The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  ‘Wait.’ He made a patting motion with his hands. ‘Wait here. I will show you.’

  Nubia and Jonathan exchanged a puzzled look as Vitrarius hurried into his inferno of a workshop. A few moments later he emerged and handed Jonathan a piece of pale blue-green glass shaped like a large lentil. It almost filled the palm of Jonathan’s hand.

  ‘Great Juno’s beard!’ exclaimed Jonathan. ‘It’s almost exactly the same size and shape as the Eye of Nero! Why do you have this?’

  ‘Look,’ said the man. ‘Look through it.’

  Jonathan brought the glass lentil to his eye and gasped. ‘It makes everything bigger!’ he cried. ‘That’s amazing!’ He turned to look at Nubia, his right eye hugely magnified.

  ‘Behold!’ she giggled. ‘It makes your eye overweening.’

  Jonathan handed the lentil to Nubia. ‘Here. You have a look.’

  ‘Look at my signet ring.’ Vitrarius laid his hand palm down on the table.

  Nubia bent forward and brought the clear lentil close. ‘Behold!’ she cried again. ‘It is little Perseus with shield of Athena and head of Medusa shown inside.’

  ‘Let me see!’ cried Jonathan. A moment later he looked up in amazement.

  ‘I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this. I know people who can’t see things close up. This could help them.’

  ‘That is exactly why I make them,’ said Vitrarius. ‘To help people see. Both close-up and far away. That is why I was excited to see your drawing of Nero’s Eye. It is concave, for seeing far. These ones I have just shown you are convex, for seeing near. I have heard of such gems but have never seen them. They are what first gave my grandfather the idea.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Nubia suddenly. ‘That is why they are calling it Nero’s Eye!’

  Jonathan and the glassmaker frowned at her.

  ‘Do you not understand?’ said Nubia. She raised the glass lentil to her eye and said: ‘The emerald was not being colour of Nero’s eye. It was for helping him to see.’

  Lupus crept through the rooms of the governor’s villa. As a houseguest, he had every right to be there, but he liked spying. He liked being invisible. And he loved the excitement of the hunt.

  He glimpsed one of the procurator’s Ethiopian slaves approaching, so he pressed himself against a pillar. His ears were sharp as a rabbit’s and when he heard the slave’s bare feet crunching on the gravel path he moved slowly around the pillar, keeping it between him and the slave. Presently all was silent, except for his thumping heart. It was the time of siesta and he knew most of the household would be asleep. He had left his sandals in his bedroom so that he could move on silent bare feet. He padded forward now, and each time he came to a doorway he stopped and cocked his head to listen.

  Presently he heard a woman’s low voice coming from an inner courtyard somewhere nearby and followed the sound to a wing he had not previously visited. Rooms were grouped around a small shady courtyard with marble benches and a rainwater pool. At the centre of the pool stood a bronze statue of Diana, her image perfectly reflected in the still water.

  Lupus heard the woman’s voice again. There! It was coming from that room in the corner of the courtyard. Lupus crouched low and ran behind a low green hedge of some pungent-smelling herb. He quickly popped up his head, like a rabbit peering from its hole, then crouched down again. A gauzy white curtain covered the door of the room. Occasionally the breeze made the fabric billow up and out. If he could get closer he might be able to see in.

  He moved along behind the hedge, then quickly ran to one of the columns of the peristyle. It was dark red Egyptian porphyry: cool and smooth.

  A woman’s laugh – low and sweet– came from the room. Lupus was certain it was Glycera, the procurator’s voluptuous young wife.

  Then he heard a man’s voice. He could not distinguish the words, but he knew it was not the procurator. This was the voice of a much younger man.

  Lupus ran forward to the next column, and then the next. And now he was close enough to hear Glycera say. ‘You must go now.’

  ‘No, not yet,’ pleaded the man’s voice.

  ‘Yes, my sweet,’ came Glycera’s voice. ‘Now.’

  There were sounds of movement and presently Lupus heard the slap of sandals on the marble floor. He pressed himself against the column and held his breath. A moment later he heard the footsteps going along the peristyle in the opposite direction.

  He peeked round the column to see the back of a slender young man with fair hair wearing a simple blue tunic with a black meander pattern at the hem. Abruptly the young man stopped and turned his head, as if to listen.

