The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘You’re sure you want to come with us?’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re happy to leave Scuto and Nipur?’

  ‘We’re not happy to leave them. But we can’t very well take them to Africa.’

  ‘Alma loves them,’ said Nubia. ‘She will walk them and care for them.’

  ‘Great Juno’s beard! You are ready to go, aren’t you?’

  The two girls nodded resolutely.

  ‘And you’ve left your father a note?’

  Flavia pointed to a piece of papyrus on her bedside table. ‘He doesn’t deserve it. He was horrible to me. But I don’t want Aristo or Alma or Caudex to get in trouble. So I told him not to blame them.’

  ‘Your father’s going to be angry . . .’

  ‘Not if we find Uncle Gaius and bring him home. Besides, pater set sail for Alexandria this morning and he won’t be back for weeks, maybe months.’ She hung her head. ‘He barely said goodbye to me.’

  Nubia patted Flavia’s back and then looked at Jonathan. ‘What boat do we embark on?’

  ‘I’ve booked passage on a ship called the Isis, bound directly for Sabratha,’ said Jonathan. ‘A company of beast-hunters are on their way to get animals for the arena. And your friend Mnason is one of them.’

  ‘Mnason?’ cried Nubia. ‘Mnason head beast-hunter and owner of Monobaz? Mnason who gives me lionskin cloak?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Jonathan.

  Nubia clapped her hands in delight.

  ‘He’s happy to be sailing with us. And thanks to a bag of gold from Titus, the captain is happy to take us. We’re going to be the guests of honour.’

  An hour later the four friends stood at the stern of the merchant ship Isis and watched Ostia slip away from them.

  ‘Nobody to say goodbye to us this time,’ murmured Flavia, as she gazed back at the wet, deserted docks.

  ‘They are thinking us to be in our bedroom,’ said Nubia. She was wearing her lionskin cloak.

  Flavia turned to Jonathan. ‘Do your parents know you’ve gone?’ she asked.

  Jonathan shrugged. ‘My father’s in a haze of poppy-tears most of the time and my mother is trying to run the household without his help. She has her hands full of wet-nurses, babies and nappies. I doubt if either of my parents will notice I’m gone. But I left a note, too,’ he added.

  ‘Behold!’ cried Nubia, and they turned to see her pointing towards the horizon. The rain clouds had broken and the pearly sliver of a crescent moon hung in the pink sky of dusk.

  ‘Oh, Nubia!’ cried Flavia. ‘It looks like a bow. It’s a sign from Diana, goddess of the moon and of the hunt.’ She felt a numinous shiver and turned to her friends. ‘Let’s go to front,’ she said, ‘and look towards Africa.’

  As they made their way carefully across the rearing deck, the sailors and other passengers greeted them. A middle-aged Syrian with oiled hair and a neat pointed beard came forward with a copper tray. He was Mnason, the head beast-hunter.

  ‘Warm spiced wine,’ he said cheerfully, ‘for our honoured passengers. To warm your bellies and for a libation to Neptune. Glad to see you’re wearing the lionskin I gave you,’ he said to Nubia. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘The crew are glad you’re sailing with us. They’ve heard of your luck and they think it’s a good omen.’ He nodded towards the west. ‘Red sky at night is a sailor’s delight. Another good omen.’

  Each of the four friends thanked him, took a copper beaker and made their way to the prow. Beneath their feet the deck was rising and falling, as if bowing to the setting sun. The salt breeze whipped their hair and the piercing cries of gulls filled their ears, and before they drank, each of them tipped some of their hot spiced wine into the cobalt blue water as an offering to Neptune.

  If not for Flavia’s dreams, the journey would have been perfect.

  During the day they ploughed blue waters with the breeze filling their sails and at night they sailed beneath a sky choked with stars. They gamed with Mnason and his beast-hunters, played music and watched dolphins. Lupus acted out some of their past adventures as Flavia and Jonathan told the stories, while Nubia played her flute.

  During the night they slept in empty cages down in the hold. On the Isis’s voyage home, these cages would be full of exotic beasts, but for now the clean sawdust formed a blissfully soft cushion beneath their cloaks.

  For the first three nights of the voyage, Flavia had the same dream.

