The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Flavia nodded. ‘We’ve tried it,’ she said. ‘It’s as sweet as mulsum.’

  ‘Is that another harbour down there at the lakeside?’ asked Jonathan.

  Seth nodded. ‘Yes. The Lake Harbour receives goods brought up from the interior and from the trade routes to India. And all the grain grown here in the Delta passes through that harbour. See the canal?’ Seth pointed to a bright ribbon within the western walls of the city. ‘It leads from Lake Mareotis to Cibotus, that man-made harbour there in the western harbour: Eunostus, as it’s called. Cibotus is where all the massive grain ships come to be loaded.’ Seth turned back to the inland lake. ‘My cousin works down there at the Lake Harbour. He smuggles goods in and out of Alexandria.’ Seth shook his head. ‘He’s the black sheep of the family.’

  ‘So Alexandria has six harbours in all,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ said Seth. ‘That part of the city down towards the canal is called Rhakotis. That’s where most of the Egyptians live. Rhakotis means “building site” in Egyptian. The locals still refuse to call this city by the name Alexander gave it.’

  ‘I heard,’ said Flavia, ‘that the poet Homer came to Alexander in a dream and told him to build a city here.’

  Seth nodded. ‘Rumour has it that Alexander stood upon this very hill – it wasn’t quite as lofty then – to watch his architect Dinocrates lay out the city grid in the shape of a Macedonian chlamys.’

  ‘A Macedonian what?’ said Jonathan.

  ‘A chlamys,’ said Seth. ‘A cloak shaped like a rectangle.’ But the plan of the city was so big that they ran out of chalk. So they cut the corners from bags of flour and drew the lines of the streets by drizzling white flour onto the earth.’ Seth threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. ‘Suddenly ten thousand birds arose from the lake. Imagine! Ten thousand! They flew up in a great cloud, then settled on the site of Alexander’s future capital and ate the street plans marked out in flour.’

  ‘Alexander must have been upset,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘He was,’ said Seth. ‘He thought it was a terrible omen. But his soothsayers assured him it was quite the opposite. They told him it meant that many people, from many different countries would flock to his city to feed on its riches. They convinced Alexander and he gave the sign for them to begin building. And they were right.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Flavia suddenly, and pointed to a gold-roofed temple in the area Seth had called Rhakotis. ‘What’s that building? The one higher than the others. It looks as if the roof is made of pure gold.’

  ‘That’s the Serapeum,’ said Seth. ‘Its roof is made of gilded tiles. Some have called it the most magnificent building in the world, surpassed only by the Capitolium in Rome.’

  ‘Which I burned down last year,’ muttered Jonathan.

  ‘What?’ said Seth.

  Lupus uttered a yelp of excitement. He had just seen some graffiti at the foot of Pan’s plinth:

  HERBA ANTE NOS, APER MEUS.

  ‘It’s another riddle!’ gasped Flavia. ‘And look! There’s that hieroglyph of the dog creature again.’ She glanced round suspiciously. ‘Has that riddle been there this whole time?’

  Lupus shrugged, then nodded.

  ‘The grass is before us, my boar,’ read Jonathan, and looked at them in puzzlement. ‘What in Hades does that mean?’

  ‘It’s not a riddle,’ said Seth, his cheerful face darkened by a scowl. ‘Riddles have a certain form. Two or three lines in dactylic hexameter. That’s something else . . .’

  He gazed at the letters for a moment, then he went so pale that Lupus could see a light sprinkling of freckles on his nose. ‘Master of the—’ he said huskily. ‘That arrogant idol-worshipper. He’s taunting me!’

  ‘Who?’ cried Flavia.

  And Jonathan said, ‘What?’

  ‘It’s an anagram,’ said Seth. ‘A phrase or word whose letters can be scrambled to make a new phrase or word.’

  Lupus stared at Seth, then took out his wax tablet and copied down the phrase. He knew how anagrams worked. Their tutor Aristo occasionally gave them such puzzles.

  Lupus’s heart was beating fast: he had already deciphered the last two words; that only left the first part of the phrase.

  ‘Then you know what the anagram means?’ asked Jonathan. ‘The grass is before us, my boar?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Seth, but before he could explain, Lupus held up his wax tablet with a grunt of triumph. On it he had written:

  HERBA ANTE NOS, APER MEUS

  Underneath he had shuffled the letters to make the name of a person and the name of a place.

