The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

Today, a person on trial will usually try to look his best in court. In Roman times, people would often come to court unwashed and wearing their oldest clothing in order to arouse the sympathy of the judges.

  Although all the events and most of the characters in this story are made up, Flaccus, Pliny and Quintilian were real people. Gaius Valerius Flaccus was a highborn poet who would certainly have studied law and rhetoric. Pliny (known today as ‘Pliny the Younger’) practised law for most of his life and wrote several letters about his experiences in the law courts. Marcus Fabius Quintilianus was a famous teacher of rhetoric. The eleventh volume of his book Institutio Oratoria (The Education of an Orator) has lots of practical advice about how to speak and how to do the gestures.

  The Jewish stronghold of Masada was taken by the Romans in AD 73. We know from Josephus (Jewish War VII. 399ff) that of nearly one thousand defenders, only two women and five children were found alive. It is not known what happened to those seven survivors.

  To Victoria Lee

  with thanks for her insight and input

  * * *

  This story takes place in ancient Roman times, so a few of the words may look strange.

  If you don’t know them, ‘Aristo’s Scroll’ at the back of the book will tell you what they mean and how to pronounce them.

  You will also find coin portraits of some of the historical people mentioned in this story, as well as a drawing of a Roman theatre and a map of Roman Africa in the first century AD.

  * * *

  Diana the huntress crouched by the myrtle bush and examined the footprint of a deer. Her short scarlet tunic glowed in a beam of early morning sunshine. In her left hand she grasped a polished bow. Green-feathered arrows rattled in her painted quiver.

  She looked over her shoulder at the two girls and their dogs waiting silently behind her. One girl had fair skin and light brown hair, the other was dark-skinned with golden-brown eyes.

  ‘Do you see it?’ whispered Diana. ‘The fresh hoof-print in the earth? That means our prey is close at hand. Come, Flavia. Come, Nubia. The hunt is on!’ She stood and pushed through the myrtle bushes, causing drops of morning dew to sprinkle the girls.

  Flavia – the fair-haired girl – laughed and caught hold of Nubia’s hand and the two of them followed. After two months of rain and tears, this last day of February was sunny and warm. After two months of black garments, Diana’s red tunic was a welcome touch of colour.

  They followed the huntress through the dappled groves.

  Presently Diana stopped them with a silent raised hand. They all saw the deer, standing in a sunlit clearing by an acacia tree.

  Carefully, almost lovingly, Diana notched the arrow in the string and slowly pulled it back. A heartbeat’s pause, then a deep, sweet thrum. Unhurt, the deer vanished into the myrtle bushes.

  Diana laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘It’s the hunt that counts. Being out here in the woods. Being free. Being alive!’ She led the girls to the spot where the deer had been and stopped beside the acacia tree. Her green-feathered arrow was embedded in its trunk.

  Diana gave the arrow a tug. ‘When my sister Cartilia died of the fever last winter,’ she said, ‘did I don black garments of mourning and spend my days weeping? No! I honour her by living!’

  Flavia gazed in admiration. Diana Poplicola’s silky hair was the colour of partridge feathers, her long limbs lightly tanned and smooth. She looked just as Flavia imagined the goddess Diana must look. She also had the goddess’s courage and independence. And her hatred of men.

  The huntress grunted as her arrow came free. ‘And I will have nothing to do with men. They kill you as surely as this arrow can kill, by getting you with child, like your poor dead friend.’ She dropped the arrow into the quiver on her back. ‘And even if you survive childbirth, marriage leaves you bloated and trapped, with runny-nosed brats clutching your knees. No, I would rather die than ever marry.’ Her long-lashed brown eyes blazed with passion.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Flavia, and looked at Nubia. ‘Us, too! Will you teach us to be huntresses like you, Diana?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Diana, and looked them over. ‘But you need to look the part. First, pull up your tunic to allow your legs free movement. And cut off your sleeves at the shoulder. Here, let me show you.’

  She helped Flavia and Nubia belt their tunics so that the hems skimmed their knees. Then she took a sharp hunting knife from her belt and cut off the long sleeves of Flavia’s sky-blue tunic. ‘Here,’ she said, handing Flavia the sleeves. ‘You can use the fabric as a headband.’

