‘We know. We were going to sail to Lixus, then go—’
‘You were going to sail to Lixus?’ He looked up sharply. ‘They told me there were no ships travelling west.’ He looked at the frizzy-haired girl and shook his head in disgust.
‘That ship was one of the few,’ said Flavia. ‘But it sailed without us. Our money will be waiting for us in Volubilis. We can pay you something when we get there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s true: I could use another couple of musicians, but you don’t even have your instruments and you look very young to me . . .’
‘Nubia has her flute,’ said Flavia, and to Nubia: ‘Play something!’
Nubia nodded and pulled out the flute from beneath her tunic. She wore it on a golden chain around her neck.
‘What’s that?’ said Narcissus. Nubia’s ivory pass was tangled in the chain of her flute.
‘Imperial pass,’ said Nubia.
He narrowed his blue eyes at them, then shrugged and looked away.
‘See?’ muttered Flavia. ‘I told you nobody knows what these are. They don’t even know who’s Emperor. Play a song, Nubia.’
Nubia began to play. She played ‘Slave Song’, a song she had written while still a slave. It was a song about travelling through the desert in a caravan, and as she played, silence fell over the caravanserai. Even the animals in their stalls grew quiet. Lupus disappeared into the darkness, came back and handed Flavia his sistrum. She jingled it in time to the music while he pattered the beat on an upturned wooden bowl. Jonathan pointed at the harp, lying besides one of Narcissus’s musicians. After a pause the man shrugged and handed it up to him. Jonathan began to strum its strings.
Presently the song ended and everyone in the caravanserai broke into applause.
Flavia saw that a smile had transformed the female singer’s plain face; she almost looked pretty. She was clapping as enthusiastically as the others.
‘Casina obviously likes your music.’ Narcissus stretched languorously and slowly rose from his blanket. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You may come with us to Volubilis. I’ve already paid for our food and drink and camels. My tambourine player and percussionist had to stay behind, so I have two spare camels. That means if all four of you come, you’ll have to ride two per camel.’
Flavia nodded, not trusting her voice.
‘You’ll also have to learn all our songs, and you must agree to perform with us in Volubilis, whether your money is waiting there or not.’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you, sir.’
He tossed his long hair. ‘I haven’t quite finished. If your money is waiting for you, then I want a thousand sesterces each.’
Flavia glanced at her friends and they nodded. ‘Done!’ She spread her arms and bowed: ‘Behold your new musicians!’
The caravan set out at mid-morning. On either side of each camel’s hump was a large, soft basket filled with provisions and luggage. A mattress and bolsters lay over these twin baskets – making a soft platform – and the whole lot was secured with hemp cords.
Flavia and Nubia were assigned a young, cream-coloured female camel. Her thick eyelashes and heavy lids made her look sleepy and smug.
The first time Flavia mounted this creature, she almost fell off. She had climbed up onto the mattress easily enough, for the camel was kneeling, but when Nubia gave the command ‘Tsa! Tsa!’ Flavia was pitched violently forward, then violently back as the camel rose to its feet.
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia, as they began to move forward. ‘We’re so high. I can barely see the ground from here.’
Behind her, Nubia giggled. ‘Do not worry,’ she said. ‘You will not fall. I will catch you. Lean back. Rest against sausage pillow. Take off clogs and put your bare feet on neck of camel. See? Is that not pleasant?’
‘No,’ groaned Flavia. ‘I feel seasick. This thing is swaying so much.’
‘You will become used to it. Camels are much smoother than horse or ass. And they are going many miles with no water. I used to have my own camel: Siwa,’ she said, and added, ‘I love camels.’
‘Well, you should be happy then,’ called Jonathan from the camel in front. ‘There are plenty of them in this caravan.’
‘These are not so many,’ laughed Nubia. ‘I once am seeing caravan with maybe a thousand camels. Here we are just having thirty. Twenty-one for riders, nine for packs. Merchants are carrying senna leaf, cotton, spices, salt and elephant tooth.’
‘How do you know all that?’ asked Flavia.
‘I was speaking to merchants this morning. Two speak my language. They say Macargus is good leader. They have travelled with him before. They say he will guide us and make sure no harm comes to us from bandits or wild animals.’