  Quickly Lupus pressed his back against the column, then breathed a sigh of relief as the footsteps continued to retreat.

  Then he felt a slow smile spread across his face: his brief glimpse of the man’s profile had confirmed his suspicions.

  Glycera’s afternoon visitor was very good-looking.

  ‘Which do you want to hear first?’ asked Flavia. ‘The good news or the bad news?’ It was the third hour after noon. The four friends had gathered in the boys’ bedroom to discuss their progress. A large fresco of a beast-hunt dominated the room, with life-sized lions and leopards

  ‘Better tell us the bad news first,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Good news,’ said Nubia.

  ‘Lupus?’ said Flavia. ‘Your vote decides it.’

  Lupus grinned and pointed to Nubia.

  ‘All right,’ said Flavia. ‘The good news first. After I went to the baths, I stopped by the Capitolium and showed the priest my imperial pass. He gave me one hundred gold pieces, ten thousand sesterces! Even after paying Narcissus we’ll have six thousand left over. At last we can afford to do things. I wish I’d thought of that earlier.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Jonathan. ‘We could have given the glassmaker a down payment. What’s your bad news?’

  Flavia sighed and began counting out coins. ‘Narcissus doesn’t want to do a pantomime of the death of Nero. We’ll have to think of another way to get the emerald off Glycera for a few moments.’

  Lupus held up his wax tablet with excitement.

  GLYCERA WAS ENTERTAINING A MAN IN HER BEDROOM THIS AFTERNOON. IT WAS NOT HER HUSBAND.

  ‘Oh!’ Flavia stopped counting long enough to exchange a glance with Nubia. ‘Was he handsome?’

  Lupus nodded and grinned: VERY. ALSO TALL, SLIM AND FAIR

  ‘Are any of us surprised?’ said Flavia, handing out the gold.

  ‘I suppose her husband is rather old,’ said Jonathan, slipping his coins into his belt pouch. He looked at Flavia. ‘Why didn’t Narcissus take your bait?’

  ‘I made the mistake of introducing him to that lice-ridden creature who begs in the forum.’

  Jonathan frowned. ‘Why in Hades did you do that?’

  ‘Well, he claimed he was with Nero when he died and I thought that might intrigue Narcissus. If he could get an eyewitness account . . .’ She sighed. ‘That beggar didn’t know Nero. I doubt he’s even been to Rome. Do you know what he said Nero’s last words were?’

  ‘What an artist dies in me?’ suggested Jonathan.

  ‘No,’ said Flavia. ‘He claims Nero said: Ow it hurts.’

  Jonathan grinned and Lupus guffawed.

  Flavia sighed. ‘How about you?’ She looked at Jonathan and Nubia. ‘Did you find someone to make a replica?’

  ‘We did,’ said Jonathan. ‘A glassmaker named Vitrarius. He told us why it’s called Nero’s Eye.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nero probably used to look through it,’ said Jonathan. ‘Gems or pieces of glass shaped like lentils can improve your vision.’

  Nubia nodded. ‘Nero’s Eye is for helping to see.’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia, leaping to her feet. ‘That means he’s not mad. He did know Nero. And I’ll bet he knows all about Nero’s death.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Jonathan with a frown. ‘What are you babbling about?’

  ‘That beggar,’
she cried. ‘He called the emerald a “seeing-thing”. He knew exactly what it was used for. I’ll wager he really was with Nero when he died.’ She looked at them with bright eyes. ‘Now that we have some gold, I’m betting he’ll tell us all about it.’

  An hour later Flavia and Nubia were woken from a nap by one of the governor’s female slaves.

  ‘Your friends Jonathan and Lupus request that you meet them,’ she said without lifting her eyes. ‘They await you in the street outside.’

  When the girls emerged from the cool villa into the hot street, they saw Jonathan and Lupus standing in the shady porch of a house on the other side of the street. With them was a bald old man in a cream tunic.

  ‘Behold!’ breathed Nubia. ‘It is Mendicus.’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock,’ muttered Flavia. ‘I don’t believe it. You took him to the baths!’

  She crossed the street and stared at the beggar wide-eyed.

  Instead of the stink of urine, he smelt of lavender. In place of his filthy cloak he wore a clean tunic. His face was clean-shaven and pink, his ropey clumps of white hair shaved off, and his skin colour at least three shades lighter.