  ‘Oh!’ Flavia’s face grew hot. ‘It feels strange to have my arms and legs all bare and cool. I feel almost naked!’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Diana tossed her hair. ‘Nobody will see us out here in the woods.’ She turned to Nubia, made a few swift cuts and pulled away the mustard-yellow sleeves of her tunic. ‘Look how beautiful you are in your short golden tunic, with those long mahogany arms and legs. How old are you?’

  ‘Twelve,’ said Nubia shyly. ‘I am twelve.’

  Diana laughed. ‘I’m nineteen and you’re almost as tall as I am. You look like an Amazon. And you,’ she turned to Flavia, ‘you remind me of Diana herself, with your courage and love of the hunt.’

  ‘I do?’ said Flavia, feeling her cheeks grow hot again.

  ‘Yes. But if you want to hunt with me in the resin-scented pine woods of Ostia and Laurentum, you must renounce men.’

  Flavia looked at Nubia. ‘Diana’s right,’ she said. ‘We don’t need men. Look what happened to Miriam. We want to live and be free and have adventures.’ She turned to Diana. ‘If we renounce men, will you teach us to hunt? Will you show us how to use your bow?’

  ‘Better than that,’ laughed Diana. ‘I have two smaller bows at my house. I’ll give you each one and I’ll teach you this very morning. But first you must make your vows at the Temple of Diana. I have some traps in the next grove. I usually catch a few rabbits in them. Are you willing to offer a rabbit each as your vow?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Flavia, and nudged Nubia.

  After the merest pause, Nubia nodded.

  ‘Then follow me!’ cried Diana. ‘Your new lives are about to begin!’

  Jonathan ben Mordecai gave a coin to the ferryman and stepped down into the small boat. His friend Lupus followed. Wordlessly, the two boys joined a workman in a one-sleeved tunic near the front of the boat. The man was covered with white marble dust and he looked like one of the lemures, or spirits of the dead. Jonathan shuddered. Ten-year-old Lupus gave his friend a sympathetic look and patted him on the back.

  Dawn had been sunny, but now a high film of clouds dulled the February morning and flattened the colours. The mouth of the River Tiber was swollen and brown from over two months of daily rain. Jonathan absently watched it flow towards the grey sea.

  With the arrival of two veiled women, the boat had its full complement. Lenunculus the ferryman pushed off from the south bank, then settled himself and began to row. The Tiber was only a few hundred feet wide at this point, but the current was particularly strong. Jonathan knew the journey would take almost half an hour.

  He closed his eyes and listened to the silky swish of the water, the plop of the oars, the peevish cries of seagulls overhead, and the soft murmuring of the women. After the constant wails of babies and grieving women at home, the relative silence was a relief.

  When the boat reached the other side, Lupus scrambled out and up onto the riverbank. He caught the rope thrown by the ferryman and moored it to the post. The ferryman was the second out, reaching down a muscular arm to his passengers. Jonathan waited for the powdery stonemason to disembark and then helped the women up to Lenunculus on the muddy bank. Jonathan was in no hurry. He knew what he would find here.

  The Isola Sacra was a flat triangle of land between Ostia and its new harbour Portus. It was the site of market gardens, warehouses, a marble yard, and – along the road from Ostia to Portus – a growing necrop
olis. The land was cheaper here than along the roads outside Ostia, and it was becoming a popular site for tombs of the poor.

  The road to Portus, Ostia’s new harbour, was straight and well-paved. For a short time Jonathan followed the two women, but as his pace slowed they drew far ahead. He passed a tomb with a small lighthouse mosaic, and one with a clay relief of a ship.

  ‘Arghhh!’ yelled Lupus, leaping out from behind a large red-brick tomb. He had no tongue and could not speak, but he made convincing animal noises.

  ‘Not now, Lupus,’ sighed Jonathan. ‘I’m not in the mood to play beast-hunters and bears.’

  Lupus looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and ran off to explore more of the graveyard.

  Jonathan left the road and found his father slumped at the opening of the family tomb.

  Mordecai ben Ezra had not cut his hair or beard since the day of his daughter’s funeral ten weeks earlier. His long tunic was muddy at the hem. He wore no cloak.