‘Bandits? Wild animals? Are there wild animals in the desert?’
‘Yes, very many. Lion. Rhino. Scorpion. Snakes, too.’ She shuddered. ‘We must be careful at night. But do you know the most dangerous part of the desert? It is the sun. It waxes unbearably bright. Even with parasol up, you must put turban over your head and face and sometimes even over your eyes.’
‘But I don’t have a turban.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Nubia passed a folded bundle of cloth to Flavia. ‘Here. It is matching caftan and turban of pale blue cotton. I get brown robe and turban for Jonathan, dark green for Lupus and yellow for me. These will protect from sun.’
‘Oh! The material is so light and soft! But where did you get these? We don’t have any money.’
‘I trade my gold chain to cloth merchants. Merchants also give me cola-nuts.’ In the palm of her hand were several objects the size and shape of cloves of garlic, but red, like radishes. ‘These are very good for when you are hungry or tired. You chew them. But we must save them for necessary time.’
‘You traded your gold chain for coloured cotton and red nuts?’
‘And also for camel-skin slippers and matching belt pouch. And papyrus parasol. They are for you.’
‘Nubia! They’re wonderful! The slippers are so soft, and so beautifully embroidered. Oh, thank you!’
‘No! Do not try to embrace me or you will fall off. And it is long way down.’
‘I know. And I feel sick. I think I’d feel less nauseous if I was at sea.’
Nubia giggled. ‘Some people call camel “ship of the desert”. I have named our camel Selene, because she is pale like the moon. She is very good. You will become used to her soon.’
On the first day they travelled for nearly eight hours across a barren undulating plain of thin grey soil and the occasional low shrub. Sometimes they walked and sometimes they rode, and always the camels maintained their steady pace. Lunch was taken on the move: a handful of dates from the saddle bags and warm water squirted from the goatskin. There were no latrines, and sometimes not even any bushes to crouch behind. So when either Flavia or Nubia had to go, one would shield the other from view.
Finally, as the stars began to prick the lavender sky in the east, Macargus called a halt to the caravan and announced the end of their first day’s travelling.
They ate dinner that night in the shelter of some flat-topped acacia trees. It was a simple meal: camel cheese and sand-baked millet-bread, this last prepared by Assan. The twelve merchants sat around their own fire, but Flavia and her friends – plus Narcissus and his troupe – ate with Macargus and his two camel-drivers.
As they ate, Flavia studied the camel-driver’s two helpers.
Assan Cilo was a short energetic youth with a small, fluffy mustache. All day long he had been singing tunelessly as he moved up and down the caravan, steadying a load here, retying a hemp rope there, breaking up a squabble between camels. Beneath his white turban, his eyes were a startling green. He explained in good Latin that this was because his grandmother had been from Italia.
Iddibal was a sinister man in black robes and turban who took up the rear. He seemed to be the caravan’s lookout, for even here his dark eyes were always scanning the horizon. Flavia
had not yet heard him say a single word.
At the end of the meal, Assan brewed fragrant mint tea and poured out some for all around their campfire. The merchants were brewing their own.
‘There won’t be tea every night,’ said Assan with a gap-toothed smile. ‘Only while the honey lasts.’
‘Mint tea,’ murmured Flavia, taking a sip from a small thick glass. ‘It reminds me of Ostia.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jonathan, lying back on the sandy ground with his hands behind his head. ‘Sky blazing with a million stars, camels groaning, flat-topped acacia trees. It’s just like Ostia.’
‘Are you homesick for Ostia?’ asked Nubia.
‘No,’ said Jonathan and Lupus grunted his agreement.
‘I don’t miss Ostia,’ murmured Flavia, ‘but I wish I hadn’t argued with pater. Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt.’ She sighed. ‘If we could just find Uncle Gaius and bring him home, it would make everything right. Oh, Uncle Gaius, why did you go away? Why didn’t you leave a note? Did you want us to think you were dead?’
‘Who’s dead?’ asked Narcissus from the other side of the fire. He and Casina and the two musicians had been chatting in Greek during the meal, but now they were all looking at her.
