‘He’s right!’ gasped Flavia.
Jonathan shrugged. ‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ he said. ‘Just means they get the news here.’
‘I used to live on the Palatine Hill,’ said the beggar. ‘I was Nero’s freedman and secretary. Was with him until the very end.’
The friends glanced at each other.
‘What is your name, sir?’ asked Nubia politely.
‘Mendicus,’ said the beggar in his husky voice. ‘They call me Mendicus.’ He smiled at her and said. ‘That pantomime dancer is leading you astray. The Triton Tavern is that way.’ He pointed a yellow talon to the south. ‘First right turning past the Capitolium.’
Flavia gasped. ‘How do you know he’s a pantomime dancer?’
‘Pantomime dancers always shave their foreheads. Makes the mask fit easily. Everyone knows that.’
They all stared at him for a moment, then Lupus took out his wax tablet, scribbled something on it and held it before the man’s bleary eyes.
The beggar squinted at it, then cackled. ‘Of course I can read. Both Greek and Latin. Told you: I was Nero’s secretary.’ The beggar’s toothless grin widened and a gleaming string of saliva dripped onto his seething beard.
‘I have a question I’ll bet you can’t answer!’ cried Flavia suddenly. She snatched the tablet from Lupus and showed the portrait painted on the back. ‘That’s my Uncle Gaius,’ she said. ‘He’s been missing for three months. Can you tell me where he is?’
The beggar peered at the tablet. Then he looked up at Flavia and nodded. ‘The last time I saw that man,’ he rasped, ‘he and his friends were passing by on their way to Calypso’s Caupona. Two doors down from the Triton Tavern.’
Half an hour later, Flavia parted the bead curtain and peered into Calypso’s Caupona. They had left their few things at the Triton Tavern and hurried straight here.
A low buzz of conversation filled the room, punctuated by the rattle of dice and the off-key plinking of a cithara.
Sawdust covered the floor and smoke from cheap oil-lamps hung in the air, along with the scent of sour wine and sweat. Beams of light slanted in through latticework windows and illuminated a rude fresco of satyrs pursuing nymphs. Flavia averted her eyes from the fresco and stepped inside. She heard the bead curtain clatter as her friends followed her in.
Flavia glanced around: ‘Not one toga to be seen,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I don’t think this is a very respectable establishment.’
Lupus grunted and pointed. In one corner of the tavern sat half a dozen turbaned men. One of the men wore a leopard-skin cloak and another had a monkey on his shoulder. Tethered to a leg of their table was a miniature antelope with tiny horns and large brown eyes.
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia. ‘A dik-dik.’
‘I think Lupus is pointing at the beast-hunters,’ said Jonathan. ‘Not that baby antelope.’
Lupus nodded, grunted again, and pointed urgently towards the men.
‘What?’ asked Flavia.
‘Behold! It is the Uncle Gaius,’ said Nubia, her golden eyes wide.
Lupus nodded and mimed stroking a beard.
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ muttered Flavia, and squinted through the smoky gloom. ‘Is that him? That man with the scruffy beard? Wearing that greasy blue turban?’
‘Master of the universe,’ said Jonathan. ‘It is him!’ He looked at Flavia. ‘I don’t believe it! We’ve found your uncle. And it’s all thanks to that disgusting beggar.’
‘Uncle Gaius?’ cried Flavia, weaving through the tables and ignoring the raised eyebrows and open mouths of the drinkers. ‘Uncle Gaius, is that you?’ In the dim light of the tavern, it was difficult to see his features.
The bearded man in the blue turban looked up from his dice, then turned his face towards her. He had her father’s features, and Flavia felt an irrational stab of guilt mixed with love. But she knew this was not her father. It was his twin brother.
‘Oh, Uncle Gaius!’ Flavia ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. ‘It is you!’
‘Great Jupiter’s eyebrows!’ he exclaimed stiffly. ‘What are you doing here?’
He made no move to return her embrace. Instead he remarked to his friends. ‘It’s my bossy little niece Flavia.’ When he spoke, she could smell sour wine on his breath.
She pulled back, hurt and confused. ‘Uncle Gaius, aren’t you going to say hello?’
‘Hello, Bossy-boots,’ he said cheerfully.
Flavia glanced back in consternation at her friends. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to my friends?’