  ‘Father?’ Jonathan bent and gently shook his father’s shoulder.

  ‘Susannah?’ said Mordecai. His voice was slurred and when he opened his red-rimmed eyes, Jonathan saw that his pupils were huge and black. ‘I didn’t mean to. I tried to help her. I didn’t mean to. Should have said no. No, no, no. Why did I do it? Why did I let her marry him?’ He closed his eyes again.

  ‘Father, it’s me. Jonathan. Time to come home.’

  ‘Who?’ Mordecai blinked up at him, then shook his head angrily. ‘No. She was too young. I should have said no.’ Tears began to run down his gaunt cheeks and into his beard.

  Lupus appeared from behind the tomb and looked down at Mordecai. Suddenly he grunted and pointed at Mordecai’s feet.

  ‘I know,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s put his boots on the wrong feet. Like a child.’ This – more than anything else – made him want to cry. He took a deep breath and swallowed the familiar tightness in his throat. ‘Come, Father! Time to go home. Mother is worried.’

  Lupus frowned at Mordecai and then made the sign of someone drinking and raised his eyebrows at Jonathan.

  ‘No,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s not drunk. Not on wine, at least. But I think he’s been taking poppy-tears again. Look how black his pupils are.’ Jonathan sighed. ‘Come on, Lupus. Help me stand him up and let’s take him home.’

  The gongs of Ostia were clanging noon when Flavia knocked on the back door of her house. It was built into the city wall and had no outside latch for security reasons. Presently, Flavia’s old nursemaid and house-slave Alma opened the door. Her eyes widened as she looked the girls up and down.

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock! The two of you are practically naked! What have you two done to your tunics?’ she cried. ‘Hacked them all to bits!’ Without waiting for an explanation she muttered, ‘Well, you’d better get upstairs quickly and change! You have a visitor.’

  ‘I don’t care who sees me!’ said Flavia, as she bent to undo Scuto’s lead. ‘I want the world to see me like this.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s that nice young lawyer. Flaccus.’

  Flavia stood up. ‘Floppy? Floppy’s here?’ She stood on tiptoe and peered anxiously over Alma’s shoulder. ‘Is pater here, too?’

  ‘No, your father is out. It’s just Floppy . . . I mean Flaccus. Juno! You have me saying it now!’

  Flavia caught her friend’s hand. ‘Come on, Nubia. Let’s see what he wants.’

  Flavia had met the handsome young patrician the previous spring on a voyage to Rhodes. Gaius Valerius Flaccus had become a good friend and had recently stayed with them in order to plead a case in Ostia’s basilica.

  Now he was standing in her father’s tablinum with his back to them, pretending to examine the shelves of scrolls.

  Flavia cleared her throat. ‘Hello, Gaius Valerius Flaccus,’ she said politely.

  He turned with a smile. ‘Hello, Flavia,’ he said. ‘Hello, Nubia.’ And then: ‘Good gods! What are you wearing?’

  Flavia quoted Virgil: ‘A painted quiver on her back she wore, and at full cry pursued the tusky boar.’

  ‘You what?’

  She lifted her chin a fraction. ‘Nubia and I have just made offerings at the Temple of Diana. We have taken vows of chastity and we are now virgin huntresses!’

  Flaccus stared at her for a moment, then muttered: ‘That’s going to make this more interesting.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Flavia. I was hoping to speak to your father first . . . But now that you’re here, I have something to ask you.’ His eyes flickered towards Nubia and he smiled at her.

  Nubia gave him a shy smile in return.

  ‘Flavia, could we speak privately?’ And then to Nubia: ‘Do you mind?’

  Flavia caught Nubia’s hand. ‘Nubia is my best friend. She always stays by my side. Whatever you want to tell me, she should hear, too.’

  For a long moment he looked at her in consternation, and she could see the tips of his ears grow pink. Finally he took a deep breath and said. ‘Flavia Gemina, I love you.’

  Without taking her eyes from Flaccus, Flavia said, ‘Leave us alone, please, Nubia,’ and added under her breath. ‘But don’t go far.’

