The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  It was Lupus’s turban.

  The bright world around Flavia dimmed and tipped and she heard Jonathan cry ‘Catch her!’

  She felt strong hands grip her arms and heard Seth’s voice in her ear. ‘Breathe!’ he commanded. ‘Breathe!’

  And now someone else was there, too. A barefoot beggar boy in a greasy grey turban and tattered tunic. The boy was looking up at her with sea-green eyes.

  The world was suddenly bright again, and she could breathe. ‘Lupus!’ she cried, and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, praise Juno! You’re alive!’

  Jonathan hugged Lupus, too: ‘Praise God!

  ‘Shhh!’ said Seth, his hazel eyes anxious. ‘People are looking. Come on.’

  Lupus nodded. He took Flavia’s hand and pulled her urgently towards the boat. She could see the fear in his eyes and followed.

  When they reached the Scarab they saw Nathan was already there, pacing back and forth. ‘Master of the Universe!’ he cried. ‘Where were you? The place is crawling with officials. I had to hide in the public latrines for nearly half an hour. Come on! Let’s get out of here!’

  Lupus untied the mooring rope while Jonathan used the boarding plank to push the Scarab away from the pier.

  Seth was already at the stern, punt pole in hand, but as they reached the centre of the river a breeze filled the sail.

  ‘Lupus,’ cried Flavia. ‘What happened? We thought that boy was you.’

  Lupus nodded and gestured for his wax tablet.

  They all watched as he wrote on it with a shaking hand.

  ‘You traded clothes with him!’ said Flavia, reading over his shoulder. ‘And then went to the town square.’

  Lupus nodded and continued to write.

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock,’ muttered Seth. ‘One thousand drachmae each! And they know about Chryses and Nubia?’

  ‘Then what happened?’ asked Jonathan.

  Lupus imitated a soldier, with his stiff bearing and chin pressed in.

  ‘You had to hide from the soldiers?’

  Lupus grunted yes and Nathan explained: ‘They were everywhere.’

  THEY WERE ASKING ABOUT US wrote Lupus. BUT THEY WOULDN’T SAY WHY

  ‘And one of them killed that poor boy,’ said Flavia, ‘because he was wearing your clothes and they thought he was you.’

  Lupus nodded and hung his head.

  Jonathan patted his back. ‘You were just doing a good deed,’ he said. ‘You weren’t to know they would kill him. Master of the Universe,’ he whispered. ‘They killed him!’

  Behind her, Nathan suddenly leaned forward and was sick over the side of the boat.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ breathed Flavia. ‘The Emperor wants us dead!’

  ‘Do you think it might be something to do with the emerald we stole for Titus in March?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘But we completed the mission.’

  ‘You’d better tell us,’ said Seth grimly. ‘Tell us about that.’

  ‘Titus sent us on a mission to find an emerald,’ said Flavia. ‘His cousin Taurus told us where to find it. After we got it, Taurus took it away from us and said that he would take the emerald to Titus.’ She looked at Jonathan and Lupus. ‘What if he kept it for himself?’

  ‘That’s still no reason for Titus to order our execution,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Well, somebody did,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Juno!’ exclaimed Flavia. ‘They probably mean to kill Nubia, too.’

  ‘Dear God!’ whispered Seth. ‘Poor Chryses.’

  ‘I thought you hated Chryses.’

  ‘I do. But I don’t want him to die!’

  ‘And I don’t want Nubia to die,’ said Flavia grimly. ‘We have to catch them and warn them that their lives are in danger.’

  ‘I think we’ve made a terrible mistake,’ said Flavia as Tentyra disappeared in the distance. They were sailing up the Nile with the strong afternoon wind, and she was examining Nathan’s parchment map. ‘Look at this big curve in the river.’

  Jonathan, Nathan and Seth came over to look. Lupus was at the tiller.

  ‘We call it the Caene Bend,’ said Nathan. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Chryses and Nubia are on camel,’ said Flavia. ‘What if they went straight from Diospolis Parva to Hermonthis instead of following the curve of the river? We’d never catch up with them.’

  Nathan shook his head. ‘I doubt they’d do that. Once you leave the Nile, it’s nothing but desert. And not flat desert either. There are mountains here. No, they must follow the river. Even if your Chryses does hate water, he needs it to live.’

