Narcissus sighed and rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes at her. ‘What?’
‘Excuse me for interrupting, but didn’t Cleopatra’s ships flee at some battle? And didn’t Antonius panic and run after her? Our tutor Aristo said he practically handed the victory to Octavian. And isn’t that why all his men deserted and went over to the other side? Because they thought Marcus Antonius was a big coward?’
Narcissus was glaring at Flavia, his hands on his hips.
‘Actually,’ said Jonathan, ‘I think she’s right. We studied the battle of Actium with our tutor.’
‘Have you never heard of poetic licence?’ scowled Narcissus. ‘Everybody knows writers stretch the truth sometimes. I want this performance to stress the noble qualities of Antonius and Cleopatra.’ He turned back to Casina and Hanno. ‘Carry on.’
Hanno started up again and the others joined in as Casina sang: ‘He was the bravest commander in the history of Rome, nay the World. They say Fortuna favours the Brave. But Fortuna favoured not him. Fortuna favoured Octavian, adopted son and great-nephew of Julius Caesar. Antonius could never beat young Octavian, destined to be Augustus. At their final conflict, it took no prophet to predict that Antonius would not profit.’
Jonathan watched Narcissus twist and turn as he moved forward through an invisible mass of enemies, thrusting, parrying, deflecting a blow with his imaginary shield.
‘Finally,’ sang Casina, ‘abandoned by his men, his armies, and Fortuna, the cruellest blow came. Antonius heard that his life’s true love – Cleopatra – had taken her own life. Or so they said. And so brave Antonius did not hesitate. He plunged the sharpened blade into his belly.’
As Narcissus thrust the invisible sword into his stomach, a flow of bright red poured out. Beside Jonathan, Flavia and Nubia stiffened.
‘Relax,’ he whispered to them. ‘It’s just a piece of red silk. He did the same trick with the cloak in Sabratha.’
‘But his life’s true love – Cleopatra – was not dead,’ sang Casina. ‘She had only loosed a rumour, lest Antonius be angry at her flight from battle. She had taken refuge in a tower, a tomb, a mausoleum. When she heard that Antonius lay dying and crying out her name, she sent her servants to bring him to her.’
Narcissus writhed convincingly on the sandy ground.
‘Looking down from her lofty vantage,’ sang Casina, ‘Cleopatra pitied her Antonius, and lowered a rope to lift him up. For she feared to open the lower doors, lest her enemies come upon her. There never was such a pitiful sight. Or so they say. Poor Antonius rising into the air, his hands uplifted, as if to some goddess.’
‘How cruel!’ cried Flavia. ‘What a cowardess!’
Jonathan and the others stopped playing as Narcissus sat up and twisted angrily towards her. ‘Now what?’
‘Well, that poor man was dying from a wound in his stomach. They’re the most painful, aren’t they, Jonathan?’
‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘but this might not be the best time—’
‘And Cleopatra wouldn’t even let poor Antonius in the front door. She hauled him up on a rope, like . . . like a piece of furniture! That’s so cowardly and cruel!’
Narcissus stood up, brushed himself off and stalked angrily towards Flavia.
‘Are all girls from Rome as bossy as you?’ he said from between gritted teeth.
Jonathan quickly stepped forward to distract the dancer: ‘Sir, why don’t we lift you to an upper floor of the scaena?’
Narcissus turned his handsome, angry face from Flavia to Jonathan. ‘What?’
‘I was thinking,’ said Jonathan. ‘You know how the actor is sometimes lowered to the stage on a rope hanging from a crane?’
‘Of course I do! It’s called deus ex machina. What of it?’
‘Why not have homo ad caelum? Lift a man to the top of the scaena?’
Narcissus snorted and tossed his hair. ‘I’m a pantomime dancer, not an acrobat.’
‘I know. But think how impressive it would be if Antonius ascends, writhing in pain and with his arms uplifted.’
Narcissus cocked his head to one side. ‘Go on.’
‘I could wait at the top in a Cleopatra mask,’ said Jonathan, ‘waving my arms as if in distress. I think the crowd will love it,’ he added.
Narcissus nodded slowly, then opened his mouth to say something.
