‘Very appropriate,’ he said with a smile.
‘Don’t I need to find seven Roman citizens to witness this?’
‘No. Because you’re still a child-in-power, this will isn’t strictly legal. However, I would like you to seal it in front of me. That’s it. Press it into the wax. Harder. Good. As your tutor I have the authority to confirm that it was done correctly and in my presence.’ He wrote his name at the bottom of the wax tablet and pressed his own sardonyx signet-ring in the wax. Flavia knew it had the lyre of Apollo engraved upon it.
‘There,’ he said. ‘If you should die before your father—’ here they both made the sign against evil ‘—then at least he’ll know your wishes. And if you outlive him you can make a new official will based on this one, with seven witnesses and the proper terminology. You might even ask a jurist to check it over. The tiniest lapse in legality can leave a will open to challenge.’
‘Thank you, Aristo,’ said Flavia. ‘It was awful being the only one who hadn’t made a will. Even though it’s not strictly legal,’ she added.
‘Not quite finished,’ he said with a smile. He reached into his belt pouch and brought out a tiny bronze box the size and shape of a fat myrtle leaf. ‘This is a gift from me to you.’
‘Oh, it’s sweet! What is it?’
‘It’s a seal-box. Close the wax tablet. That’s it. Now take a piece of string and tie it tightly around the tablet and the seal box – you have to open its lid – so that the box is on the outside of the wax tablet. Do you see the two tiny nicks in the seal-box, for the string to come out either side, like the nicks in the middle of the wax tablet?’
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia. ‘I knew the little nicks were for binding the wax tablet with string, but I didn’t know you could attach a little box, too! It’s very clever.’
‘You have to open the little lid before you tie it up and do the knot. See the tiny holes in the bottom of the seal box? When you drip in the hot wax, some of it leaks out through those holes and sticks it to the wooden outside of the wax tablet. But of course the string holds it in place, too . . .’
When Flavia had tied the string around the tablet and seal box, Aristo lit a taper of blue wax and dripped it in so that the liquid filled the box and covered the knot in the string. ‘Now press your signet-ring into the wax. Quickly! Before it hardens. Good. Now close the lid of the seal-box to protect the seal inside!’
‘Oh! I see!’ cried Flavia. ‘The only way to open the tablet now is either to break the seal or cut the string.’
‘Precisely. Not even a hot needle will get us into this will.’
‘A hot needle?’
‘Some unscrupulous people have been known to open sealed documents with a red-hot needle, and then close them again. You can’t do that with a seal box.’
There was a soft scratching and they both looked up to see Nubia standing in the wide doorway of the tablinum. ‘Hephzibah is awake at Jonathan’s,’ she said. ‘Miriam says you may speak to her.’
Hephzibah was propped up on cushions with Miriam sitting beside her. It was dusk outside, and Delilah had just finished lighting the oil-lamp. Hephzibah’s magnificent copper hair fanned out on the pillows behind her and seemed to glow in the light of a twelve-wicked candelabra.
Flavia and Nubia came shyly into her presence, while Flaccus waited outside with Lupus.
‘Hello, Hephzibah,’ said Flavia softly, ‘I know it was horrible for you this morning. But we need you to answer a few more questions. Can you do that?’
Hephzibah nodded. There were dark circles under her eyes.
Flavia sat on the edge of the bed and took Hephzibah’s hand. It was as cold as marble. ‘Jonathan and Mordecai have gone to Rome,’ she said gently, ‘to try to find some evidence which will prove you are innocent. Flaccus is just outside in the corridor, with Lupus. He can hear everything, but he didn’t want to intrude.’
‘We’ve had a breakthrough,’ came Flaccus’s deep voice from beyond the curtain. ‘But we need to know a few more things. You need to be honest with us.’
Hephzibah nodded, and then whispered, ‘Yes.’
Flavia turned to Hephzibah. ‘We need to know. Did you have an argument with Dives, your master, about a week ago?’
Hephzibah closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘What was it about?’
‘He asked me if I was from Jerusalem. I said yes. Then he said he was sorry. I asked why. He told me . . . he told me he had been one of the soldiers who had besieged it.’