  Seth nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said bitterly, ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Oh, Lupus!’ cried Flavia. ‘You solved the anagram.’ She felt a strange mixture of jealousy and pleasure.

  On his wax tablet, Lupus had written:

  SETH BEN AARON, SERAPEUM

  ‘Seth ben Aaron is your full name, isn’t it?’ said Flavia. ‘And the Serapeum must be where Chryses wants you to go. Maybe he’s in danger and needs your help.’

  ‘He’s not in danger.’ Seth glared at the letters written on the plinth. ‘Do you see that hieroglyph? The dog with the curved nose?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘It was on the roof tile, too.’

  ‘It’s the sign for confusion,’ said Seth. ‘Or for something strange. It’s called a Seth animal. That was what Chryses used to call me: a Seth animal. If he was in danger he wouldn’t use a nickname he knows I hate.’

  ‘Even if Chryses isn’t in danger,’ said Flavia, ‘he might still be with Nubia. If we hurry to the Serapeum, maybe we’ll find them both there.’

  Seth sighed, then shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like it. For some reason he’s taunting me.’

  It took them nearly a quarter of an hour to descend the spiral path of the Paneum. Finally they turned onto a side street wider than the Via Sacra in Rome.

  ‘What is the Serapeum, anyway?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘It’s a huge temple devoted to an imaginary god.’

  They all looked at Seth in surprise.

  ‘Serapis is an invention,’ said Seth. ‘A made-up god to please both Greeks and Egyptians. There’s a shrine to him at the Serapeum, but – more importantly – there are also colonnades and courtyards which contain the overflow of scrolls from the Library in the Museum.’

  ‘So there’s another library there?’ said Flavia.

  ‘Yes. A large annex to the Great Library.’

  ‘So why are we going there?’ asked Jonathan. ‘Why is Chryses leaving all these anagrams and riddles scrawled about?’

  ‘It is all the fault of Philologus,’ said Seth.

  ‘Philologus?’ said Flavia. ‘That sweet old man at the Library?’

  Seth snorted. ‘Sweet old man indeed! He’s as crafty as a serpent.’ He sighed. ‘Five years ago, Chryses and I were both taken on as novice scribes, together with a Persian boy called Onesimus. We were all about your age at the time. Novices spend their first year at the Library of the Serapeum. Our teacher at that time was Philologus. He used to send the three of us on Word Quests around Alexandria.’

  ‘Word Quests?’ repeated Flavia.

  ‘Yes. A riddle would lead to an anagram, and that to a pictogram and that to a hieroglyph or a famous quote, and so on. Each solution would lead us to a new place, where we would find the next clue. In this way he taught us to recognise and break codes and to identify and translate different languages. Also, we got to know our way around the city.’ As if to demonstrate, Seth waved a greeting to a honey-merchant in the colonnade to their right. ‘We got to know the markets, temples, harbours. I remember one time a clue sent us to the top of the Pharos. The heat from the fire was intense, even on the second tier. But the view!’ Seth guided them around a pile of steaming donkey droppings not yet tidied away by the Alexandrian street cleaners.

  ‘It sounds exciting,’ said Flavia wistfully. ‘Following clues all over the city. A bit like b
eing a detective.’

  Seth smiled at her use of the word. ‘Yes, it was exciting,’ he said. ‘The first one to finish each Word Quest would find a prize: a handful of dates, or a new quill pen and inkpot. Chryses usually won, but occasionally Onesimus or I got there first. The three of us had an agreement: if the prize could be divided, the winner would share.’

  ‘What happened to Onesimus?’ asked Jonathan. ‘He was Persian, wasn’t he?’

  Seth’s smile faded. ‘He died. He died about this time last month.’

  Flavia was about to ask how Onesimus had died when they came to a crossroads and her jaw dropped at the sight of the Serapeum, even more impressive from below. It was elevated on a marble platform with at least one hundred steps leading up to it. This platform occupied an entire city block. The highly polished pink granite columns surrounding the lofty temple were massive.

  ‘There it is,’ said Seth. ‘The great Serapeum of Alexandria.’