‘But is it true?’ persisted Flavia, her hands on her hips. ‘Did Cleopatra really—’
‘Be quiet!’ said Jonathan and Narcissus together.
They looked at each other in surprise. Then Narcissus chuckled and slung his muscular arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. ‘That’s one of the craziest ideas I’ve ever heard,’ he said, ‘but when we get to Volubilis, I think we should do it.’
That night after dinner, the three girls went behind some date palms to improvise a latrine. Nubia was carrying the torch and on their way back to the camp she saw the glint of metal on the ground.
She bent to pick it up.
‘Behold!’ she said. ‘Silver coin.’
‘What have you found?’ asked Flavia, stopping and coming back.
‘Coin on chain. It is necklace.’ Nubia’s golden eyes grew wide in surprise. ‘Behold it is Casina. Casina looking angry.’
‘Casina on a coin? Impossible. Let me see!’ Flavia snatched the coin from Nubia’s hand. ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ she exclaimed. ‘It does look like Casina. Only uglier and in a bad mood. It’s a silver denarius,’ she said, examining it in the flickering light of Nubia’s torch. ‘It looks old. What does this inscription say? Something about . . . Cleopatra. Great Juno’s peacock! It’s not Casina. It’s Cleopatra!’
‘Oh, you found it!’ cried Casina, running up to them. ‘Praise Isis! You found my necklace.’
Flavia looked up at her. ‘This is yours?’
‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It must have fallen off.’
‘It’s Cleopatra, isn’t it?’ Flavia handed her the coinon-a-chain.
Casina did not answer. She was fumbling with the clasp. Flavia stepped behind her to help and Nubia held the torch a little closer.
‘Cleopatra is obviously special to you,’ said Flavia.
‘It’s just a trinket,’ said Casina. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. A friend gave it to me.’
Flavia finished doing the clasp and patted Casina on the back. ‘You know,’ she said, with a glance at Nubia, ‘you could almost have posed for that portrait of her.’
‘She’s not very pretty, is she?’ said Casina, pulling the coin away from her neck so she could look at the profile of Cleopatra. ‘Hooked nose, jutting chin, beetling brows . . . The first time I saw a picture of her I couldn’t believe it.’ Casina tucked the coin back under the neck of her tunic, and turned away. ‘But they say she was charming and witty, and that she had a lovely voice.’
‘You have a lovely voice,’ said Nubia softly.
Casina gave a bitter laugh. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? I have her plain looks, but not her charm or wit.’
‘I’m sure Nubia didn’t mean that,’ said Flavia. ‘She just meant that—’
Casina rounded on them, her wet eyes gleaming in the golden torchlight. ‘Is it a crime to admire a woman who was ugly, and yet won the love of the greatest man in Rome?’
‘We didn’t mean—’
‘It’s all right for you. You’re both pretty. But I—’ Casina burst into tears. ‘Oh why don’t you just leave me alone?’
With that, she turned and ran towards the camp.
Nubia and Flavia stared at each other in amazement.
‘I only said she looked like Cleopatra,’ protested Flavia.
‘I think she is hiding secret,’ said Nubia quietly.
‘That she’s in love with Narcissus?’ said Flavia.
‘Of course,’ said Nubia softly. ‘But I am thinking there is something else.’
On the seventh day out of Sabratha, Flavia almost fell off the camel and broke her neck.
It was mid-morning of an overcast
day. They had walked for two hours first thing, to warm themselves after the cold night. But now it was getting hot and the ground was littered with strange grey rocks, so they were riding. Flavia had grown so used to the rocking motion of the camel that it sometimes put her to sleep. She had been nodding off when Selene stumbled on something and lurched forward, nearly pitching Flavia onto sharp stones and sunbaked earth.
‘Oh!’ she cried, and felt Nubia’s arms around her waist.
‘Here,’ said Nubia. ‘Come back to middle of mattress. Do not worry. I hold you.’
‘Thank you, Nubia. Oh! I dropped the parasol. It’s our only one!’ She leaned out to look for it on the stony ground behind her. And she screamed.
Assan uttered a high ‘loo-loo-loo-loo-loo!’ and as the camels slowed their pace he rode up beside the girls.
‘What is it?’ he cried, reining in his camel. ‘What happened?’