‘Dives was at Jerusalem?’ asked Miriam.
‘Yes. Then he asked me if I had been at Masada.’
‘What did you say?’ asked Flavia.
‘I said yes. Then he asked me if I had been there when I was a little girl. I just stared at him. He said he had been there, too. He was one of the two soldiers who had found us hiding in the cistern.’ Hephzibah opened her eyes. ‘He was the soldier who limped.’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ whispered Flavia.
Hephzibah’s brown eyes were filling with tears. ‘Then he said that he and I were linked. That some god had brought us together and he wanted us to marry. I couldn’t bear it any more. I screamed that I hated him and I ran out of the room.’
‘And that’s why you killed him?’ said Flavia softly.
‘I did not kill him.’
‘But he was one of the soldiers who destroyed Jerusalem and Masada.’
‘I know, but I did not kill him. The following day he summoned me again and said he understood how I might hate one of the oppressors of my people. He said he would not hurry my decision. He said he wanted to earn my love and prove he was sincere. Papillio was there – the man with the butterfly birthmark – and they set me free. The next day, my master was dead.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us he asked you to marry him?’
‘Because it’s too horrible to think about. He was so fat and old. And he was one of those who destroyed my city. Jerusalem the golden.’
‘Do you realise that gives you a motive?’ said Flavia. ‘A motive for killing Dives?’
‘But I didn’t!’ As the tears in Hephzibah’s brown eyes overflowed. Miriam looked at Flavia reproachfully.
‘I know Hephzibah would not harm the least creature,’ she said.
‘Hephzibah,’ said Flaccus from beyond the curtain. ‘Do you think anyone apart from the garden-slave could have overheard you when you had the argument about marrying him?’
‘Perhaps. I was so upset. I ran out of his room, crying.’
‘For example, was Nonius there?’
‘I didn’t see him.’ Hephzibah blew her nose on a handkerchief.
‘Tell us about Nonius,’ said Flavia.
‘I don’t know much about him,’ said Hephzibah. ‘Just what the other slaves say.’
‘What do they say?’
‘That his father was a legionary in the Tenth, one of the legions that . . .’ Here her eyes filled with fresh tears.
‘We know,’ said Flavia quickly. ‘Go on.’
‘They say his mother was from Syria. She and Nonius followed the father on campaign. I think Nonius’s father was killed in the siege.’
‘The siege of Jerusalem?’
‘Yes. And his mother died of a fever a few years later.’
‘I didn’t think legionaries were allowed to get married until they retire,’ said Flaccus from the corridor. ‘I know they often have girlfriends and children, but they aren’t legal.’
‘I think,’ said Hephzibah towards the curtained doorway, ‘that Vespasian honoured the children of the men who died in the siege by granting them citizenship, just as if their fathers had been married.’
‘Did Nonius serve in Judaea, too?’ asked Flavia. ‘Like his father?’
‘The army would never accept Nonius,’ said Hephzibah.
‘Why not?’ asked Flavia.
‘He is left-handed. Anyone who has lived in an occupied country knows there are no left-handed soldiers.’
&nb
sp; ‘What is left-handed?’ asked Nubia.
‘It means someone who uses their left hand instead of their right,’ said Flavia. ‘We Romans believe that’s bad luck.’
From the corridor Flaccus added, ‘Even the word for left-handed – “sinister” – means unlucky and ominous.’
Miriam was amazed. ‘Are you saying no left-handed men can join the Roman army because it’s bad luck?’
‘Actually,’ came Flaccus’s deep voice, ‘the reason for not enlisting left-handed men is practical. In a Roman army, every soldier stands shoulder to shoulder with the man next to him. He holds the shield on his left arm, and half of it covers the man on his left, just as he himself is partly protected by the man on his right. A left-handed man would have to hold his shield on the right, and it would throw off the whole line.’
Flavia nodded at the curtained doorway then turned back to Hephzibah. ‘So,’ she said, ‘as far as you know Nonius never served in the army. Never owned a gladius.’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Hephzibah. Outside it was quite dark and her face was pale in the flickering lamplight.
‘And he was friends with Dives?’
‘Yes. Because his father had been Dives’s friend and tentmate.’