‘My uncle,’ said Flavia. ‘Only he’s not dead. He disappeared from Ostia in December and we think he might be here in Africa.’
‘Ah. So that’s why you’re here. Four Roman children in the middle of Africa with no money. And I suppose you hope to find him in Volubilis?’
‘Yes,’ Flavia lied, and then thought of something. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?’
Lupus had been lying on his back beside Jonathan. Now he rolled over and fished among his things and brought out a wax tablet with Gaius’s portrait on it. He handed it to Narcissus
‘Nice-looking man.’ The pantomime dancer showed the tablet to his three companions, who all shook their heads. ‘But, no, I’m afraid we’ve never seen him.’
‘Our camel hates us,’ announced Jonathan the next morning.
Nubia was putting on Flavia’s turban. She looked up at Jonathan. ‘Why do you think this?’
‘He spat a disgusting green wad at me and he groans all the time.’
Lupus imitated the camel’s groan.
‘Groaning is normal,’ said Nubia. ‘This is how camels are talking with each other. But your camel should not spit or bite. You must make friends with your camel.’
‘How do we make friends with a camel?’ asked Jonathan. ‘Does it involve playing a flute or singing a camel-song? Because I’m not very good at that.’
Nubia giggled. ‘You must name him.’ She finished tying off Flavia’s turban and went to help Jonathan with his.
‘How about Grumpy?’ said Jonathan. ‘Or Nasty?’
Lupus guffawed. He was wearing his green caftan and attempting to wrap his own turban by imitating Nubia as she put on Jonathan’s.
‘No,’ said Nubia. ‘You must give camel good name, to show respect.’
Without letting go of his turban, Lupus used the toe of his sandal to draw in the sand: HELIOS
Jonathan craned to see.
‘Stand still,’ said Nubia. ‘I am tying your turban.’
‘Helios,’ read Flavia. ‘What a good idea! Our camel Selene is white like the moon. But yours is a boy, and golden, so naming him Helios after the sun is perfect.’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘That is good name. Second thing to make friends is give him dates. Camels love dates. You give him dates and he will be following you like dog.’
‘Is that it?’ said Jonathan, as Nubia finished off his turban.
‘That is it,’ said Nubia. ‘Very simple. To make friends with the camel, give to him nice name and give to him dates.’
She turned to Lupus and examined his turban. ‘Very good, but make it tighter next time, lest it come loose while walking.’ She made a few adjustments and then draped the tail of the turban over his front. ‘You must be able to reach this easily, to put over mouth or eyes in sandstorm. Now come,’ she turned toward the camels being hitched in a long line. ‘We must go. Caravan departs.’
The days soon took on a steady rhythm.
The twelve merchants rose before dawn, lighting a fire and brewing their tea. They were experts at packing and unpacking camels and were ready to go as soon as the sky grew pale.
Macargus and his men packed their own camels, then those of Narcissus and his troupe. Everyone helped, and within a few days everyone could pack their own camel.
After a hasty breakfast of camel’s milk and dates, they rode or walked throughout the day, for at least ten hours, and sometimes fourteen. Usually they would stop at around the fifth hour after noon. Everyone would unpack and hobble their camels, and give them fodder if there were no weeds or acacia bushes nearby. Then Assan would make a fire and cook dinner, while Macargus and Iddibal checked the camels’ health: a thorn in the foot or bite from another camel could easily become infected if not treated at once.
The merchants rested quietly before dinner, but Narcissus made his troupe practise whenever possible. Flavia, Jonathan, Nubia and Lupus had to learn the music for four dances. Sometimes Narcissus took Lupus to a flat open space and taught him the basic dance steps used by a pantomime dancer. Within a few days he had Lupus doing back flips and walking on his hands.
‘This boy’s a natural,’ said Narcissus one evening, as he and Lupus came to sit beside the musicians in the long shadow of a lofty palm tree. Casina handed him a goatskin of water and he took a long drink, then handed it to Lupus. Flavia saw that Lupus was glowing with pleasure.
‘These three are making good progress, too,’ said Casina. ‘Nubia is an extraordinary musician. She tells me she has only played the aulos once or twice before and yet she has almost mastered it.’