‘There are skeletons down there,’ said Flavia. ‘Human skeletons!’
By now the caravan had stopped and Macargus was making his way back to see what the problem was. Nubia gave Selene a gentle hiss and the camel sank to her knees.
‘Look!’ cried Flavia, scrambling off the camel. ‘That’s what the camel tripped on.’ She pointed to a human skull a few paces away.
‘Behold,’ said Nubia softly. ‘There are myriads.’
Flavia saw that the strangely-shaped grey rocks along the trail were not rocks, but human bones.
‘They are from slaves,’ said Assan, sinking down to their level as his camel knelt. ‘From slave-caravan leading to Sabratha, Oea or Leptis Magna.’ He dismounted.
‘What is wrong?’ said Macargus, coming up on camelback. ‘Why do you stop?’
‘Skeletons. Everywhere,’ said Flavia with a shudder. ‘Oh, it’s horrible. I don’t even want to touch them. Assan, will you fetch my parasol?’ Assan nodded and stepped over some bones to retrieve her parasol. ‘They’re so small,’ murmured Flavia, staring at one of the skeletons. ‘Does the sun shrink them?’
Assan shook his head. ‘No. These are the bones of children. Look there!’ He pointed to a small scrubby bush. Beside it lay two-medium sized skeletons with their arms around each other. The bones were clean and white, all except for the hands, where some sinews still remained.
‘They were sisters,’ said Macargus, ‘or maybe friends.’ He made the sign against evil.
‘How can you tell they’re girls?’ said Flavia, horrified.
‘Hip bones. And their teeth show they were young. About your age.’
‘How did they die?’ asked Jonathan. He and Lupus had also dismounted.
‘Thirst, probably,’ said Assan. ‘The slave-drivers tell them there is water just ahead. Just over the next ridge, they say: the well is just ahead. They say that to make them keep going. But they are usually lying. They only give them one or two squirts of water per day.’
Macargus shook his head sadly. ‘Slave-drivers can afford to losing many slaves. They are still making good profit. Now come. We must continue. It is eight more hours to the next well and we do not want to be suffering their fate.’
As they turned to get back onto their camels, Flavia saw the sinister black-robed figure of Iddibal standing alone at the end of the caravan. As usual, he was staring out towards the horizon.
The following morning was overcast and grey, but like the previous day, it soon grew hot. They stopped briefly around noon for a latrine break, and as the three girls returned to join the others, Nubia pointed to the south.
‘Behold!’ she said. ‘Caravan this way comes.’
Flavia turned and shaded her eyes. Tiny dark pips seemed to wobble in the shimmering heat haze above the horizon.
‘They look like they’re floating,’ said Flavia. ‘Are they coming toward us?’
‘Are you sure it’s a caravan?’ said Casina.
‘Nubia is correct,’ said Assan. ‘It is a caravan coming. Come, we will walk the camels.’ He gave his special cry of ‘Bokka, bokka! Bok! Bok!’ to the camels, and the caravan groaned into motion.
Half an hour later the approaching caravan could be clearly seen: four riders and more than a hundred people on foot.
At first Flavia thought they were old men and women, but as they came closer she saw that they were little black-skinned children.
‘Oh, Nubia!’ she cried. ‘They’re almost all children. They look like walking skeletons.’
‘Behold,’ said Nubia softly. ‘It is slave-caravan.’
Assan walked up abreast of them, his camel on its lead behind him.
‘Is it true, Assan?’ asked Flavia. ‘Are they slaves?’
‘It is true.’
‘Can’t we do something? Can’t we help them?’
‘What could you do?’ said Assan. ‘There are more than one hundred. They are not our property.’
‘We could buy them and then set them free!’ said Flavia, and then her shoulders slumped. ‘But we don’t have any money.’
‘Even if you did have money to buy them all, you cannot just set them all free here in the desert. They will die. That is why they wear no chains. There is nowhere for them to go. You would also need to feed them, clothe them, take care of them—’
‘Yes! We could do that. And when they’re better then we could take them back to their families.’
‘Their families are probably dead. Murdered by the slave-traders. If they are not dead, they are hiding in the bush. We would never find them. These slaves come from hundreds of miles. Perhaps,’ he added, ‘some of their own parents even sell them for money, if they are very poor.’