‘Hello, Bossy-bootlets.’ He giggled.
‘Uncle Gaius, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m having a good time,’ he said, shaking the dice-cup. ‘That’s what I’m doing here. What are you doing here?’
‘We’ve come to find you! To take you home to Ostia.’
Six dice clattered onto the wooden table. He examined them and took another sip of wine. ‘Don’t want to go. Like it here.’
The other beast-hunters chuckled.
For the first time, she noticed his voice was slurred and her hurt became anger. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘None of your business,’ he said, and the man with the monkey said. ‘You tell her, Gaius.’
With an angry gesture Flavia swept the dice to the floor. ‘Uncle Gaius!’ she cried. ‘How can you just sit here and gamble? Don’t you realise how worried we’ve been about you? We thought you were dead!’
He grinned at her, his gaze unfocused. ‘Well, as you can see,’ he said. ‘I am perfectly fine. I am now a beast-hunter.’ He plunked down his glass beaker of wine.
‘A beast-hunter?’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘We all thought you were mad with grief but instead you’re playing at being a beast-hunter? I can’t believe it. You abandoned your baby boys. You let us think you were dead! You’re a coward, Uncle Gaius. A coward!’
He tipped his head back defiantly. ‘I am not a coward,’ he slurred. ‘I am a brave beast-hunter as my friends here will testify. Now go away, Bossy-boots. Go away and leave me alone.’
They found Narcissus pacing the small courtyard of the Triton Tavern. ‘There you are!’ he cried, and tossed his hair importantly. ‘I have good news. I sent the governor a message telling him I was here and he wants me – us, I mean – to perform at his festival. Also, he’s invited us to dinner.’
‘When?’ asked Flavia numbly. She was still reeling from the encounter with her uncle.
‘Today! This afternoon! Casina is just about to go to the baths. Look! Here she comes now. I suggest you two girls go with her.’ He frowned at Flavia. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you don’t want a decent bath after a month on camelback?’
‘Of course,’ murmured Flavia. ‘Of course we do.’
‘Then go with Casina,’ he said. ‘And you boys come with us.’ Here he beckoned to Hanno and Barbarus, waiting on a bench with their bath-sets. ‘We’ll meet back here in an hour and then go straight on to the governor’s.’
Bathed and refreshed, and wearing coloured silk caftans, Lupus and his friends followed Narcissus into the atrium of the procurator’s villa.
The layout was that of an opulent Roman townhouse, but the door-slave who held open one of the double doors did not look at all Roman. He wore only a red loincloth and matching red turban. His muscular, oiled body was as smooth and black as jet. Lupus gazed at him in open-mouthed admiration.
‘The illustrious procurator Gnaeus Aufidius Chius bids you welcome to his humble abode!’ announced the African door-slave, in perfect Latin.
A moment later a middle-aged man in a toga strode into the atrium. He had silver-grey hair, an eagle’s-beak nose and a scribe in attendance. He went straight to Narcissus and grasped the dancer’s hand in both of his.
‘My dear boy. I’m a huge fan. Huge. Saw you in Alexandria last year. Superb.’
Narcissus flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you, your eminence,’ he said. ‘And thank you for agreeing to
let us celebrate your appointment as procurator.’
‘The honour is mine. All mine. I would love you to perform during the festival. And it would be an even greater honour if you would stay here with me. For a week. Two weeks. As long as you like.’
‘Thank you,’ stuttered Narcissus. Lupus knew this was more than he had dared to hope for.
‘Where is your luggage?’
‘At the Triton Tavern.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The governor turned his body slightly towards his secretary. ‘Philo. Send two or three porters to bring their things here. Install them in the guest-wing.’ He turned back to Narcissus and his troupe. ‘Now who do we have here?’ He gave Casina a puzzled smile. ‘Have we met before? You look very familiar.’
‘No, sir,’ said Casina shyly. ‘We have never met.’
‘This is Casina,’ said Narcissus, ‘my singer. My musicians are Hanno, Barbarus, Nubia, Flavia, Jonathan and Lupus.’
‘Charming.’ Aufidius smiled at each one in turn. He gave Casina another searching look, then said over his shoulder: ‘Philo. Give Narcissus and Casina a room each. The two men can share, and the two younger girls and the two boys. You don’t mind sharing, do you?’ He smiled and raised his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘I can assure you. My rooms are much better than those at the Triton Tavern. Now, come. Before we eat. Let me give you a little tour of the villa.’