  In her dream she was walking in a town she did not recognise. Then a woman’s voice said: Do not pass a beggar by without giving. Was it Diana speaking to her? Was it a saying of Pliny’s? A verse from Virgil? Every morning she woke with the words echoing in her head. But she could not decipher their meaning.

  On the morning of the fourth day she went to the altar at the back of the ship and bowed her head.

  ‘Dear Diana,’ she prayed, ‘– or whichever of you gods has been sending that dream – I promise I will not pass a single beggar by without giving something.’

  That night she did not dream, but slept soundly, and in the late morning they sailed into the port of Sabratha, a city of apricot-coloured sandstone and lofty palm trees.

  ‘Africa!’ breathed Flavia, as she stepped off the gangplank onto the dock. ‘We’re in Africa!’

  The four friends had said their goodbyes to the beast-hunters and the crew, and now they stood in the port of Sabratha on a sunny March morning.

  Nubia opened her arms wide and smiled up at the sun. ‘I am being warm,’ she said. ‘First time in three months.’

  Lupus nodded happily.

  But Jonathan looked around and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t look like Africa,’ he said. ‘It looks a lot like Ostia, except it’s a kind of dusty pink colour rather than red brick.’

  ‘Of course it’s Africa!’ cried Flavia, ‘Look!’ She pointed to a line of tall black Africans weaving their way through the bales of cloth and amphoras piled on the dock. ‘Look at their colourful loincloths, crested hair and ostrich-skin shields. Would you see that in Ostia?’

  ‘You might,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Then what about that?’ She pointed to a turbaned man fluting a cobra out of his basket.

  ‘I’ve seen snake-charmers in Ostia.’

  ‘Behold! Date palms!’ cried Nubia, clapping her hands in delight.

  Jonthan folded his arms. ‘There are palm trees in Ostia.’

  ‘How about those!’ Flavia pointed triumphantly towards half a dozen camels swaying through the crowded wharves, with colourful striped blankets covering the loads on their backs.

  ‘You might not see camels in Ostia, but there are plenty at the vivarium in Laurentum.’

  ‘You win,’ laughed Flavia. ‘Where do we go now? Oil Press Street, isn’t it?’

  Jonathan reached into his belt pouch and took out a well-folded piece of papyrus. ‘Yes. Titus said when we reach Sabratha we should contact a man called Statilius Taurus, a cousin on his mother’s side. He lives on Oil Press Street. Let’s ask someone at one of those stalls,’ added Jonathan.

  ‘Wait!’ said Flavia. ‘Do we have everything? Do we have our travel-bags?’

  ‘Yes,’ they said, and Lupus nodded.

  ‘Do we have our imperial passes?’

  They tapped the ivory rectangles on scarlet cords round their necks.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ said Flavia, and added over her shoulder, ‘The first thing we need to do is thank the gods for a safe journey. Keep your eyes open for a shrine or temple.’

  Jonathan sighed and followed Flavia and the others across the sunny docks past stalls selling piles of silver fish, baskets of grain and exotic birds in cages. Someone was heating pine-pitch and its pungent smell reminded him of Ostia.

  When a poor beggar with a withered leg raised up his claw-like hand and pleaded for money in a foreign tongue, Jonathan was surprised to see Flavia stop and hand him a quadrans. She also made Lupus show the beggar a portrait of Gaius which he had painted on the back of his wax tablet. The beggar shook his
head.

  ‘Why did you give that beggar a coin, Flavia?’ said Jonathan, as they passed beneath the arch of the town gate. ‘Don’t you remember what happened last September?’

  Flavia nodded. ‘Of course. But when we were on board the Isis, I kept having a dream with a woman’s voice saying: Do not pass a beggar by without giving. I think it was the goddess Diana.’

  ‘Really?’ Jonathan raised an eyebrow. ‘It doesn’t sound like something Diana would say. Isn’t she a rather cruel goddess?’

  ‘Well, whichever of the gods it was, I can’t afford to offend them. I don’t suppose you’ve had any of your prophetic dreams recently?’

  ‘No,’ said Jonathan, and murmured: ‘Praise God.’

  ‘I dream of woman and baby last night,’ said Nubia.

  They all turned their heads to look at her.