‘That’s right! Dives served with Nonius’s father in Judaea! That’s the link between Dives and Nonius.’
‘Yes. Dives took Nonius in as a service to the dead father.’
‘Is there anything else?’ said Flaccus from beyond the curtain. ‘Anything else you can tell us about Nonius? Anything at all, no matter how trivial?’
Hephzibah stared up at the flickering ceiling. ‘He likes to count his money. He worships the god Mercury. He often loses his temper. And he refuses to eat brown bread, only white. That is all I know.’
‘Does he have a wife?’ asked Flavia. ‘Or a girlfriend?’
‘Or a boyfriend?’ said Flaccus.
Hephzibah shook her head and closed her eyes. ‘I don’t think so. I think he only loves gold.’
The funeral procession made its way slowly through the fog-shrouded streets of Ostia. Jonathan could hear the wailing before he saw it. Then the mourners emerged from the fog – like spectres – becoming more and more solid with each step. Presently he could make out Nubia leading the procession and playing her flute. Flavia and Lupus followed close behind her. On either side of the bier walked his father and mother. And behind them came the Geminus brothers, Marcus and Gaius, their heads covered by their togas.
Alma was there. And Caudex. But he could not see himself anywhere.
Was his the body on the bier?
The procession came closer and closer and just as he was about to see the face, he woke up.
But the bed was not his own. The room was too low and too wide. The sounds drifting in through the dark window were those of a city waking, not the usual dawn chorus of birds.
Then he remembered.
He and his father were in Rome. The previous afternoon they had visited the Temple of Hercules Victor in the Forum Boarium, but had found no will of Artorius Dives. They had also visited two temples of Hercules near the Circus Maximus. They had even visited the Vesta Virgins, but without success.
They would have to try other temples this morning, but they would not have much time. He knew if they could not produce the copy in Ostia in five hours time, the case would almost certainly be lost.
‘Dear Lord,’ he prayed. ‘Please help us find Dives’s will, if it exists.’ But even as he prayed, he did not really believe his prayer would be heard.
Because of morning rites in honour of the god Tiberinus, Hephzibah’s case had not been scheduled to resume until the fourth hour after dawn. Flavia and her friends duly arrived at the basilica two hours before noon, and found it almost too crowded to move. Aristo took a deep breath and began to shoulder his way through the excited crowd. Flavia, Nubia and Lupus followed in his wake.
When they finally emerged into the open space formed by the benches and podium, Flavia saw that Hephzibah and Flaccus were already sitting on the defendant’s bench.
Flavia gasped.
The slave-girl’s head was uncovered and her hair unpinned, as befitted a woman in mourning. It floated in a magnificent copper cloud about her shoulders. She was dressed in the same long black tunic she had worn the day before. The rip had not been repaired and it exposed her creamy neck and right shoulder. The stark black cloth emphasised her pale complexion and made her brown eyes seem huge. She had lined her eyes in dark kohl, which had streaked where she had been weeping.
Flavia thought she looked deeply tragic and utterly beautiful.
The judges filing to their seats obviously thought so, too. They were all staring at her open-mouthed, some bumping into those before them.
‘Brilliant,’ whispered Aristo. ‘What a master-stroke. Play them at their own game. And to have Miriam sitting beside her. That should confound the prosecution.’
Flavia took a step forward and Miriam came into view, sitting beside Hephzibah. Her head was also uncovered, and her glossy black curls tumbled down out of a lavender scarf. She had also put on eye-liner and stained her lips light pink. Ripely pregnant and luminous in a grape-coloured silk stola, Flavia thought she had never looked more beautiful.
‘What a pair of goddesses,’ breathed Aristo. ‘It’s a shame I have to sit behind them.’
‘At least you’ll be able to concentrate,’ said Flavia. ‘Unlike the other side. Look at Bato and Poplicola.’
Lupus grunted and pointed at the lawyers on the bench for the prosecution, now also taking their seats. Nubia giggled behind her hand. ‘They look like men having seen the head of Medusa.’
‘But turned to stone by beauty rather than ugliness,’ said Aristo with a chuckle. As they filed along the bench to take their seats, he bent forward and said in Flaccus’s ear, ‘Was this your idea?’