The governor led the way out of the atrium and into the peristyle of a large inner garden with a shallow swimming pool as its central feature.
‘It’s beautiful,’ breathed Casina, her homely face full of wonder.
‘Yes.’ Aufidius stopped, clasped his hands behind his back and looked around, as if seeing the villa for the first time. ‘It’s really a palace, of course. It used to belong to King Juba the second. A Numidian from these parts who was raised in Rome. Come! I’ll introduce you to him. Through here.’ Aufidius led them through an arched corridor into a tiny, fragrant herb garden.
Among the pots of thyme, rosemary and dill, on a column of red porphyry, was a bust of a handsome, curly-haired youth gazing pensively into the distance. The polished bronze was the exact colour of Numidian skin, and the eyes were of white alabaster inlaid with glass paste, giving the bust a startlingly realistic look.
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia. ‘He’s beautiful.’
Lupus saw that some of the colour had returned to her cheeks.
‘Young Juba here was raised in Rome,’ said Aufidius, ‘and he became a scholar of great repute. It was in Rome that he met the daughter of Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra, whom he later married.’
‘Cleopatra Selene,’ whispered Casina, reaching out to stroke Juba’s smooth bronze cheek.
‘She had a twin brother, didn’t she?’ asked Flavia.
‘Yes,’ said the governor. ‘Alexander Helios.’
‘Selene means “moon” and Helios means “sun”,’ said Flavia.
‘Like our camels,’ added Nubia.
The governor raised an eyebrow.
‘What ever happened to Alexander Helios?’ asked Jonathan.
‘He died of a fever at the age of about fifteen. His sister was devastated. But she found companionship and love with this young man. They became king and queen of Mauretania and divided their time between Caesarea, up on the coast, and this place. I believe they were happiest here.’
Lupus wrote on his wax tablet and showed it to Jonathan.
‘Did they have any children?’ asked Jonathan.
‘A son called Ptolemy,’ said the governor. ‘Sadly, he was executed by the Emperor Caligula forty years ago. That’s when Mauretania ceased being a kingdom and became an imperial province, governed by procurators like myself.’ He gave a little bow.
Lupus nudged Jonathan again and showed him his tablet.
‘Did Ptolemy have children?’ asked Jonathan, and Lupus saw Narcissus and Casina exchange a look.
‘Not entirely sure,’ said Aufidius, ‘If he did, I doubt whether Caligula let them live. But come! Let’s not dwell on that. I have devoted a whole room to Antonius and Cleopatra.’ He led them down a painted corridor, through another garden courtyard and into a bright, airy room with marble tables around three walls. ‘See?’ He stood aside and swept his arm out. ‘Some of Cleopatra’s jewels, toiletries, et cetera. Her daughter inherited them and here they are!’
Casina ran forward with a little cry of pleasure. The others followed.
Lupus eagerly scanned the jewellery displayed on the table, then his shoulders slumped: there was no giant emerald there.
‘Oh!’ cried Casina. ‘Oh! Oh! Look at this ivy wreath made of pure gold.’ She glanced at Narcissus. ‘It must be worth a fortune.’
Aufidius nodded. ‘That belonged to Marcus Antonius. He often dressed as Dionysus. God of wine. That jeweled goblet is his, too. And that ceremonial dagger. Also the ruby signet ring. And of course this onyx cameo of Cleo –’ He stopped mid-sentence and stared at Casina. ‘By Jove!’ he cried, holding the cameo beside her. ‘That’s who you remind me of. You look just like Cleopatra!’
‘Do I?’ Casina flushed and dropped her head.
‘Of course!’ said Jonathan. ‘I knew you looked familiar.’
‘We thought that too,’ said Flavia. ‘Didn’t we Nubia?’
Casina’s face was bright red and Lupus could see she was embarrassed.
Nubia must have noticed, too, for she said to the governor, ‘We are hearing you have a big emerald.’
Lupus nodded and gestured around as if to say: Is it here?
‘A what?’ said Aufidius. ‘An emerald? No. Cleopatra never had a particularly big emerald, as far as I know. Valuable pearl. Yes. But no emerald.’
