and testament.’
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LUPUS.
I LEAVE MY SHIP, THE DELPHINA, TO MY FRIEND JONATHAN BEN MORDECAI, WHO TOOK ME INTO HIS HOME AND LET ME SHARE HIS BEDROOM.
I ASK THAT MY GOLD BE DIVIDED FOUR WAYS. ONE PART TO JONATHAN, ONE PART TO FLAVIA GEMINA AND ONE PART TO NUBIA. THE REMAINING QUARTER IS TO BE SENT TO MY MOTHER, WHO SERVES THE GOD APOLLO AT DELPHI. I ALSO ASK THAT JONATHAN, FLAVIA AND NUBIA WILL BE KIND TO HER AND CARE FOR HER AS IF SHE WERE THEIR OWN MOTHER.
HERE ENDS THE WILL OF LUPUS, WRITTEN THIS SEVENTH DAY BEFORE THE IDES OF DECEMBER IN THE SECOND YEAR OF TITUS.
It was a mild winter morning. A pearly skin of high cloud covered the domed sky, like the membrane on a boiled egg.
In the middle of the forum, Praeco the town crier stood on his plinth, announcing the trial and summoning various witnesses and citizens. The ground floor of Ostia’s basilica was already crowded with people when Aristo and the four friends arrived.
Flavia had visited the offices on the first floor but she had never been on the vast ground floor of
the basilica itself. Its lofty central nave was flanked by elegant columns of polished marble: pink veined with grey. The floor was made of highly polished marble, too: squares of inlaid apricot on creamy white.
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia, looking up. ‘Pigeons.’
Flavia tipped her head back as she followed Nubia’s gaze up the polished columns to the distant roof. Pigeons fluttered high above them, dots against the high painted ceiling. Arched windows let in the pearly light of the bright December morning.
‘Great Juno’s peacock,’ she cried. ‘It’s huge.’
‘It makes for a dramatic sense of space and light,’ shouted Aristo over the babble of the crowd, ‘but the acoustics are dire. Particularly when you have more than one case in progress.’
Flavia looked at him in surprise. ‘They have more than one case at a time in here?’
He nodded. ‘Sometimes as many as four at a time. They screen them off with curtains. My friend Leander and I occasionally come to watch from the gallery. Especially if someone famous is pleading. Luckily ours is the only case today.’
‘All these people come to see Hephzibah?’ asked Nubia.
Aristo nodded. ‘This is the first murder trial they’ve had here in years; most murder cases are tried up in Rome.’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ muttered Flavia, as a man jostled her. ‘It’s getting too crowded in here.’
‘Come this way,’ said Aristo, linking his right arm through Flavia’s and his left through Nubia’s.
At the southern end of the basilica was an empty square area marked off by scarlet ropes and marble benches. Behind a rank of tiered marble benches at the basilica’s far end stood a large cube of white marble with a bronze chair on top.
‘What is that?’ said Nubia, pointing.
‘That’s the podium, or dais,’ said Aristo. ‘It’s where the chairman for the most important hearing sits. Today, that’s us.’ He pointed. ‘Those tiered seats below the podium are for the judges. Probably thirty decurions for this case. The benches to the chairman’s left are for the prosecutors and the ones on his right for the defence. And the ones on the end are for witnesses and distinguished guests. Do you see how the four ranks of benches form a small courtyard? That’s where the lawyers stand to plead their case. Speaking of the lawyer, here he is now.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 191