  His bulging blue eyes were still the same, however: bloodshot and with a gleam of madness.

  ‘Salve, Mendicus,’ she said politely.

  ‘Ask him if he enjoyed his bath,’ said Jonathan.

  Flavia smiled. ‘Did you enjoy your bath?’

  ‘Very much indeed,’ he rasped, and smiled to show a fine set of ivory false teeth. ‘It was wonderful.’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia, and stared in amazement, ‘where did you get those teeth?’

  ‘Someone left them behind in the baths,’ said Jonathan. ‘I got them for five sesterces. Now our friend here can eat meat.’

  ‘Then let’s buy you a nice roast chicken at the Triton Tavern,’ said Flavia. ‘And while you’re eating, you can tell us all about the death of Nero.’

  Another hour later, Flavia found a quiet spot on a shady bench by a pool in one of the inner gardens of the procurator’s villa. The bench faced a bronze statue of Diana, so this seemed a propitious place to sit. Her mind was dizzy with all the beggar had told them. She wanted to write it down while it was still fresh.

  Flavia gazed up at the goddess, shown with her bow and arrow, and her tunic tucked up to expose her knees. ‘Oh Diana,’ she whispered. ‘You sent me on this quest to find Uncle Gaius. And you granted me success. Please help me now to write the words for the pantomime of Nero’s Death so that we can get the emerald, too.’ She thought for a moment and added, ‘And you, too, Polyhymnia, muse of song and dance.’

  Then Flavia began to write, pushing the bronze stylus through the yellow beeswax: ‘Help me, Polyhymnia. Inspire me to sing, and these to play, and him to dance—’

  ‘Hello, Flavia,’ said a woman’s voice.

  Flavia looked up to see Glycera in her white stola and gilded sandals.

  ‘Hello, domina,’ said Flavia politely. ‘Is it all right for me to be here? It’s so cool and peaceful.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Glycera, dimpling. ‘And please don’t call me “domina”. It makes me feel old. I’m only twenty-two, you know. Just.’ The golden bangles on her arms tinkled as she sat beside Flavia. ‘What are you writing?’

  ‘A new pantomime for Narcissus.’

  ‘What’s the subject?’

  Flavia almost told the truth, then decided to play safe. ‘Um. Diana. The Virgin Huntress.’

  Glycera smiled and closed her eyes. ‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ she said.

  Flavia looked down at her wax tablet, then at Glycera, sitting less than a foot away.

  ‘I can’t think what to write,’ lied Flavia.

  Glycera opened her eyes, and Flavia noticed they were as green as the emerald around her neck. ‘That’s because Diana is selfish and vain.’

  ‘Domina!’ cried Flavia, making the sign against evil and glancing nervously at the statue. ‘You shouldn’t speak about the goddess that way!’ After a pause, Flavia asked: ‘What do you mean: selfish and vain?’

  ‘She’s selfish because she only cares about herself. She’s vain because she doesn’t want to grow old and fat through having children.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s selfish or vain,’ said Flavia. ‘I’m going to be like Diana and have adventures all my life. I’m never going to have children, so I’ll never grow fat. Besides,’ she added, ‘giving birth is dangerous. It can kill you.’

  Glycera gave Flavia a searching look and then asked softly, ‘Did someone close to you recently die in childbirth?’

  Flavia looked at Glycera in surprise, then nodded. ‘My friend Miriam,’ she said. ‘She was the most beautiful girl I have ever known. She was only fifteen.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Glycera. ‘My older sister died in childbirth. Her baby died, too.’

  They gazed at the statue of Diana for a moment. The sculptor had depicted the goddess in bronze: wearing a short fluttering tunic, with her bow half drawn and her eyes on the distant prey. She seemed carefree and happy.

  ‘Tell me, Flavia, do you plan to live for ever?’ asked Glycera.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Glycera gestured at the statue of Diana. ‘She’ll never die. She’s a goddess. Immortal. She hunts in the woods and runs free with her friends and has adventures. But if Diana were mortal, and if one day she died, do you know what people would say about her?’

  ‘That she ran free with her friends and had lots of adventures?’

  ‘No. They would say that her legacy was death. Diana did not just kill animals. She also killed men. Like that poor young hunter who accidentally saw her bathing.’

  ‘Actaeon,’ said Flavia. ‘Narcissus does a brilliant Actaeon.’