‘The emerald didn’t belong to Cleopatra,’ said Jonathan. ‘It belonged to Nero.’
‘Ah!’ Aufidius nodded and smiled. ‘You mean “Nero’s Eye”.’
‘Nero’s eye?’ they echoed.
‘Yes. Nero’s Eye. It’s a huge emerald. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Worth a fortune. They say it was brought to Volubilis about twelve years ago. Someone – nobody knows who – dedicated it at the Temple of Apollo.’
Lupus heard Flavia mutter, ‘The hunt is on!’ Then she turned to the governor: ‘Could you tell us where the Temple of Apollo is? We’d love to see the emerald.’
The procurator shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid the emerald is no longer there. It caught someone’s eye.’
‘Someone stole it?’ said Jonathan.
Aufidius chuckled. ‘Not exactly,’ he said.
‘Hello, everyone!’ came a woman’s voice. Lupus and his friends turned to see a dusky and curvaceous beauty coming through the doorway. She was about twenty and she wore a sleeveless, scoop-necked white stola belted under her breasts. Her sable hair was oiled and plaited into dozens of strands with gilded beads woven in. These beads made soft clicking noises and a dozen golden bangles tinkled on her bare arms.
‘Ah. My dear,’ said Aufidius, moving forward to take her hands. ‘You’re back from the baths.’
She tilted her lovely face and allowed him to kiss her perfumed cheek.
‘This is my wife, Glycera,’ said Aufidius, turning to the others. ‘Glycera, this is the pantomime dancer I was telling you about. Narcissus. And his musicians.’
Glycera went straight to Narcissus and took his hands. ‘Charmed,’ she said, dimpling.
Narcissus did not reply. He was staring at Glycera’s neckline in wide-eyed amazement. So were Lupus and his friends. For in addition to her bangles and earrings, Glycera was wearing a necklace: a large, lentil-shaped emerald.
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia. ‘It is Eye of Nero!’
When they all gathered in the large triclinium for dinner half an hour later, Flavia saw that Glycera had slipped a filmy green palla over her diaphanous white stola. The dusky beauty reclined on the central couch between Casina and Narcissus, who had the place of honour. Governor Aufidius reclined in the host’s traditional place, on the end of the left-hand couch, so that he was
close to Narcissus, too.
Also on the left hand couch were Hanno and Barbarus. Flavia and her three friends had crowded onto the right-hand couch.
Ebony slaves in red loin-cloths and turbans had washed their feet and hands with saffron-scented water. Now these same slaves were bringing in the gustatio on silver trays. There were olives, cubes of camels’-milk cheese, hard-boiled quails’ eggs and little birds roasted whole on the spit.
Aufidius gave thanks for the food, spattered a small libation of wine onto the marble floor and they began to eat.
Flavia reclined between Lupus and Jonathan. Her encounter with her uncle had destroyed her appetite, so while everyone was busy reaching for starters, she slipped out her wax tablet and secretly wrote:
We’ve found the gem! Then she tipped it so her friends could see what she had written.
Lupus nodded and wrote on his own tablet: WE CAN STEAL IT TONIGHT
Nubia took Flavia’s tablet and wrote: They are kind. Must we steal it?
Before Flavia could reclaim her tablet, Jonathan took it and wrote: It doesn’t officially belong to them.
Flavia nodded her agreement and took back her tablet. We just have to find out, she wrote, where she keeps it when it’s not around her neck.
On the other couches, the adults were busy discussing Antonius and Cleopatra. Narcissus was telling them about the new pantomime he had been preparing: The Death of Antonius and Cleopatra.
‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Governor Aufidius, but Flavia noticed Glycera rolling her eyes and stifling a tiny yawn.
Aufidius glanced at his wife, then back at Narcissus. ‘Will you perform it for us?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Narcissus. ‘I’ve composed it in your honour.’
‘Personally, I despise Cleopatra,’ said Glycera, nibbling daintily at a roast bird.
Casina gasped and Narcissus stiffened.
‘My dear,’ admonished Aufidius gently. ‘You mustn’t speak ill of the dead. Not in her daughter’s palace.’
‘Why do you dislike Cleopatra so much?’ asked Flavia.
Glycera shrugged prettily. ‘I prefer Antonius’s other wife,’ she said. ‘She’s my idol.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 211