‘She’s good,’ admitted Hanno, the aulos player. ‘Almost as good as I am.’ He had a round, brown face and eyes made slits by a permanent smile. Flavia liked him. She liked Barbarus, too. He was a quiet young man in his early twenties who played the harp beautifully. He reminded her a little of her tutor Aristo.
The thought of Aristo sent an unpleasant pang of guilt through Flavia. She knew that he and Alma and Caudex must be sick with worry, despite the reassuring letter she had left on her beside table. She must write to them again and tell them they were well and on the trail of Uncle Gaius. She wouldn’t mention that the trail had gone cold. Flavia pushed her unease away and turned to Casina, ‘what was that song you were singing earlier today? I haven’t heard it before.’
‘I’m writing a new pantomime for the governor of Volubilis,’ said Narcissus, tossing his tawny locks. ‘It’s called The Death of Antonius and Cleopatra, based on an account of Antonius’s life I recently came across in Alexandria.’
‘I know about Cleopatra,’ said Flavia. ‘She was the beautiful and powerful young queen of Egypt in the time of Julius Caesar.’
‘It’s a myth that Cleopatra was beautiful.’ Narcissus gave Casina a wink. ‘But she was charismatic and attractive.’
Casina looked at Flavia. ‘Did you know that Cleopatra and Marcus Antonius had three children?’
‘I know she bore Julius Caesar a son called Caesarion,’ said Flavia. ‘But their enemies killed him.’
‘Yes,’ said Casina. ‘Caesarion died when he was only seventeen. But Cleopatra had other children with Marcus Antonius: twins called Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios, and later a boy.’
‘Twins!’ said Flavia, and looked at her friends. ‘Sun and Moon. Did they survive? Or were they murdered like Caesarion?’
‘They survived.’ Casina’s plain face was animated with excitement. ‘Cleopatra’s daughter grew up to marry a Numidian king called Juba II, who had been educated in Rome. He was a wise and good king, and very handsome.’ She glanced at Narcissus.
He gave her another wink. ‘Cleopatra Selene and Juba II ruled the kingdom of Mauretania from their royal palace in Volubilis,’ he said. ‘Their
descendants are no longer in power, but their memory is still greatly revered. That’s why I’m writing about Antonius and Cleopatra. Come!’ He stood up. ‘We still have about half an hour of light. Let’s practise the song.’
Jonathan followed Narcissus and the others to a flat sandy space beneath some towering palm trees. The sun had almost set and the trees threw their long slender shadows across the sandy ground. A little pack of black and white birds fluttered away, alarmed by the arrival of so many strangers in their private oasis.
Narcissus glanced at Hanno. ‘We’ll sing this to the tune of White Peacock.’ To the others, he said. ‘Join in when you feel ready.’
Jonathan nodded and gave his harp a strum; it was one of Barbarus’s spares. Beside him Nubia held her flute, and Flavia jingled a small tambourine. Lupus was ready, too, with a homemade drum slung over one shoulder and a sistrum stuck in his belt.
Round-faced Hanno nodded the beat, then began to play his buzzy aulos. After a moment the four friends looked at each other in delight; it was a popular tune from Alexandria that Aristo had taught them a few months before, in happier times. He had called it ‘Song of Isis’.
Narcissus raised his eyebrows in surprise as the four friends easily joined in with the song, then he grinned and nodded his approval.
Casina held a sheet of papyrus and Jonathan could see where some of the lines had been crossed over and rewritten.
‘Cleopatra was twenty-nine,’ sang Casina. ‘when she met the handsome Roman commander Marcus Antonius. And though her blood was Greek, she dressed as Egyptian Isis, in lapis lazuli and tissue of gold.’
Narcissus moved forward in a slinky, seductive walk: his imitation of Cleopatra. Jonathan allowed himself a smile; Narcissus was really very good.
‘Marcus Antonius looked like Hercules,’ sang Casina. ‘Or so they said.’
Narcissus swivelled as she sang this, turning his masculine profile to the audience. ‘And he was the bravest commander,’ sang Casina, ‘in the history of Rome, nay the World!’
Beside Jonathan, Flavia stopped banging her tambourine. ‘Wait a moment!’ she cried.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 205