  Jonathan gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘Those columns must be ninety, even a hundred feet tall,’ he said.

  ‘It’s so big!’ breathed Flavia. ‘How will we ever find them in there?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Seth, ‘but I think I know where to look first.’

  ‘Chryselephantine!’ breathed Flavia, as they passed through the massive columns and entered the sanctuary of the god Serapis.

  Lupus gave her his bug-eyed look.

  ‘Chryselephantine.’ Flavia pointed at the massive sculpture. ‘It’s made of gold and ivory.’

  The cult statue was of a seated man draped in voluminous robes. He was at least eighty feet tall, as tall as the statue of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. The god Serapis was shown with long wavy hair and a luxuriant curling beard. On his head he wore a gilded modius, a cylindrical-shaped basket used to measure grain. His robes were gilded, too. The sunshine filtering in from small high windows reflected off the gold and bathed the whole space with a soft yellow light.

  There were a few other suppliants in the sanctuary, and also a priest who stood at a table near the wall grinding incense. Flavia could smell its pungent and exotic scent. The priest glanced over his shoulder at them, then turned back to the table.

  Flavia gave Lupus a quick nod and the boy hurried up a dozen steps and disappeared behind the statue.

  The priest must have heard the slap of Lupus’s sandal for he lifted his head again and this time he turned his whole body to look at them.

  ‘Um . . . Tell us about Serapis,’ said Flavia to Seth, ignoring the priest and gazing with feigned interest at the statue.

  Seth shrugged. ‘When the Greeks established this city three and a half centuries ago, they tried to find a god that both Greeks and Egyptians would happily worship. Alexander favoured Ammon, but Greeks don’t like animal-headed gods, and Ammon has the head of a ram. After Alexander’s death, Ptolemy Soter invented this god. He looks human but he’s actually a blend of Osiris and Apis, two of the most popular Egyptian gods. The name “Serapis” is a combination of SER – which stands for Osiris – and APIS, the bull god. But they’ve made him look like Hades, whom you Romans call Pluto. You should know,’ he added, ‘that Egyptians are obsessed with the afterlife.’

  Flavia frowned up at the statue’s lofty head. ‘Why is he wearing a modius on his head? In Ostia we use the modius to measure grain.’

  ‘The modius of Serapis is filled with grain,’ said Seth, ‘and sometimes fruit, to show that he brings wealth and prosperity.’

  ‘Like a cornucopia,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Exactly.’

  For a few moments they gazed at the massive cult statue in silence, then Flavia saw Lupus peep out from behind the statue’s throne. He grinned and gave them a thumbs-up.

  ‘He’s found something!’ whispered Flavia. A quick glance showed her the priest still bent over his table, so she beckoned Lupus to come.

  He arrived panting just as the priest turned back towards them with a suspicious glare.

  ‘Was there another clue?’ whispered Jonathan.

  Lupus nodded and tapped his wax tablet.

  ‘Come on,’ said Flavia. ‘The priest’s coming this way. Let’s get out of here.’

  A few moments later, standing in bright sunshine at the top of the hundred steps, Lupus pulled out his wax tablet. On it he had written:

  I DO NOT FEAR AN ARMY OF LIONS, IF THEY ARE LED BY A LAMB. I DO FEAR AN ARMY OF SHEEP, IF THEY ARE LED BY A LION. AND BEST ARE ARMIES LED BY A RAM.

  ‘Is it a riddle?’ said Flavia. ‘Or an anagram?’

  ‘Neither,’ said Seth. ‘It’s a quote. At least the first part. But who said it? I can’t recall . . .’

  ‘I know!’ cried Jonathan. ‘I just can’t remember . . .’

  ‘Julius Caesar?’ suggested Flavia. ‘It sounds like something he would say.’

  Lupus gave a sudden grunt of excitement and scribbled on his wax tablet. He held it up.

  ‘He’s right!’ exclaimed Jonathan.

  And Seth nodded. ‘How foolish of me not to remember.’

  ‘How did you know that, Lupus?’ asked Flavia.

  Lupus shrugged and grinned. I WAS PAYING ATTENTION IN LESSONS THAT DAY he wrote, then added: HE’S MY HERO

  ‘Well,’ said Flavia. ‘He’s not far away. Let’s go and see him!’