  ‘I wish we could be sure,’ said Flavia.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Nathan. ‘When I was looking for Lupus in Tentyra, I saw another one of their riddles.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ cried Flavia.

  ‘I was a little distracted by the crocodiles,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Praise Juno!’ breathed Flavia. ‘That means they are staying close to the river. What did the riddle say? Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course. Out of the desert I came, leading my dusky men to Mount Ida. The son of Peleus killed me, but the gods took pity and granted me immortality. Now I sit beside my companion and sing to the dawn.’

  The four of them stared at Nathan for a moment, then looked at each other.

  ‘I know Mount Ida means Troy,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘And the son of Peleus is Achilles!’ cried Flavia. ‘But did an Egyptian fight in the Trojan War?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Seth. ‘Strabo calls it Aethiopia, which was an ancient name for parts of Egypt and Cush. His name was Memnon.’

  ‘Eureka!’ cried Jonathan, looking up from the map. ‘There is a place across the river from Thebes called the Memnonium.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Seth.

  ‘The Memnonium,’ said Nathan, ‘is known by some as the Valley of the Kings. There are dozens of tombs there, filled with gold and jewels of the pharaohs. That must be where the treasure is!’

  Nubia was woken by Chryses’s voice in her ear.

  ‘Nubia, wake up. It’s almost dawn.’

  Nubia nodded and sat up groggily. The previous evening they had reached two massive stone statues and had slept at their feet.

  ‘See these colossi?’ said Chryses. He was brewing tea over a flame of palm fronds. ‘They are famous. One of them sometimes sings at sunrise. It’s a mark of the gods’ favour if you hear it.’

  Nubia stared up at the colossal seated statues, dark against the deep blue pre-dawn light. It was early June and the temperatures during the day were almost unbearable. But for the moment it was deliciously cool. She could smell the mint tea and dust and the faint scent of Chryses’s lotus-blossom body oil.

  Chryses sighed. ‘We need a blessing. I spent the last of my money yesterday. I didn’t think I would run out so soon.’

  ‘No money left at all?’ asked Nubia.

  ‘No,’ said Chryses. ‘None at all.’ He handed Nubia a piece of leathery bread and the skin of soured milk. Nubia took her bread and tore at it with her teeth. The food had become worse and worse the further up the Nile they went. For the past few days they had eaten nothing but bread and milk and a little tough goat meat. These days an onion was a rare pleasure. Nubia sighed again. She missed the variety of food she had been accustomed to in Ostia, and especially Alma’s cooking. She missed the baths, and the peaceful inner gardens, and her walks in the pine woods with Nipur. She missed making music with Aristo.

  Chryses handed Nubia a cup of fragrant mint tea. Nubia sipped it, and smiled. Mint tea always made her think of Jonathan’s father, Doctor Mordecai. Mint tea was his cure for almost anything and it always comforted her.

  Suddenly she stiffened at the sound of footsteps in the onion field. Looking up, she saw a globule of light approaching through the morning mist: a torch. As it came closer she saw a turbaned Egyptian man and his little boy leading a group of men and women.

  Automatically, Nubia and Chryses drew the tails of the
ir turbans across their faces, so that only their eyes were visible. The Egyptian was speaking to his group in a low voice and as they came close to the colossus he greeted them in Greek. Nubia and Chryses nodded back but did not reply; they had discovered the best tactic was usually silence.

  The guide turned back to his group – wealthy Greeks and their servants – and said in a dramatic whisper. ‘You must now wait in silence, if you want to hear the Memnon to sing.’

  The guide nodded at them, then glanced down longingly at Chryses’s teapot. Chryses wiped his cup with his sleeve, raised the pot and poured a stream of tea, then offered it to the guide.

  The guide mimed his thanks and gratefully sipped the drink. Nubia gave his little boy their last date. He thanked her with a radiant smile.

  Everyone was so quiet that Nubia could hear Castor and Pollux chewing their cuds a short distance away. The guide gestured silently towards the eastern mountains on the other side of the river. His group diligently turned to look. So did Nubia and Chryses.