  Nubia gave Flaccus a little smile, then whistled for the dogs; they were busy sniffing the young man’s boots. Tails wagging, Scuto and Nipur followed her out of the tablinum. Flavia watched the three of them disappear through the inner garden in the direction of the kitchen. When they were out of sight she turned back to Flaccus.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  Flaccus took a breath. ‘Flavia Gemina,’ he said. ‘Since I first met you last year I have come to realise something. You are the bravest, most intelligent girl I have ever – is that blood on your cheek?’ He squinted at her.

  Flavia’s mouth opened but no words emerged.

  Flaccus gave his head a little shake, glanced up at the ceiling and whispered to himself: ‘. . . bravest, most intelligent . . .’ Then he cleared his throat. ‘But what makes me love you is your courage, and your hunger for justice and truth.’

  Flavia stared at him.

  ‘Flavia,’ he said, his voice deep with emotion. ‘Flavia, will you marry me?’

  Flavia closed her mouth.

  Flaccus smiled and moved out from behind her father’s desk. ‘We won’t have the betrothal ceremony until June,’ he said, ‘when you come of age. And we don’t have to have the actual wedding until you’re fifteen or sixteen.’ He took another step towards her and now he was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his muscular body.

  ‘I just want to know that one day you’ll be mine,’ he said softly, and added, ‘I know you have feelings for me. I can see it in your eyes.’

  Flavia’s heart was pounding and she could feel her resolve wavering. Floppy loved her. He loved her!

  He looked at the floor. ‘The death of your friend Miriam reminded me that life is short. I want to marry and raise a family. I want to have children.’ He looked up at her again. ‘Flavia, I want to have your children.’

  From the house next door came the sudden thin cry of a baby. It reminded Flavia of why Miriam had died so young.

  Flavia swallowed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Gaius Valerius Flaccus,’ she said. ‘But I have just this morning taken a vow of chastity. I made a vow to Diana. Nubia and I have renounced men forever.’

  He tried to smile. ‘Bad timing on my part, then. I suppose I shouldn’t have lingered in Rome this morning to make those offerings to Fortuna and Spes.’

  He looked so crushed that Flavia’s heart melted. ‘Oh, Floppy!’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry. If I were ever to marry, you would be my first choice. My only choice! I think you’re marvelous. Any girl would be lucky to have you. You’re rich, and handsome, and highborn . . .’

  From the house next door, the cry of a second baby had joined the first.

  She took a step back. ‘But I can’t marry you. I can’t. I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  After a pause, he pulled a ring from his little finger. ‘If you eve
r change your mind, will you put this on?’ The ring was gold, and showed two clasped hands.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘A betrothal ring.’ She reached out to take it, then drew her hand back. ‘I can’t wear that.’

  ‘Don’t wear it,’ he said. ‘But take it. And if you ever change your mind, put it on.’ He took her left hand and turned it so that the wrist faced the ceiling. ‘They say,’ he touched the base of her ring finger, ‘that a nerve goes from this finger right to the heart.’ He slowly traced a line from her finger across her upturned palm and her wrist and up her bare arm to the crook of her elbow and then to her shoulder and finally down over her chest.

  He was standing very close to her now, looking down at her upturned face with his long-lashed dark eyes. She could feel her heart pounding under the tip of his finger. Presently he moved his hand slowly back up towards her collarbone, then plucked an arrow from the little wicker quiver slung over her left shoulder. Without taking his eyes from hers, he snapped the arrow with a crunch.

  He bent lower and now his mouth was so close to hers that she could smell the faint sweet smell of mastic on his breath. ‘Your arrow has pierced my heart, Flavia.’

  And then he was gone.

  Her knees gave way and she sat heavily in her father’s leather and bronze armchair. When the blood had stopped rushing in her ears and when her heart had stopped pounding, she saw the two objects he had left on the desk. The gold betrothal ring, and the feathered shaft of the arrow.

  He had taken the pointed half with him.

  Later that day an imperial messenger banged on the door of Jonathan’s house, the house next door to Flavia’s. All the women inside were occupied with babies, and his father was still in a drugged stupor, so it was left to Jonathan to answer the door.

  ‘Quiet, Tigris!’ said Jonathan to his dog. ‘You should be used to messengers by now.’ He glanced at the man. ‘Even imperial messengers.’ He studied the seal, nodded, then turned the folded papyrus over to see to whom it was addressed.