  ‘And she was cruel to her nymphs,’ said Glycera. ‘If any of them became pregnant or wanted to have children she killed them or drove them away. No. Diana may be a great goddess, but she is not a good person. That’s why you can’t write about her.’ The gilded beads in Glycera’s plaited hair clicked softly as she turned to look at Flavia. ‘Do you know who you should write about?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Octavia. Wife of Marcus Antonius. Elder sister of the Emperor Augustus.’

  Flavia frowned. ‘I thought Marcus Antonius’s wife was Fulvia. The one who took Cicero’s severed head onto her lap and stabbed his lifeless tongue with her hairpin.’

  Glycera laughed. ‘Marcus Antonius had at least four wives during his lifetime. Octavia was his last and best wife. I don’t count Cleopatra!’

  ‘Why do you admire Octavia so much?’

  ‘Because she was a loving mother. She nurtured life. She raised Antonius’s children by his first wives, and she loved them as if they were her own. Even after she bore Antonius two daughters, she never showed preference. And she also took in other orphans, like young Juba, after Julius Caesar murdered his father.’

  ‘Juba who lived here after he grew up? The one whose bust you have in the garden?’

  ‘Yes. Juba the Second. But Flavia, do you know the most amazing thing?’

  Flavia shook her head.

  ‘You know that Antonius fell in love with Cleopatra, the Macedonian ruler of Egypt?’

  ‘Yes. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Can you imagine how Octavia felt when Antonius left Rome to be with Cleopatra? How hurt and humiliated she must have been?’

  ‘It must have been awful for her.’

  ‘It was. He left Octavia and her children – his children – so he could be with that enchantress. And yet Octavia remained in his house in Rome, raising his children, receiving his clients, entertaining his friends. She sent him aid and armies in his fight against the Parthians. She continued to call herself his wife, and to act accordingly.’

  Glycera rose from the bench. Her long fingers twisted each other in obvious consternation. ‘Later, Antonius wrote Octavia a letter, demanding that she leave his house – her home. She obeyed him.
But instead of leaving his children behind in anger, she took them with her to her brother’s house. She never stopped behaving as a loving mother and dignified wife.’

  Glycera went to the statue of Diana. ‘Finally, Antonius was defeated in battle. He killed himself. Soon after, Cleopatra killed herself, too. Some say she had a snake – an asp – brought to her in a basket of figs.’ Glycera reached out and touched the sharp bronze point of the huntress’ arrow, then turned to look at Flavia. ‘Cleopatra chose to die. Chose to abandon her four children: one by Julius Caesar, three by Antonius. And do you know who raised Cleopatra’s children? Loved them? Protected them?’

  Again, Flavia shook her head.

  ‘Octavia,’ said Glycera. ‘The humiliated wife of Antonius. She took the children of Cleopatra – her enemy – into her own home. And she loved them. She loved them as if they were her own. Oh, Flavia! That is courage. That is virtue.’

  Glycera returned to the bench and showed Flavia one of the rings on her left hand. ‘My signet ring bears Octavia’s profile. Doesn’t she look kind?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Flavia.

  ‘You should write about Octavia. Not about her.’ Here Glycera looked up at the bronze statue of Diana. Flavia followed her gaze, and for the first time she saw that the goddess’s eyes were cold.

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ A little boy of about three or four was running up the path towards Glycera. He had tawny skin, a mop of dark curly hair and a toy lyre in one hand. He threw himself onto her lap and began to cover her face with kisses.

  Glycera laughed and Flavia saw two other boys approaching, one of about five, the other perhaps fifteen or sixteen. The five-year-old was also dark, with curly hair, but the older boy had light brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a blue tunic with a black meander pattern on the hem. Flavia felt her eyes grow wide: he must be the youth Lupus had seen coming out of Glycera’s bedroom.

  ‘Mater!’ said the five-year-old. ‘Postumus took us to a big tent to see the beasts in their cages. There was an elephant and monkeys, and a man-eating leopard!’

  ‘Flavia,’ said Glycera with a laugh, ‘these are my sons. Marcus.’ Here she kissed the little one on his chubby cheek. ‘Gaius.’ She patted the five-year-old. ‘And Postumus.’ She caught the hand of the fifteen-year-old and gave him a smile. The boy smiled back.