  The sky to the east was growing lighter and for a magical moment the sky above the distant mountains glowed pale green.

  ‘Oh!’ breathed the tourists softly.

  A few moments later the sky flamed orange and the sun’s molten edge appeared above the jagged mountains. Within moments its brilliance was dazzling and Nubia had to avert her eyes. Already she could feel its pounding heat.

  At that moment came a faint sound, like a low whistle. She could not tell its exact source, but it deepened and swelled to a breathy hum, as if a giant was blowing into a thick glass bottle. Then it faded and died, and all that could be heard was a donkey’s distant heehaw.

  The tourists clapped and exclaimed and a balding man in a scarlet cloak stepped forward to give the guide a tetradrachm. Nubia saw its silver glint and the guide’s deep bow of delight and she had an idea. Pulling the tail of her turban away from her face, she took out her reed flute and softly began to play Slave Song, a song she had composed about her home country of Nubia.

  The tourists grew quiet again, and the guide’s little boy watched her with huge dark eyes.

  When she finally finished they broke into enthusiastic applause. Nubia boldly held out her empty cup. One or two of the men stepped forward and coins clanged in her cup, and the bald man gave her a silver tetradrachm, too.

  The tourists departed, chattering happily and when they were out of earshot Chryses pulled the turban’s tail away from his mouth and lifted his face to the sky. ‘Thank you, O gods! You answered our prayers!’ He looked at Nubia. ‘How much did they give you?’

  ‘This much,’ said Nubia, tipping the coins into Chryses’s cupped hands. ‘Is it enough?’

  Chryses showed his sharp white teeth in a broad smile. ‘It’s enough.’

  The sun was up now, and it was growing hotter.

  Nubia unhobbled Castor and Pollux and took them to drink at a nearby canal. When she returned, Chryses stood with his piece of charcoal, searching the graffiti-covered base of the statue for a place to write his latest offering. There was none. Chryses turned and whistled for Castor, who plodded obediently towards him. Chryses clicked for the camel to kneel, mounted it, then whistled it up. Manoeuvring the creature right up to the Colossus of Memnon, he stretched out his hand and began to write his usual riddle, clear and dark, and well above the tangle of graffiti below.

  ‘Come, Nubia,’ he said. ‘Our journey is almost finished.’

  ‘Thebes!’ said Nathan, as the town came into view on the east bank.

  ‘Or even “Theebth”,’ said Jonathan with a grin.

  Lupus chuckled and gave Seth a thumbs-up.

  ‘Look,’ said Seth. ‘A whole avenue of ram-headed sphinxes leading to that temple.’

  ‘It must be a temple dedicated to Ammon,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘That’s strange,’ mused Flavia. ‘Oedipus came from Thebes and he had to answer the sphinx’s riddle. But that Thebes was in Greece, not Egypt.’

  ‘You do realise that yesterday was the Sabbath?’ said Nathan to Seth.

  Seth nodded. ‘This is an emergency,’ he replied. ‘We need to warn Nubia and Chryses before that galley finds them.’

  ‘Speaking of the governor’s galley,’ said Jonathan.

  They followed his gaze.

  The water to the north sparkled with a myriad of spangles in the morning light but they could clearly make out the dark shape of a boat, and the rise and fall of twenty oars.

  ‘Why are they behind us?’ said Flavia.

  ‘They must be searching all the towns along the way.’

  ‘It looks as if they’re heading for the port of Thebes,’ said Nathan. ‘On the east bank. But we want the Memnonium. And that’s on the other side.’

  Flavia and her friends shaded their eyes from the noonday sun and squinted up at the two massive statues.

  They stood at the edge of a flat green onion field near the great Theban necropolis on the west bank of the Nile. According to Nathan, dozens of pharaohs were buried in the valley before them.

  There were a few Greek-looking tourists here, with an Egyptian guide and his young son. The boy was playing a reed flute.

  ‘Great Juno’s beard,’ muttered Jonathan, mopping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘It’s hot.’

  ‘Which of these two statues sings?’ murmured Flavia.

  ‘According to Strabo,’ said Seth, ‘the northern one sings. But only at dawn.’

  They moved over to the right-hand colossus.

  ‘It must be sixty feet tall,’ said Jonathan. ‘Look. It’s cracked.’