Nubia was trembling, and Flavia began to cry. ‘What can we do? We can’t just watch them pass by.’
‘I know what we can do,’ said Jonathan, coming up from behind. ‘We can show them mercy. Assan, please ask Macargus to stop our caravan. Just for a short time.’
Assan nodded and gave his high ‘loo-loo’. The caravan slowed to a halt.
‘Lupus,’ said Jonathan. ‘Bring those two skins of water. Flavia and Nubia, bring that basket of dates we collected at the last oasis.’
Lupus and the girls went to get the water and dates, then followed Jonathan. When the little slave-children saw the boys with their water-skins they ran eagerly and let Jonathan or Lupus direct jets of water into their mouths.
Flavia and Nubia gave each child a single date. Flavia knew that was all they could spare. Tears were running down Nubia’s cheeks as the children kissed their hands and feet. Many of the children were holding out their hands to them, pleading in their own language. But now one of the slave-drivers was looming up on his camel. He wore a black caftan and a black turban, and only his angry eyes were visible. He cracked his whip and shouted at the children in some strange glottal language.
Suddenly another figure in black robes was standing beside them. It was Iddibal, and for the first time Flavia heard him speak. She could not understand his words, for he spoke the same harsh language as the slave-driver, but the gist was clear. The man on the camel spat onto the ground, but he did not use his whip again. He merely kicked his camel forward. The children turned to follow him, throwing many yearning glances behind them.
‘If anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because of me, he will not lose his reward,’ quoted Jonathan softly.
‘What?’ said Flavia.
Jonathan’s eyes were fixed on the retreating column. ‘It’s something our Messiah said: I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me water. I was naked, and you gave me clothes.’
‘But we didn’t give them clothes. Or enough food and water. Some of them will die. Do you really think your Messiah will reward us for giving them a single date and a mouthful of water?’ She put an arm around Nubia, who was sobbing silently. ‘Don’t you think he wants us to do something more?’
‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘I know he does.’
They remounted their camels and the caravan rode on, silent and subdue
d.
Late in the afternoon of the following day they caught sight of a town on the horizon. Date palms and curious men lined the road as they approached the town walls, which were built of doughy grey mud baked hard by the desert sun.
‘Behold!’ said Nubia. ‘City of Bread.’
‘It does look like it’s made of bread,’ agreed Flavia and turned eagerly to Assan, riding beside them. ‘Is this it? Is this Volubilis?’
Assan laughed. ‘Volubilis is another thousand miles further west,’ he said. ‘That is Cydamus.’
The roadside was becoming crowded with men and boys who stared at them with open mouths. Some of the boys ran after the camels and cheered.
‘Where are all the women, Assan?’ asked Flavia.
He pointed straight ahead and Flavia saw dark, veiled shapes lining the crenellated ramparts above. As she looked the women began to ululate their greetings.
The caravan did not enter Cydamus, but veered right at the town gate and followed the wall round to a shady grove of palms. They came to a halt outside the walls of a caravanserai, and led the camels to a nearby well.
Flavia climbed off Selene, but she did not forget to pat the camel’s head and feed her a date, as Nubia had taught her to do.
Narcissus and Casina came up to them. ‘Assan tells me there’s a Roman-style bath-house over there,’ said Narcissus. ‘Through the grove.’
‘Did you say a bath-house?’ said Jonathan, coming up to them. ‘I would kill for a long soak and a massage.’
Lupus grinned, then narrowed his eyes at a group of grubby boys who were approaching them. The boys scattered and regrouped a short distance away. Flavia noticed their tunics were no more than rags, and that some of them had pink and swollen eyes.
‘I doubt if the baths here will be up to Roman or Alexandrian standards,’ said Narcissus, ‘but Assan says the water is naturally hot and there are separate sections for men and women. I want you all to bathe, because we’ve just been invited to spend the night with one of the local dignitaries. He wants us to perform and in return he’s giving us dinner and a bed.’
‘Of course we’ll go to the baths,’ cried Flavia. ‘You won’t be able to keep me away.’ She caught Nubia’s hand. ‘Are you coming, Casina!’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 206