  Lupus gazed in awe at the mummified body of Alexander the Great.

  They had hurried down the steps of the Serapeum and run all the way to the Soma, at the great crossroads. It was mid-afternoon and the queue of tourists was not too long. Inside the cool marble building, they were able to catch their breath as they followed a slow-moving line of people past statues, paintings, tapestries and mosaics: all of Alexander and his exploits.

  Finally they found themselves approaching Alexander’s sarcophagus. The lid was of some kind of thick glass that slightly distorted the figure inside.

  ‘Ugh!’ shuddered Flavia as they drew close enough to look in. ‘He doesn’t look very handsome. His hair is all wispy and his face is shrunken.’

  ‘That’s what too much unwatered wine will do to you,’ joked Jonathan.

  ‘He is over four hundred years old,’ said Seth defensively.

  But Lupus felt a surge of pride. To him, the body looked wonderful: both young and old, innocent and wise. The spirit was gone, but it was the earthly body of the man who had conquered the known world and founded dozens of cities. Alexander the Great, his fellow Greek.

  ‘You can see where his nose is glued back on,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Anything written on the sarcophagus?’ murmured Flavia. ‘Our next clue should be here.’

  Lupus shook his head. They were rounding the head end of the sarcophagus and he could see the exit up ahead.

  Beside him, Flavia reached out her hand and brushed the stone with her fingertips.

  They all jumped as a guard blew a shrill warning blast on a bone whistle. He scowled at them and shook his head sternly.

  ‘Seth,’ whispered Flavia. ‘What kind of rock is that? Is it marble?’

  ‘No. It’s granite. Granite from the quarries of Syene. It’s very common here in Alexandria. The granite columns of the Serapeum are from Syene, too.’

  ‘Syene?’ said Jonathan. ‘I remember that name from the map in the refectory, where we had lunch today. It’s not near here, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Seth. ‘It’s over seven hundred miles away. On the first cataract of the Nile.’

  ‘They can bring a massive block of granite seven hundred miles?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Maybe Chryses has gone all the way to Syene,’ said Flavia. ‘Maybe the sarcophagus itself is a clue.’ She looked at them, then shook her head. ‘No, that can’t be right. There must be some graffiti here. There must.’

  But now the shuffling queue of people was pushing them out of the inner tomb towards steps that led up to a bright colonnade. There was an inner garden here, with latrines and refreshments for sale.

  They found a table under a fig tree
and snacked on salted almonds washed down with a strange soupy drink that prickled the back of Lupus’s throat and made him feel light-headed. He almost choked on it. Flavia and Jonathan had to pat his back.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Jonathan, peering into his own beaker. ‘It’s got bits floating in it.’

  ‘It’s called beer,’ said Seth. ‘It’s made of fermented grain. It’s very good for you.’

  Lupus coughed and glared at Seth with watering eyes.

  ‘Well, maybe not for everyone,’ said Seth, with a sheepish grin.

  ‘Let’s think about this,’ said Flavia and looked at Seth. ‘Chryses is making a Word Quest, like the ones you used to do with Philologus. We know the clues are intended for you,’ she added, ‘because the anagram named you: Seth ben Aaron.’

  Lupus dipped his finger in his beer and wrote on the table: SETH ANIMAL

  ‘That’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘He sometimes adds a Seth animal, which is his nickname for you. So far, each clue has led us to a place where we found a new clue. But there was no clue here. Where did we go wrong?’

  ‘Maybe the clue was there but we missed it . . .’ suggested Jonathan.

  Lupus grunted no. He had scanned the whole room, top to bottom and the sarcophagus as well.

  ‘We’ve been going round and round,’ said Jonathan, ‘like a dog with a flea in its tail. And we haven’t got any further. Maybe we’re wasting our time.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Flavia. ‘We don’t even know if Nubia is still with him.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jonathan, draining his beaker of beer and plunking it down on the wooden table. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. The trail’s gone cold.’

  ‘No!’ cried Flavia. ‘I refuse to accept that. We know the last clue pointed to Alexander the Great. If the next step of the trail isn’t here, where else could it be?’

  Seth frowned into his beaker. ‘There is one other place we could try . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ cried Flavia eagerly.