  Suddenly Lupus grunted and pointed to the statue’s knees. Written above the mass of graffiti was a riddle in Greek: My tress is a sign of childhood, my protective eye the moon. I conquered the one from the red land. If you would find my word, go through the pylon.

  ‘That’s Chryses’s handwriting!’ said Flavia. ‘But what does it mean?’

  ‘It must refer to Horus,’ said Seth, brushing away a fly. ‘Horus is the falcon-headed god who is often shown with a moon for his eye. He conquered the one from the desert, the red land.’

  ‘Who was the one from the red land?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Seth.’ The scribe gave them a wry grin, and added: ‘Strabo mentions a Ptolemaic temple at a place called Apollonospolis, which holds the falcon in honour.’

  ‘What does Ptolemaic mean again?’ asked Flavia. ‘I forget.’

  ‘Anything from the time of the Ptolemies,’ said Seth, and added. ‘The Ptolemies ruled Egypt from the death of Alexander the Great to the death of Cleopatra.’

  Lupus was tapping Flavia’s shoulder.

  ‘What?’ she asked, turning.

  Lupus pointed at the boy playing the flute. Then cupped his ear, as if to say: Listen!

  Flavia listened, and her heart skipped a beat. The boy was playing a haunting, familiar tune.

  ‘What is that?’ murmured Flavia. Suddenly she gasped. ‘It’s Slave Song!’ she cried.

  ‘What?’ said Seth.

  ‘That’s a tune Nubia made up herself! There’s only one way that boy could have heard that song.’

  Flavia ran over to the boy. ‘Where did you hear that song?’ she asked, in Greek.

  The little boy stopped playing and frowned at her.

  Seth spoke to the boy in Egyptian, and the boy smiled and replied. For a few moments they conversed. Finally the boy pointed towards the east bank.

  Seth gave the boy a small coin and turned to them. ‘He says two youths were here yesterday, one Nubian, one Egyptian. He says the Nubian one played that song. They left on camels and they went that way.’

  Flavia clapped her hands. ‘They were here yesterday!’ she cried. ‘If we hurry, we might catch up with them tomorrow!’

  *

  The wind sang in the rigging, the sail billowed and Scarab’s prow sent up a fine wave, but as the sun sank behind western palms Lupus thought he saw the governor’s galley coming up behind them again. Nathan steered the Scarab
towards the west bank, to a marshy inlet screened by trees, and dropped the sail. They crouched in the boat and waited for the oared ship to approach.

  Flavia’s heart was pounding and her mouth was dry: it was the governor’s red and yellow galley.

  The sun had set, and they all held their breath, hoping the silhouette of the Scarab’s mast could not be distinguished from the silhouettes of the slender palm trees around them.

  The galley’s oars fell and rose, dripping golden water, causing a gaggle of geese to rise honking from the reeds.

  Finally the galley passed out of sight.

  ‘What shall we do?’ whispered Flavia. ‘We want to catch up with Nubia and Chryses and warn them. But we don’t want to run into those soldiers.’

  Two days later, Lupus cautiously approached the great Temple of Horus at Apollonospolis. He was wearing his greasy grey turban and his tattered brown tunic. Luckily he had put on his sandals, for the pavement leading to the temple was as hot as coals. It was midday on the Nones of June and the sun pounded down like Vulcan’s hammer.

  The gateway – pylon in Greek – looked like part of a town wall. But even the walls of Rome were not this high. Lupus’s head tipped back as he took in the massive, brightly painted figures of the falcon god and his friends carved into the sandstone. Like all the other Egyptian figures he had seen, they were shown striding forward in profile, but with their shoulders square to the viewer.

  On either side of the gateway were two granite falcons, each as tall as two men. At the base of one of them was a charcoal arrow, pointing inside.

  Dutifully, Lupus passed through the lofty pylon into a furnace-hot courtyard. It was ringed by massive columns, and here, too, painted figures told their silent stories. A doorway straight ahead lead into another shadowed hall.

  There were even bigger columns in here and the shade was like a blessing. Here and there, the sun pierced holes in the roof and sent down dusty shafts of golden light. Lupus crept from shadow to shadow, from column to column.