  ‘Who was it?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘I do not know,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Was she a goddess?’ Flavia fished in her purse for another copper as a half-naked beggar boy extended his hand.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nubia. ‘She is very beautiful. She is holding a baby. She looks a bit like that.’ Nubia pointed to a little shrine. Set into a niche in the sandstone wall of a building was a painted marble statue of a beautiful woman. She held a baby on her lap, and a bronze rattle in her right hand.

  ‘I think that’s Isis,’ said Flavia ‘There’s a shrine to her in Ostia, too.’

  Lupus nodded his agreement.

  ‘Nubia and I have made a vow to Diana,’ said Flavia, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can risk offending other gods and goddesses. Isis is the first deity we’ve met here in Africa. Let’s make our thanks-offering to her. Let’s buy some fruit for our offering.’

  ‘Behold!’ cried Nubia, pointing to a stall. ‘Dates!’

  Jonathan and the others made their way to a nearby stall selling dates, figs and melons. While Nubia helped Flavia choose the best dates and Lupus showed Gaius’ portrait to the fruit seller, Jonathan went to the stall next door and picked up a bronze rattle. It jingled.

  ‘What’s this?’ Jonathan asked the stallholder.

  ‘It’s a sistrum,’ said the man in good Latin. ‘Today is the festival of Isis.’

  ‘That’s a good omen!’ cried Flavia, coming up with a papyrus cone of dates. She turned to the sistrum-seller. ‘Nubia here saw Isis in a dream last night.’

  ‘Beautiful woman with baby,’ said Nubia.

  Lupus picked up a smaller sistrum and gave it a rhythmic shake.

  Jonathan turned to the stallholder. ‘How much for that little one?’

  ‘To those who’ve seen the goddess,’ said the man with a wink at Nubia, ‘half price. Two sesterces.’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ said Jonathan. He put down a silver denarius and received two brass sesterces in return.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Flavia. ‘But have you seen this man?’ She pointed at the wax tablet in Lupus’s hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the stallholder, bending forward to have a closer look. ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  ‘One last thing,’ said Jonathan. ‘Can you tell us the way to Oil Press Street? Near the Seaward Baths?’

  ‘That I do know. See the red roof of the temple of Liber Pater rising above the roofs there? That’s the forum. Head that way. When you get to the forum, turn left and follow the back of the colonnade. Soon you’ll see a statue of Aphrodite outside the Seaward Baths. Turn left at the statue – before you reach the baths – and you’re there.’

  They thanked him, offered their dates at the shrine of Isis, and a quarter of an hour later were knocking on the door of a house on Oil Press Street.

  As they waited for a response, Jonathan looked around. It was a wealthy residential quarter, close to the sea. In the pure blue sky above, seagulls drifted and whined peevishly, just like the gulls in Ostia. Some houses had red-tile roofs in the Roman style, but others were flat-roofed with plain white walls: distincty un-Roman. Jonathan could tell from the clusters of date palms rising up here and there that many had inner gardens.

  He was about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open to reveal a massive door-slave in a one-sleeved pink tunic. He glowered down at them and they stared in amazement. He was bald, and his strangely shaped head with its broad jaw and narrow cranium reminded Jonathan of an upside down egg.

  Flavia and the others were staring open-mouthed so Jonathan said, ‘We’re looking for your master. Er . . . Taurus.’

  Without a word, Egghead disappeared into the gloom.

  Presently a short, stocky man in a cream turban came to the door. He glanced at Jonathan’s letter, then burst out laughing. ‘Are you four children the agents Titus told me about?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we are,’ said Flavia.

  Taurus winked at his big door slave. ‘Well, drop your bags and cloaks here in the vestibule, and come with me. Pullo and I were just on our way out. Today is the most important day of the year in Sabratha. It’s the festival of Isis. If we want our mission to succeed, she’s one goddess we must not neglect!’

  Lupus enjoyed the festival of Isis.

  He liked the procession, with its strong beat of drum, castanet and sistrum. He liked the pretty girls in white linen shifts, tossing their petals onto the street. He liked seeing the three bald priests get the hems of their long white robes wet in the sea as they pushed out the gilded boat with its effigy of Isis. He liked the way they drew back the boat with a secret cord, lifted the goddess onto their shoulders and took her to the massive apricot-coloured temple by the water’s edge.