Flaccus nodded grimly.
‘He’s angry,’ Flavia whispered.
‘Yes,’ agreed Aristo. ‘And that’s a good thing.’
Praeco the herald banged his staff for order and stepped forward:
‘SECOND DAY OF THE TRIAL OF HEPHZIBAH BAT DAVID,’ he blared. ‘ORDER IN THE COURTROOM. ORDER PLEASE!’
Fat, bald Gratus rose from his bronze chair. The chairman did not waste time on preliminaries: ‘The defendant has been accused of triple homicide,’ he said. ‘If this grave accusation can be proved – even in part – and if her status is confirmed as being that of a slave, it will be my duty to pass down a sentence of crucifixion.’
Flavia gasped and exchanged a horrified look with Nubia.
On the bench in front of them, Miriam took Hephzibah’s hand and squeezed it. Hephzibah shuddered, but showed no other sign of emotion.
Praeco banged his bronze staff again. ‘MARCUS FABIUS QUINTILIANUS TO SPEAK FOR THE PROSECUTION!’
From the bench opposite, Poplicola rose to his feet. ‘Esteemed Chairman and Honoured Judges,’ he smiled. ‘I regret to say that my erudite and famous colleague Quintilian had to return to Rome. A family emergency. You will have to hear the proposition, proofs and peroration from me rather than him.’
The crowd groaned and Poplicola’s smile froze on his face.
‘That’s good news for us,’ whispered Flavia.
‘And that looks like bad news,’ said Aristo. He jerked his chin up towards the gallery.
Jonathan and his father stood looking down at them. One look at their faces and posture told Flavia what she needed to know. They had not found Dives’s will in Rome.
*
Flavia looked up at Jonathan in the gallery above them. She gave him a consoling shrug and a smile, as if to say, At least you tried.
‘Where is the Lupus?’ asked Nubia.
Flavia looked around. ‘I don’t know. He was here a minute ago.’
‘Oh,’ said Nubia. ‘There.’ She pointed up. Lupus had just appeared in the upper gallery beside Jonathan.
‘How did he get through this cr
owd so quickly?’ said Flavia.
‘Crawling through forest of legs?’ suggested Nubia.
Up on the balcony, Mordecai was saying something to Lupus and shaking his head. Lupus looked dejected; he had obviously heard the news that the will was not in Rome.
Suddenly Lupus stood bolt upright and swung his right arm up from the elbow, his finger pointing to heaven, as if to say, Wait a moment!
Flavia and Nubia both watched with fascination as Lupus scribbled something on his wax tablet. Mordecai and Jonathan looked at what Lupus had written, then Jonathan nodded vigorously.
Lupus grinned and looked down at the girls.
He pointed at his head.
‘He’s had an idea,’ said Flavia to Nubia. She nodded at Lupus and beckoned him on.
Lupus closed his wax tablet, held it up and made a circling motion, as if binding it with cord.
Flavia frowned, then her face lit up. ‘The will?’ she mouthed. She had shown them her bound and sealed will the night before.
Lupus nodded, then pointed towards the northwest.
Flavia and Nubia frowned at each other in puzzlement, then looked back up at Lupus.
The mute boy adopted the pose of a strong man in the palaestra, then pretended to wield a club.
Flavia was even more confused.
Now Jonathan entered in the mime. He gave a silent roar and made his hands look like claws. As Lupus pretended to strangle him, Jonathan obligingly sunk out of sight behind the parapet.
‘Hercules!’ mouthed Flavia. ‘You’re pretending to be Hercules!’
Lupus nodded and then, as a rather tousled Jonathan rose up from behind the balustrade, he pointed down, as if to say: Here.
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia. ‘The Temple of Hercules here in Ostia!’
She placed the tip of her forefinger beside the edge of her thumbnail to make a circle, then held it up: the rhetor’s symbol for ‘Perfect!’
Lupus nodded happily, and disappeared into the crowd.
Flavia tapped Flaccus’s muscular shoulder and he leaned back. ‘Gaius,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘we’ve just realised something! The will doesn’t have to be in Rome. It could be right here in Ostia. Lupus has gone to see.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 195