  But most of all, he liked the pantomime.

  Sabratha’s theatre was made of the same pale apricot-coloured sandstone as the other monumental buildings in the town. Taurus had a section of the seating at the very front and he insisted that the four friends sit on cushions at his feet. He himself sat on a leather and wooden chair, brought by his egg-headed slave Pullo.

  Lupus had seen mimes acting out their rude unmasked satires, and he had seen tragedies and comedies, but he had never before seen a pantomime. He studied the papyrus programme he had been handed at the entrance.

  THE WORLD FAMOUS PANTOMIME NARCISSUS

  and his distinguished troupe

  will perform three mythic scenes

  in honour of Isis, the great goddess:

  Diana and Actaeon

  Isis and Osiris

  Venus and Mars

  show sponsored by C. Flavius Pudens

  When the herald announced Narcissus’s name, the whole theatre broke into hearty applause.

  The musicians came on first, four young men filing out into the orchestra – the circular space below the stage. As the applause died down, they launched into a jingly, buzzing tune with a strong deep beat. They wore long unbelted caftans in jewel-like colours. Aquamarine for the aulos-player, sapphire for the harp and emerald for the man banging the tambourine. The drummer was Lupus’s favourite. He wore a jade tunic and provided a compelling beat with a goatskin drum and iron-soled shoe. In addition, he had laid out a small array of instruments on the lip of the stage behind him, including a gourd and a sistrum.

  A slender girl with frizzy dark hair joined them a moment later and when the applause died down she began to sing in a pure sweet voice, announcing the tale of Diana and Actaeon.

  Again the audience cheered as a man did half a dozen flips forward onto the stage then stopped and slowly turned to look at the audience. His masked face lifted all the tiny hairs on Lupus’s neck and arms. The mouth of the mask was closed and the two sides were painted differently, giving the staring face a disturbing beauty. The man wore a short brown tunic, with flesh coloured leggings underneath, and a flowing red cloak over it.

  ‘Euge! Narcissus!’ the crowd was shouting.

  ‘How can one person play two roles?’ Lupus heard Flavia ask Taurus.

  ‘See his mask?’ said Taurus. ‘It has two profiles. One is male, the other female. Watch.’

  Lupus saw the dancer
turn the male side of his mask to the audience, and begin to move across the stage in time to the pulsing rhythm. This was Actaeon, sang the woman. He was a handsome young hunter who had been separated from his companions while hunting deer with his hounds. The young hunter was hot, and when he heard the bubble of water he pursued the tempting sound as avidly as any prey.

  Still keeping beat with his stamping foot, the drummer tipped a hollow gourd full of small pebbles to imitate the rush of flowing water. Then he made a sparkly noise by stroking tiny silver bells. To Lupus the sound perfectly evoked a forest stream.

  Abruptly, the dancer turned the other side of his mask to the theatre. Now the music became exotic and sensuous as he imitated the beautiful goddess Diana, bathing in the pool of a dappled glade. How a clothed man could imitate a naked goddess, Lupus did not know. But he did.

  And now the man was Actaeon again, peering through the branches, transfixed by the sight of the goddess’s beauty. The music became soft and furtive, then suddenly exotic and regal as the pantomime dancer took on Diana’s persona once more.

  The female singer told how Actaeon’s foot crunched a twig and how the goddess heard. For a heartbeat the music stopped, and the double face of the mask looked straight out from the stage. Lupus heard the intake of breath from the audience behind him, and he felt the delicious shudder of dread.

  Horrified that a man should see her unclothed beauty, the virgin goddess Diana points her terrible finger at Actaeon, commanding him to change from the shape of a man into something entirely different.

  Actaeon feels horns sprouting from his head and his clenched fists become hooves. And suddenly he is a deer, full of speed and terror, pursued by his own baying hounds. The hunter has become the hunted, leaping for his life.

  Lupus stared open-mouthed. How did the dancer do it? How did he so perfectly imitate man, woman and beast?

  Jonathan echoed Lupus’s thoughts. ‘Amazing,’ he murmured. ‘He’s like an actor, dancer and rhetor mixed all together.’

  Without taking his eyes from the stage, Lupus nodded.